#( self-made from a dream & the weight of everything ; turn that shit up & watch me bear it. ✧ visage. ) ragna vinbrandr. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asset35-maya · 3 years ago

Note

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

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waywardimpalawriter · 4 years ago

Text

His boulevard of broke dreams

His boulevard of broken dreams

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden, Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden

Setting: A few days before Dean’s attacked by the Djinn

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: angst, feelings,

Word count: 2,979 (with lyrics)

Summary: Just a simple watch and report, till the man under surveillance reminds you who taught you everything you know.

Notes: Sequel to “Her” also written for #decadeundertheinfluencechallenge the song I choose is Boulevard of Broken dreams by Green Day. “My shadow’s the only one that walk’s beside me. My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating.”

Tag list is open for all fandoms I write for

Dean list: @akshi8278

His boulevard of broken dreams tag list: @cockslut-padalecki

Body shivering from the cold penetrating the cab of your truck dragging the thin crochet blanket tighter around your shaking frame and cursing the day of Sam Winchester’s birth. Searching for the reason you’re parked three blocks down hidden behind an old shed weary eyes searching for any suspicious active. Still wondering why you said yes in the first place. But then the reason rounds the corner and you duck down out of sight. Beat up old truck passed by as you raise neck turned to watch it disappear into the drive. A deep sigh leaving while teeth chatter and rubbing your arms to stay warm. Would’ve used the heat but a running truck gave way that someones sitting, watching.

Thankful you’ve had years of stakeout experience and know all of Dean’s habits. Though you’ve counted a few knew ones since last being in his present. Head shaking those thoughts from your mind especially when you’re there simply as a watch and report. Memories skating back to get three days ago when Sam and Bobby dropped the bomb on your ass.

“We need eyes on him, watching his movements and those around just in case,” golden flecked green eyes stare right through you. Tipping his shaggy brown head to the side Sam gives you a half smile that doesn’t reach those once warm eyes .

Shrugging, “I don’t get why I gotta do this? Why not just bring Dean back into the hunt? Why are you leaving him in the dark about being alive?” Only finding out yourself four weeks ago that Sam Winchester came back from the Pit alive and relatively well. Course you hadn’t believed your eyes at first, flinging a silver dagger at his head which he ducked blade imbedded into the spot his head once resided. Holy water splashed in his face after recovering from almost being shish ka-bobbed.

“Because,” running a hand through that just brushing the collar length brown hair eyes still firmly fixed on you. “He deserves that life Y/N to have peace for once and not worry about what monsters lurk around the next corner.”

“Pff like Dean would ever relax into an apple pie life style Sam. Knowing him there’s salt at every window, devil’s trap under each entryway point. Sawed off shotgun under the bed with holy water and salt right besides.” Your own eyes boring into his not believing his reasons for a second. Seeing one too many differences in the youngest Winchester since his return from death. “You can’t tell me a man like Dean Winchester would consciously not prepare for anything to come knocking at his door. Even if he’s given that life up it doesn’t just fade away, I know.”

Shrugging though there’s a twist to the look he’s giving you almost like he doesn’t truly care what happens to Dean. It’s there then gone making you wonder if you’re seeing things.

Different voice fills in this time,“That maybe so but he’s still entitled to that life. Just as we have to watch his backside to make sure that life stays intact.” Stepping forward to rest a hand on your shoulder, Bobby’s gravelly voice softens a touch know your feelings. Having put you back together after leaving Dean at Lisa’s almost a year ago.“I know this won’t be easy on you kid and I’d do it myself but I gotta get back up to Sioux Falls. Been away too long as is and Jodi already called half a dozen along with every half wit hunter in the area,” giving you a half smile and a pat on the shoulder. Having a soft spot much like the one he harbors for the boys but doesn’t tell them.

“Piece of cake,” brushing the concern off but deep down thankful for Bobby’s reassuring words. “He’ll never see me and I’ll only make sure no bad guys see him.”

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me, and I walk alone

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone

“So much for this being a piece of cake,” huffing out the words grabbing for the second blanket and thermos filled with coffee. “Hmm cake that’s what I could use right now and a fucking bacon cheeseburger too.”

Passenger side door opening you reach for the 9 mm beside you, aiming it at the familiar brown head of Dean Winchester holding up a grease stained paper bag. “I come in peace and really don’t want to leave pieces plus I bring a peace offering up to the goddess,” soothing laughter edged voice comes from just outside the truck cab.

Thought you’d know that voice even in a crowded party with music thumping bass shaking the very roof shingles. “The fuck you doing Winchester I could’ve blown your head off.”

“Promise?” Wiggling his brow peeking in with that sinful signature smirk tugging at one corner of those plush lips. “Wanna lower that piece before you actually accidentally shoot me Dirty Harry?”

Tossing a balled up napkin at his head amazed at how quickly the same banter flows between you like old times. But it’s not old times and you’re not here to relive them. “How’d you know?”

“Sweetheart you maybe good but I’m still the best,” sliding into the bench seat of the truck, extending the greasy bag towards you. Keeping the door open a moment longer to take in your appearance, interior lighting doing shit for your complexion though to Dean you’re still beautiful as the day you walked out of his life.

Looking from the bag to Dean, “Letting all the cold air in dumb shit close the door,” huddling into the blankets deeper in the guise of trying to keep warm when in reality your shrinking away from Dean. “What’s in the bag?”

Slamming the aged door, hinges creaking in protest, “Thought you’d like something semi warm instead of jerky and lukewarm coffee.” Trying to study your features in the dim streetlamp light. Only catching shadows and angles from his position. Question’s and there’s a lot of them swirl inside his head. Most prominent one isn’t a question but a gut wrenching admission he wouldn’t voice to anyone other than himself.

“Never answered my question Winchester,” taking the offered bag as your stomach growled in hunger. Fresh French fries scented the air upon opening the brown bag. Immediately sticking a hand in and grabbing a few to stuff into your mouth. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome growly,” chuckling marveling at how somethings never change no matter how much time passes. “You always drive the same beat up pickup sweetheart. This might not be Bear,” patting the weathered dash broad in front of him. Affectionate smile tugging at his lips turning his glaze back towards you. “But you always find a truck just like him. Something wrong with yours? Finally gave up the ghost didn’t he?”

The genuine curiosity in his tone isn’t lost on you nor is the way he’s glancing in your direction while stuffing your face. “What something hanging from my mouth?” Wiping at your chin feeling a little self conscious under the weight of his stare.

“No sweetheart it’s just,” shaking his head adjusting himself, back pressed into the door, left leg bent foot dangling and wiggling, a sure sign his nerves are raging through his veins right now. “How’ve you been?”

Swallowing, hating the fact that your once close relationship has slipped into nothing. Remembering the promise — now broken — you made the last time in his presence. Though he knew nothing about it and most likely never really thought about you much after leaving. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from asking him to finish his first thought. You’re slow to answer, pretending to chew that last bite just a little longer to put off from answering. At a lost to what exactly to tell him. “Good…I’m good very good actually,” forcing the words out through a tightened jaw.

“Hmm,” knowing by your body posture, the constant darting of your eyes all tells him these are lies passing your lips. Part of him wants to know why? Why after almost a year with no visits did you happen to show up now? Suspicion riding him hard and demands the questions be answered. Though there’s that other side, the one he’s artfully kept carefully hidden ever since you stepped out of his life. The one telling him to pull you into his arms, hugging the very life from your body. Holding on to part of his former life one he missed if he wanted to be truthful with himself. Settling on, “Why are you here?”

“Pulling no punches I see Winchester,” bitting off his last name almost like a curse. Warmth of earlier gone with the devoured food now just a memory of greasy bag and dirty napkins. Catching the curt nod from the man himself you sit up straighter looking out over the quiet neighborhood. Carefully kept lawns and white picket fences, trash cans in hiding places and houses in the best shape the apple pie life a fantasy they’ve all talked about. But none manage to obtain till Dean, his name tasting bitter on your tongue. Unused after all those months passing like melting snowflakes. Not wanting to regain that familiarity with the man sitting opposite, eyes drilling unseen holes into the side of your head.

Flinching slightly, hating the way his last name is spit from your mouth like garbage. “You came here remember, your also the one who stayed away don’t lay that shit at my door Y/N.”

“Yes, but your,” turning, eyes flashing in anger towards him, “the one who walked away remember. You left this life, abandon Bobby and Cas… me.” Whispering the last part hoping he didn’t hear.

Scoffing, “I made a promise to Sam,” bitting the name out while trying to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t abandon anyone if anything you ditched me with no returned calls, texts or even a fucking visit.”

Hearing the bitterness that underlay the deep cadence in his voice, your head shakes trying to hold onto your anger. To not let out why you’re here nor the fact seeing him again after a year dredges up all those old feelings both those of insecurity and yearning. “Why would I stop by when I knew this would happen? When I’d see you with Her wishing for once you had chosen…” bitting your tongue, quickly turning away. “This was a mistake, get out of my truck Winchester.”

“No,” single word leaving those plush lips and making you whip around to stare at him. Mouth gapping like a fish out of water lungs burning for oxygen. “Not till you explain why you’re here. If it’s such a hardship to come why now?” Desperately wanting you to finish the thought but too afraid the answer would break his heart.

Only two things Dean Winchester regrets in his life, letting Sam dive into the pit with Lucifer trapped inside his body and you walking out of his life. Now he walks this life alone with no one truly beside him. Yes, Lisa’s there but unlike you, she doesn’t understand the nightmares, the constant need to double and triple check the windows and doors. The need to keep her and Ben safe always in the fore front of his mind. Many nights — though he’d never admit it — he’d lay awake wondering if he made the wrong choice.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Schooling your expression and turning towards him prepared to give an Oscar worthy performance not anticipating the lost expression in those whiskey fleck green eyes. Trying to keep the emotions from shaking the timber of your voice, “I’d been in the area figured I’d stop by say hi.” Swallowing harshly licking your dry lips slowly and diverting your eyes back towards the road. “Now I see it’s a mistake, you have a good life and I have mine. So kindly get the fuck out of my truck.”

“I call bullshit sweetheart,” moving closer, Dean reaches out to take the hand nearest and intertwine your fingers together. Familiar gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Touch of his hand searing into your skin like a brand scorching your very soul. “There hasn’t been a mysterious case in the area for over a hundred miles. Now you gonna tell me why you’ve drove out of the way to park on my street three houses down for the last three days?” For the first time in months feeling a peace enclose him like a warm blanket on a chilly winter’s morning. He desperate to keep that warmth to keep you but there’s a little voice in the back of his mind sneering at him ‘it’s too late you’ve lost.’

Eager to pull your hand free yet reluctance stills your movement as emotions swamp your mind with memories of years ago when the two of you still hunted together. Heart pounding a triple time rhythm one yours sure Dean could hear with being so close. Eyes close in a desperate bid to reign in those feelings, to give nothing away and leave just as stoically as last time. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Call it what you want Winchester but it’s the truth,” yanking your hand from his to cross arms over your chest. “I don’t care if it’s not the answer you want it’ll be the only one I gave. So I ask, no demand that you get the fuck outta my truck,” last few words hissed through clinched teeth.

And just like that cold water is poured over his head dousing the feelings bubbling up. For the best, his mind screams while turning to reach for the door. “Just so you know sweetheart I never abandoned you, would never I just didn’t think I could give you the life your deserve. I choose the easy way out because even if it doesn’t work with Her at least I would leave with my heart.” Door creaking when opened, Dean stepped from the aged truck slamming it behind him. Sam’s voice in his mind admonishing him for the chick flick moment of weakness.

Each step he took away from your truck tore his heart to shreds. Inter-monologue fighting between cursing at him and knowing that it’s for the best. Pausing for a moment to look back seeing no movement he wonders and not for the first time if he’ll ever see you again. One last look and he turns away back towards his house, not home because you weren’t there and without you and Sam it didn’t feel like home.

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge, and where I walk alone

Read between the lines

What's fucked up, and everything's alright

Check my vital signs

To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone

Siting in stunned silence searching for what to do if going after Dean is the best course of action or just starting up your truck to drive away is better. Either way would break your heart. Dean’s with Lisa and you’d never make him choose. Never put those kind of demands on the man you love. For a moment longer you sit in silent contemplation wanting to rage at the world, to burn it to the ground and let the remains scatter across the four winds. Head dropping against the steer wheel for a moment till movement catches your eye, someone lurking just outside the well kept community.

Eyes narrowing, scooping up the night vision goggles, a gift from a certain brown eyed FBI agent you helped out of situation a couple of months ago in Texas with a haunted painting. Scanning the area closely, finally coming to rest on a man who out of place. Soft curses falling from your lips. Reaching for the cell to pull up Sam’s number.

“Green light Sammy get your ass down here now seems we got a pest problem luring about.” Tracking the suspicious male till he sprints of at inhuman rate of speed. Pulling the goggles of to toss them beside the empty brown bah.

“Be there by night fall tomorrow Y/N. Dean make you yet?” Weariness in his tone makes you wonder just what he’s up to.

Wanting to lie though deciding against pulling a page from the Winchester play book, “Sadly but nothings leaked just hurry your ass up.” Hanging up to toss the phone into the seat next to you, settling in for a very long night of watching.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah

I walk alone, I walk a-

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

#decadeundertheinfluencechallenge #Dean Winchester x Female Reader #Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader #Dean Winchester x F!Reader #Sequel to Her

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chubbybuckydumpling · 4 years ago

Text

Christmas Biscuits

words: 2287

warnings: swear words, a tiny bit of angst, mentions of death (this sounds kinda bad, but it’s actually really fluffy)

A/n: this is my first ever fic and I’m really insecure about my writing. Please be kind 🥺💖 (gif is not mine)

Writing challenge by @mypoisonedvine

“This one, daddy, this one!” Bucky chuckles as he looks towards his toddler, who sits on the kitchen isle in front of a box full of biscuit cutters. The three year old holds up a huge reindeer cutter and smiles toothily at her father.

“Dude, it's way too big. We won't even be able to fit four of those on one baking tray. Why do we even have one this large?” The teenager stands to the left of her sister and looks at Bucky with a questioning gaze. Her hair is lazily put into a low bun and an ugly Christmas jumper adorns her body.

“Eileen, don't call your sister 'dude'”, the teen rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, “Whatever” He makes his way towards the toddler and gently takes the reindeer out of her hands, while sending his oldest a warning look. “You heard your sister, baby. Let's choose some smaller ones” he explains and pulls the box towards himself.

His eyes fall on a Mickey Mouse biscuit cutter and a smile takes over his face. He grabs the desired object and places it on the isle, “When your sister was in kindergarten she made this all by herself. We use these every year. They are very special to me”. The little girl holds up the cutter to inspect it and then looks to Bucky. “Special?”, she asks.

He nods and watches as his youngest daughter holds the cutter towards her big sister. “We use this one, yes Isla?” Eileen smiles, accepts the object and places it on the counter next to the dough. She shakes her head lightly and grins at her father, “I can't believe you've kept this all these years”

Bucky shrugs and continues searching the box for appropriate biscuit cutters. “You gifted this to me, of course I kept it. You looked so proud when you brought this home, I'll never forget. Also, I'm pretty sure your father would have beheaded me if I even thought about throwing this away”, he pauses, just for some seconds, “We were probably as proud as you, if not more”. Bucky fetches a star and a smaller reindeer biscuit cutter out of the box and hands them to the toddler.

Eileen hums before turning towards her little sister, “Do you like ones dad chose, Sarah?”. She nods and holds her arms up, silently demanding to be carried. The older girl obliges and puts the toddler on her hip, so that they can add the new cutters to the counter.

Bucky joins his children with another biscuit cutter and the dough in his hands. He places both items down and grabs the rolling pin to flatten out the dough. “I remember how much papa loved baking biscuits. He'd always let me decorate them, even though he was so much better at it”, Eileen says while putting Sarah on the counter and holding her waist, in case she'll fall down. She eyes Bucky hesitantly.

He stops for a moment to collect himself and then forces a smile on his face, “He always loved everything you did. You were his little superstar. There wasn't a thing you could have done wrong. You've always been his pride and joy”. Bucky continues rolling the dough, “He always felt bad about actually eating them. He couldn't bear to destroy your art”

“That's what I've got you for though!”, his oldest giggles and gently pinches Bucky's tummy, which makes him release a high pitched shriek. Sarah begins to laugh loudly at her father's silliness and tries to tickle him as well. The man however grabs her hand and pulls her little body towards his chest. He quickly presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, I think we can start cutting. Sarah, baby, do you want daddy to help you?” The young girl nods and claps her hands in an excited manner, “Please, daddy!” Bucky grins and encourages his youngest daughter to choose a cutter. Eileen quickly fishes for her Mickey Mouse one, a smile upon her lips. Sarah takes her time to think, before she carefully picks out the star shape. “Good choice, bug!”

The family spends some time on cutting and baking multiple batches of biscuits, laughing and smiling. After a couple minutes, Eileen starts to play a Christmas playlist to which they sing to. Time was flying and soon they found themselves ready to decorate their goodies.

Bucky forces Sarah to put on an apron and ties her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail. Eileen mixes different coloured icings and opens some sprinkles and edible glitter. Her father eyes the glitter and sighs, “This is going to end in a mess, right?” The older girl smiles sheepishly and her father accepts his defeat.

“Alright then girls, let's get going”. Eileen takes on the job of delicately dipping the biscuits into the icing while Bucky desperately tries to stop his toddler from pouring a whole bag of sprinkles over one single biscuit. And like anticipated, once Sarah finds the glitter, it's over. There's glitter everywhere. In his hair, in his children's hair, on the counter, the floor and of course, on the baked goods.

Once they finished all the biscuits and stored them, Bucky leans against the counter, utterly exhausted. His eyes drift to the clock. It's already 6 pm and he still needs to cook dinner. Upon seeing his father so tired, Eileen slides next to him and places a hand on his, “How about we order some food? We can even choose something healthy, if you want to” He raises his eyebrows, “Healthy you say?”. She nods and Bucky narrows his eyes, “Who are you and what have you done to my teen?”

His dramatic reaction causes her to snort and shake her head. “Well, do you want me to order something or not?”

———

After devouring some nice Italian cuisine and doing a whole lot of dishes, everyone is laying on the couch, tired, yet satisfied. “I'm glad baking biscuits is an annual occurrence. This shit is way to exhausting”, Eileen yawns out and cuddles up to her father, who lifts up an arm to pull her towards him. Sarah is already fast asleep on his belly. Bucky gives his oldest a warning nudge for using a swear word, but quickly presses a kiss to her temple afterwards.

“Papa hated when I swore. And he always heard it too! I could have been on the moon for all I care and he would have still known”, she complains with a light smile on her face. Bucky chuckles and begins to play with her hair, “You could always hear him yell 'Language!' whenever someone used a bad word”. He sighs, “Your father was a good man. He only wished for the best for you and your sister”. Eileen remains silent.

“Are we going to visit papa tomorrow?”, she asks after a while. Bucky nods, “I was planning on doing so. Is that okay with you?”. The teenager mumbles a quiet 'yes' and yawns again. “Alright, my love. I think it's time for bed” She grumbles, but uses one of her hands to stroke some hair from her eyes. Sitting up, she yawns again and presses a kiss to her father's cheek, “Good night, dad. I love you”

“I love you too, dear. Sweet dreams”, he calls out to her retreating figure. The shine of the vanilla candles illuminates her form and Bucky can't help the warm feeling in his chest. Eileen grew up to be such a beautiful young woman and he realises again just how proud he is. Proud of her responsibility, her independence and her love for herself. It hasn't always been easy for her and she still pulled through to be her best self, which he can't help but admire.

Before he can get too emotional, Bucky gets up as well, careful to not disrupt his daughter's sleep. He blows out the candles, the smoke filling his nostrils with an overwhelming smell of vanilla. Steve always insisted on buying exactly these candles, for they calmed his mind enough to sketch a little, and really, how could Bucky ever deny his love? Now they are a reminder of him. His scent and laugh, the sound of his pencils scratching his paper, the feel of his lips on Bucky's own.

He shakes his head to rid himself of these thoughts and makes his way up the stairs into Sarah's room. He tucks her into the tiny bed and kisses her forehead, “Good night, baby. Sweet dreams. Daddy loves you”, he whispers.

On the wall across the door is the wall painting Steve made before their youngest daughter was born. He was so excited to meet her and made it his goal to create the most beautiful nursery for her. The underwater scene displays so much of Steve's character, from the way he carefully handled the brush to his determined, strong strokes. Bucky is happy that Sarah has this reminder of her papa, especially because she never had the chance to meet him.

He sneaks out of her room, switching on her night light on his way out. One of his hands rests on his soft belly and squeezes the fat that has collected there. A yawn ripples through him which makes him move to his own bedroom. There, the walls are shining in a light orange which creates an illusion of a bigger room, or so Steve used to say.

Bucky unzips his jeans and throws them on the growing pile of dirty clothes on the floor. He'll have to do laundry soon. His soft jumper joins his trousers, leaving Bucky in some grey boxer briefs. Too tired to bother putting on pyjamas, Bucky lets himself fall into the king sized bed, which stretches under his weight. He turns to his night stand and reaches for the framed picture that rests upon it. His fingers run over the soft wood of the frame, a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, Steve”, he sighs. Suddenly, his strong exterior is quickly crumbling and Bucky's lips begin to tremble. He takes a deep breath. “I miss you so much”, his voice is shaky from his efforts to hold back the tears. “I wish you were still here: Oh god, Steve”. He begins to cry, sobs echoing off of the walls, tears rolling down his puffy cheeks. The picture slides out of his hands and falls onto the bed. Bucky covers his face and tries to muffle the sounds escaping.

It's been over three years since, but he can''t move on. He can't and he won't, wouldn't dare to. Bucky is exhausted, mentally and physically. He's trying to be strong, for Eileen, for Sarah, for Steve. These children are Steve's biggest treasure and Bucky is going to make sure they are happy and safe. It's what Steve would have wanted and he can't fail him.

He tries to wipe the tears away, but new ones follow immediately. “Fuck Steve, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done more”, Bucky cries and pulls the framed photo to his chest, curling around it as if he were to protect it, “I wish it would have been me!”. Sobs continue to roll through his body. He tries to breathe through his nose, to be calm and controlled, but the piercing ache in his heart continues to make him cry out. His soft belly shakes with each agonized shudder and every heartbreaking sob.

Once he's finally calmed down, he dries his cheeks and presses his lips to Steve's picture. The cold glass a stark contrast to Bucky's warm lips. Immediately, it begins to fog up under the man's hot breath. His fingers find their wedding rings, which he is wearing on a chain around his neck, and play with them. The metallic sounds when they bump into each other fills the void room and aid Bucky into finally resting. Just before he falls asleep, the words “with you 'till the end of the line” fall from his lips.

———

The next day, the Rogers-Barnes family is bundled up in thick, fluffy coats, scarves and hats to fight against the biting cold. They are cuddled up on a picnic blanket and warm their hands with cups of hot chocolate. Their breath fogs up the icy air and the smell of biscuits is prominent. Bucky looks down to Eileen who is feeding Sarah a reindeer treat. He smiles.

“Do you like your biscuits, baby?”. The toddler nods enthusiastically and offers the rest of her half eaten goodie to her father, a big, toothy grin on her face. He grins mischievously and eats the whole biscuit in one bite, which makes the younger girl gasps dramatically before bursting out in giggles, “Silly daddy!”

Eileen smirks and joins in, “Yes, silly daddy. He will never lose some pounds this way” Her hand pats his belly after she squeezes his admittedly pudgy cheeks, “but that's what we love you for, right Sarah?” The addressed girl nods, already on her next biscuit. Bucky smiles widely and throws an arm over his oldest and pulls her to his chest, “I know you're just jealous of my dad bod”, his hands stroke over his tummy in an appreciative manner. The teen hums an agreement and cuddles herself closer to her father.

“I guess your hugs have increased in efficiency”. The chubby man grins and kisses both of his daughters' heads. “Your papa loved it too. He'd always give me some nice belly rubs”, he tells her before looking over to the grave they are sitting next to,”isn't that right, Stevie?”

If you liked this or didn’t, please leave some feedback, it would mean the world to me 🥺

Be added to my tag list here :)

#myfestivevine #chubby!bucky #dad!bucky #chubby!dad!bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #stucky #stucky fic #parents!stucky #bucky barnes needs a hug

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jensengirl83 · 4 years ago

Text

Regret and Redemption Chapter 7

Dean x reader

Mechanic!AU

Word Count-2264

Warnings-Angst, language, heartbreak

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

A/N- Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89

To say Dean had a bad week was an understatement. Sam had told him that Stacy had filed a lawsuit against him and his business, he still missed his wife, and now he needed to sign his divorce papers. He had been putting off signing them since Sam had been there earlier that week. Signing them meant his marriage was over, that Y/N would no longer be his wife, and he would be alone for good. Alone. That was one of his biggest fears.

Dean always had the tough guy exterior but was actually a very complex man. He never liked to show his emotions, but they were there, and when Dean felt something, he felt it deeply. His Dad had been a hardass man, and Dean had always felt that was how he needed to be. He learned early on to just push down his feelings and be a man, or what people thought a man should be. It wasn’t just his emotions that Dean kept hidden, he also hid what an intelligent man he was. He never felt the need to broadcast it to everyone. He knew what he could do and that was enough.

He also had his fears that he kept to himself. That was one of the reasons he was in the mess he was in now. Dean had never thought highly of himself despite the cocky front he put on. He always thought that he was never good enough. He wasn’t a good enough son, brother, husband, etc. His insecurities fueled his need for the booze and women, seeking gratification any way he could find it. If he could have only curbed his self-loathing and been what Y/N needed and deserved, she would still be there, a fact that made him hate himself more and more every day.

Dean sat on his couch, whiskey in hand, as was his usual routine now. His eyes were drawn to the unsigned papers laying on the coffee table where they had been since he received them. He glared down at them as he clenched his jaw in anger and frustration, thinking on what he should do when his phone broke his train of thought. The face on the screen had made his mind up for him.

“I signed the damn papers Y/N! Your lawyer will have them in the morning!” Dean yelled and hung up the phone. He knew that was the reason why she had called in the first place.

Dean stood and threw his whiskey glass against the wall as he looked around for a pen. If a divorce was what she wanted, then that was what she was going to fucking get. Dean was at the end of his rope and just wanted everything to be over so he could mourn for what he lost in peace. He grabbed the papers from the coffee table and slammed them against the wall, signing his name furiously before throwing them and the pen to the couch. Dean grabbed his jacket and keys before storming out the door. He needed to let his frustration and anger out on someone, and he knew exactly where to go.

Y/N stared at her phone like it had burned her. She called to ask about the papers, but was his reaction really necessary? Her eyes had begun to glisten with unshed tears, her heart aching at the news he had signed the papers. Of course, she wanted him to sign them and get the divorce over with, but it was still painful to think that it was all over now. Her relationship with the man she had loved for so long was now going to be just a memory. Y/N began to pour herself a drink when her phone started to ring. She rushed over to answer and saw it was her editor.

“Hello Steven,” Y/N answered as she went back to pouring her drink.

“Hi Y/N. Are you free for lunch one day this week so we can discuss where you are in your latest novel?” he asked.

“Uh, sure. What day would be good for you?” she asked as she bit down on her bottom lip. She hoped to get a little more time to get caught up with her writing.

“How about tomorrow? I’m in town and could meet you at Harvelle’s,” Steven said, and Y/N could hear something in his voice.

“That’s fine. I can meet you there at one o’clock. Will that be ok?” Y/N asked.

“That’s fine! See you tomorrow Y/N,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Y/N hung her head and groaned. She was so far behind on her writing since all of this happened and she wasn’t looking forward to being bitched at. Everyone at her publishing company knew what had happened thanks to Dean’s stunt at her launch party, but she had been letting it get to her and interfere with her career. She wasn’t on a time limit to finish, but she knew they wouldn’t be happy to know that she had fallen behind.

Y/N made her way back into the kitchen and filled her glass with brandy. She had never been much of a drinker, but she had always appreciated a good strong liquor, especially these last few months. She never imagined this would be her life. If someone had told her two years ago that she and Dean would be in the middle of a divorce, she would’ve laughed at them. She wasn’t laughing now; nothing about her life funny at all. When they got married, she thought she would be a mother by now. Funny how life has a way of flushing your hopes and dreams down the toilet. Y/N threw back her drink, finishing it in one gulp, and decided to go to bed and end this shitty day.

Dean pulled up to the curb and slammed the door to the Impala. He never would’ve done this, but he was too pissed to think about it. He felt the grass give under the weight of his boots as he made his way to his destination. He didn’t come here often, but today he had things to say to the man that helped to make him the way he was. John’s tombstone came into sight and Dean’s legs felt like they were going to buckle beneath him, the weight of the emotion and unsaid words between him and his dead father bearing down on him. Dean collapsed to his knees in front of the stone marker. The words he had always wanted to say began to spill out of him like the tears that were spilling down his cheeks.

“How dare you! How could you do this to me Dad?!” Dean yelled at the tombstone in front of him.

“You always told me to act like a man. No one wants to hear a cry baby. Well, guess what I’ve learned Dad? MEN CAN SHOW EMOTIONS TOO!” he screamed as he furiously wiped the tears from his face.

“I’ve lost the only person who will ever truly love me for who I am because I let you get in my fucking head! I was always your little soldier huh? Always did what dad said, followed orders without question. Look at where that got me!” Dean couldn’t hold anything back as he continued to yell at his dead father.

“Why Dad? Why was I never good enough for you? Mom would love to know some of the things you said to me when I was young, raising me to be a man’s man. Well, that worked out great for you! Your reputation as John Winchester, the great mechanic, husband, and father is still intact while my life and marriage are falling apart!” Dean hung his head and sobbed but continued to speak.

“I can’t blame you for everything, now can I? You didn’t make me fuck those women. I did that on my own, but I can blame you for my low self-esteem and self-worth, and I do! It’s obvious now the only thing I did right that you thought was a good idea was to watch out for Sammy and ask Y/N to marry me,” Dean said as he looked back up to the name engraved on the granite in front of him.

“You’ll never know how much I wish that I would have been the son you wanted, Dad. Maybe you could’ve just been proud of me instead of screwing me up for life! I’ll always love you Dad, but you were a horrible fucking father!” Dean growled as he stood to walk away.

“I will never forgive you for how you made me feel about myself, but I guess I’m partially to blame for that. See you on the other side,” Dean said as he turned his back and walked away.

Dean had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t noticed that someone had walked up during his screaming. Mary had been coming to place new flowers on her husband’s grave when she heard the yelling. Dean’s words had her speechless and she had hidden behind a tree to listen to the rest of what he had to say. She had never known that Dean felt that way about himself and it broke her heart. As she watched her oldest son get in his car and drive away, she knew what she needed to do.

Dean made it back home and took off his jacket when something fell out onto the floor. He looked down to see a piece of paper with something taped to it. He bent down to pick it up and his heart stopped when he realized what it was. Y/N had a charm made for him when they got married to add to the necklace that Sam had given him when they were younger. The charm had gotten lost and he never thought he would see it again. He pulled the perfect replica of the Impala from the paper and opened the letter.

Dean,

I’m not sure when you will see this, but I wanted to surprise you. I know you thought that you would never see this again, but I had it remade for you. I hope you love it! You deserve the world, but I hope this will be enough to show you how much you mean to me! Now that you had the clasp on the necklace fixed, you shouldn’t have to worry about losing it again. I know you love Baby almost as much as you love me, so I wanted her to be close to your heart again where she belongs. I love you, Dean Winchester! Forever and always yours my love.

Y/N

Dean held the charm in his hand as the note ripped his heart to shreds. Y/N always dated every note she had written to him, and this one had been dated almost seven months ago. He was so wrapped up in himself and feeding his need for reassurance that he hadn’t even checked his pockets. That was something she always did, left sweet notes in his jacket pockets. If Dean felt like shit about everything before, now it was tenfold. She had replaced something that meant the world to him and he had never even noticed. Dean unclasped his necklace and slid the small silver car where she had once been. Dean made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of whiskey. He had no intention of even pretending that he was ok.

Y/N woke up the next morning to pour herself her first cup of coffee when her phone vibrated on the counter, getting her attention. She turned to see that she had a text from her uncle. She opened her phone to read it and felt her heart begin to ache with the words on the screen.

Uncle Johnnie: Dean’s brother sent the divorce papers over this morning. They are signed and we have a court date two weeks from now to have it finalized. I pulled some strings and had it pushed up so you can get this over with. I love you, honey.

Y/N felt the tears trying to form in her eyes. This was it, everything was going to be over in two weeks. It was a bittersweet moment. She was happy that everything would be done so she could move on, but she was sad to see the end of the marriage she thought would last forever. Y/N let herself shed the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She closed her eyes and let the emotions overtake her. She would always grieve for the man and the marriage she had, but now she had to move on and live her own life. Her phone buzzed with another text, and she looked to see what her uncle was saying now. She was shocked to see that it wasn’t her uncle that had texted her this time.

Mary: Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, and I understand, but Dean is not doing so well, and I hoped we could talk about what exactly happened. He has me very worried and I can’t get him to tell me much of anything. I will always think of you as my daughter, Y/N. I truly hope you will message me back and let me say what I need to tell you.

@flamencodiva @sorenmarie87 @foxyjwls007 @waywardbeanie @emoryhemsworth @voltage-my2dlove @hardcoresupernatural @msmarvelouswinchester @lyarr24 @deanmonandnegansbitch @akshi8278 @midsummereve1993 @sutton2001 @emory91 @halesandy @miss-nerd95 @ellewritesfix05 @bxbyizzy @winchest09 @adoptdontshoppets @defenderrosetyler @hobby27 @whatareyousearchingfordean @talesmaniac89 @deanwanddamons @atc74 @superfanficnatural @smol-and-grumpy @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @squirrelnotsam @tatted-trina6 @xhannahbananax03 @coffeebooksandfandom @nihilismworld @winchester-wifey @mrsfox79 @malfoysqueen14 @moron225 @deans-baby-momma @lovelyrocker @fablesrose @queenofchaos7 @maralisa124 @deangirl93 @aimee-ginge @anathewierdo @donnaintx

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester series #dean au #mechanic au #supernatural family #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn famdom #spn family #reader insert #Regret and Redemption

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masterofmaagnetism · 4 years ago

Text

A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 9

[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

NightBon’s silence was starting to get suspicious, and Cane was 90% sure that if it could grin, it would.

Even with the underlying fear of what it was planning, he held his ground. Besides, ignoring the monster had been doing wonders for his focus. He’d managed to find out that there was, in fact, a Christopher Afton that had been bitten at Fredbear’s Family diner, so all he needed now was if the nightmares had plagued him before the bite or if they hadn’t haunted Chris at all, instead attacking his brother, who they simply thought was him.

The nightmares couldn’t have possibly happened after the bite- from what Cane could tell, the poor kid’s frontal lobe had been bitten clean off, therefore removing his ability to feel fear or even dream.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” he heard NightBon begin to whine from the living room, rolling his eyes at its ability to underestimate him constantly. It was sad though, how quickly NightBon got bored of staying quiet. He was enjoying the peace.

“I sure can,” he muttered under his breath, perking up at the sound of snickering. He assumed NightBon was sitting on the bed behind him, until he noticed the quiet sound of whispering.

He slowly turned around, both surprised and somehow not when he saw the monstrous bear from his nightmares sitting on his bed, three much smaller bears sitting on various parts of him.

To be honest, Cane had always been rather chill with this one. He’d never seen the inside of Freddy, as far as he remembered, so even the nightmarish version seemed chill enough that he didn’t instill the same fear in him.

“Oh, so you’re finally coming out to play, huh?” he questioned, gaining another chuckle from the bear. He only now noticed that the bed didn’t dip with the weight of the animatronic, despite the fact that he was huge, proving that they couldn’t make themselves solid.

His attention was immediately caught by the bear’s hand (paw?) moving though, and his gaze stayed locked on it as Freddy moved it up to his mouth, holding his index finger up to his maw as a signal to stay quiet.

“We wouldn’t want Bonnie to come charging in, now would we?” he teased, his voice a low rumble and somehow more comforting than horrifying, the exact opposite of Nightbon’s voice.

Wait. If he didn’t want NightBon hearing… “It doesn’t know I can see you, does it?” Cane asked, his voice lowered to a near whisper. He’d learned that NightBon’s hearing was shit, so he didn’t need to make his voice any softer than this.

Freddy shook his head, his cubs noticing and copying the movement in their own frantic little way. “I’m the only other one strong enough to appear, but it’s rather amusing to watch it fumble from afar.”

“I’m guessing y’all aren’t exactly… friends. At least, not anymore?” God was he glad Freddy would answer his questions, NightBon had been less than helpful after it first appeared.

Freddy nodded again, tilting his head slightly when a grin flashed across Cane’s face. “Oh, sorry, I don’t- I’m not happy y’all aren’t friends anymore, it’s just so nice to have someone cooperative instead of that jackass.”

The chuckle that came from Freddy this time was a low, amused rumble, one that almost made Cane feel… safe. Interesting how that worked.

Before either of them could say anything, the alarm on Cane’s phone that he set for leaving to go to work went off, causing the human to jump and the bear to just give it a curious look.

Cane quickly shut it off, shoving his phone in his pocket and making sure he had everything. “Hey,” he said, catching Freddy’s attention again, “I’m not calling you Freddy. I’ll come up with a name for you when I get back, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply grabbing his bag and darting out the bedroom door. He kissed Cheesy Dip on the head as a goodbye before heading out the front door, not even checking to make sure NightBon was following.

---

He could already tell something was off when he got to the diner that day. Scrap was nowhere to be found, and the animatronics were switched on.

Well, Sequin and Salem were switched on, he hadn’t been to the other two rooms yet.

Sequin was the obvious singer of the two. She was actually the shortest of the four, standing at only 6 foot while the others were 7 foot. Still, she was his second favourite, seeing as snakes were his favourite animal.

She was actually the most ambitious of the animatronics, since she didn’t have legs. No, her lower half was all snake. It wasn’t likely she’d leave the stage because of it, but it was incredible, and the way it moved made her almost seem like a real snake.

She was also the most muted of the group, being made out of a dark brown metal. Her eyes, however, were a bright yellow. Scrap told him it was because it made it look like she had little suns in her eyes. Azriel said it was actually because it made her look more snakelike.

Salem, on the other hand, was the only other mammal, being an opossum and all. Their “fur” was a greyish cream colour, and they did actually have fur, sort of. It felt like fur, but he knew it was just that fake fur that all animatronics got.

Their eyes were a deep brown, bordering on black, but they always had this playful glint to them. They were programmed to move off the stage, according to Azriel, so they had to look approachable.

But at this moment, neither of them looked anywhere near approachable.

And then they looked at him.

Canetheus turned on his heel without hesitation, heading out of the room so fast that it almost looked like he was running. This had to be a prank of some sort, Azriel and Scrap were just messing with him.

That seemed pretty plausible, until he ran into a hard, cold chest. He froze, unable to look up at the animatronic that was now holding him by the arms, making it impossible to move away from the metallic chest.

Cane had never been scared of Spade before, but now he was wishing he’d never even looked at the bat.

“You’re smarter than the nightguard,” he whispered, leaning down closer to Cane. “For that, I’ll give you a headstart. The office is in the back of the building. Let’s see if you can make it.”

The second he was released, Cane took off toward the back, running faster than he even knew he could. He could hear Sequin laughing, probably at how scared he was, and only vaguely noted that it sounded a lot more human than the programmed laugh he was used to.

He made it to the office in record time, glancing around for anything he could defend himself with. No weapons, unfortunately, but he could close the doors on either side of him, and the vent behind him.

And, thank god, there was a camera system. If this was what the nightguard went through every night, he’d have to congratulate them later on surviving literal hell.

That is, if he survived.

---

NightBon was losing it as it watched Cane dash through the halls of the diner towards his only hope of surviving, gaining a harsh glare from Spade.

“What? This is hilarious! He’s gonna WISH he only had to deal with me after this!” it exclaimed, a little disappointed when Spade just rolled his eyes and returned to his stage, getting ready to run for that office too.

It could only assume Spade thought it was going a little too far just for some attention, but it decided to ignore that little fact. After all, Cane had let it in, and it was only fair that he stop trying to block it back out.

So what if it could possibly be making things worse, all it knew is that if he was scared of the monsters in real life, he would be more open to the monsters in his mind, aka NightBon.

Right?

#nightbon not realizing he has a crush on cane: [ surprised pikachu ]#self ship fic #self shipping #scrap.writing #canetheus freeman #gonna start tagging the animatronics as a whole now #salem and the gang #nightmare bonnie #nightmare freddy #nightmare freddy came out too nice and now i'm in love with him

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and-it-freezes-me · 4 years ago

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Smashed Cups

Summary: After the way he freaked out on Tuesday, there’s no way Juniper can leave his room again. Not when his housemates might see him - they must think him a freak.

Word count: 2.5k

Content warnings: panic attack, insufficient eating, self-deprecating thoughts, anxiety

If you think anything else needs to be added, please let me know!

It was six o’clock, and he was hungry. Half past six. Seven. Seven o’clock, and he was listening at his door, trying to figure out if there was anybody in the kitchen. He couldn’t tell - the kitchen was downstairs, after all. Better not risk it. Eight o’clock. Half past eight. His stomach had been complaining quietly for the past five hours, ever since it had realised that he had skipped lunch; it was starting to get hard to ignore. Twenty minutes later, he heard the sound of footsteps passing his door - he definitely couldn’t go out now. What if they were still in the corridor? What if they saw him? He couldn’t let them see him. And then it was after nine, and they’d all be curled up on the couch together, and they’d see him if he tried to sneak past to get to the kitchen. Half nine. Ten. They’d still be there. What if they fell asleep on the couch?

And suddenly it was midnight. He couldn’t go down to get some food now. What if he knocked into something, or dropped a plate and woke everyone up?

No, he should wait until tomorrow. It wasn’t a big deal.

With a small groan, Juniper stood, and realised that his legs had taken the opportunity of his being curled up against his bedroom door for the last few hours to cramp up. Typical.

Not bothering to undress, the brunet climbed into bed and pulled his duvet up to his ears. The weight of the covers calmed him a little, and he suddenly realised how tired he was. Juniper had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, and adrenaline had been spiking through him all day. Now, though - now he could relax. Nobody was going to come looking for him in the early hours of the morning to tease or ridicule or worse, treat him as though he were made of glass. Sleep slipped over him like a shroud: dark, warm, empty of light or dreams.

The next morning, his head felt full of sand, and he was aware from the moment he awoke that his stomach was empty. What time was it? Rolling over with a quiet groan, he peered at the glowing green digits of the clock on the cabinet beside his bed: 06:27. Half six. Too early. Maybe nobody else would be awake yet - it was only the start of term, so it wasn’t as though anybody would be getting up early to prepare for a long day of classes, or else to start revising early to make sure they had a free evening. Actually, half six was pretty early to wake up even during the middle of term.

If he was going to go to get something to eat today, now would be a good time. If he was lucky, Juniper would be able to grab enough to last him for the rest of the day - then he wouldn’t need to risk going back down to the kitchen at all. It wasn’t as though he would need to be anywhere today, after all. There was nothing wrong with hiding out for another day. Nothing wrong at all.

Despite reassuring himself that nobody would be awake to hear him, his heart was pounding in his throat as he pushed open the slightly creaky bedroom door and tip-toed across the hallway to the stairs. The small house was almost completely silent, which made the squeak of the third step of the staircase uncomfortably loud: almost enough to drive Juniper back to his room, but not quite. His stomach was protesting its emptiness quite loudly, after all - and he was suddenly half-remembering an article he might have read last year, something about the stomach starting to digest itself if left without food for too long?

The tiles of the kitchen floor were freezing on his bare feet.

Maybe he should get something to drink while he was down here, too. If he could get enough caffeine into his system, maybe he’d be able to go over enough lecture notes to justify not having left his room since Tuesday. If anybody asked, he’d have proof that he wasn’t avoiding them, per se, proof that they didn’t need to feel guilty about not wanting him around because he was very busy anyway, and-

Focus.

First things first, cereal. There was a half-empty pack of cornflakes in Jupiter’s kitchen cupboard; he got halfway through pouring a bowl for himself before giving up and stuffing a handful into his mouth, swallowing before he had even half finished chewing. They were uncomfortably scratchy against his dry throat, but that didn’t stop him from inhaling another two fistfuls before pausing for breath.

He had just stacked an apple and an orange on top of the small pile of food in his arms (featuring the cornflake pack, four slices of bread, a tin of tuna, two bags of crisps, and a bottle of water) and picked up his coffee awkwardly in the more free of his two hands when someone cleared their throat behind him. “Ju? What are you doing?”

Juniper choked on a fresh mouthful of cornflakes. One hand rose automatically to cover his mouth as he coughed, and the mug of coffee fell to the floor and shattered. Boiling liquid splashed over his frozen feet. “Sh- Shit! J- Jacks, I - shit!”

The food in his arms had cascaded after the coffee as he turned, landing among the shards of broken china and hot, dark liquid. The tall figure in the doorway moved forward and Juniper took a step backward, his heart already in his throat as he swallowed the last fragments of cereal.

“Ju, are-”

“I - I’ll be out of your way in a second, let me just clean up, I-”

“Ju, stop, it’s-”

“It - it was my mug, it’s not a problem, I didn’t think anyone would be up - I didn’t mean to bother you, I’ll be gone in just a-” He was rambling, already crouching to start scooping food back into his arms, the bread turning to mush under his shaking hands and the words on the back of the crisp packet beginning to blur as his breathing quickened. How could he have forgotten? Jacks was usually up first. It must be later than he thought it was, and now he had screwed up again, twice already this morning, three times if the horrible, sick feeling in his stomach grew any worse, he-

“Juniper.” Hands landed on his shoulders, and he flinched backward automatically. Looking up, he saw the thick rims of Jacks’ glasses, a frown furrowing the forehead above them. They were mad - he had screwed up and they were mad and now he was freaking out in front of them and his heart was hammering in his chest and he could barely breathe - “Juniper. It’s okay. It’s just a mug. Relax.”

“Nonononono, I - I’m sorry, I - I’ve ju-just gotta - I’m fuh-fine, I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine I’m-” There was no way Jacks was going to be convinced by that, but Juniper’s mouth kept going, seemingly detached from the rest of his brain. His shoulders were hunched to his ears and his hands had clenched into fists and-

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay, Ju. How about we just breathe, yeah? Just for a minute. Breathe with me, that’s it. Ready?” Jacks’ voice was even, and even though Juniper shook his head his brain latched onto the words.

“Can’t - can’t, I’m fine, fine, I’m-”

“That’s okay. Let’s just try it. Ready? In. Two, three, four, and out, two, three…” But Juniper barely made it past two before exhaling again in an unsteady rush, a dry sob tearing itself from his chest. “It’s okay. No biggie. In, two, three, four… And out. Two, three, that’s okay, Ju, and in, two…”

“- I - I’m suh - I’m sorry - I’m-” There was a gentle pressure on his hands, Juniper realised suddenly - Jacks was squeezing his fists. This wasn’t how Jacks wanted to spend their time. This wasn’t how anyone would want to spend their time. He was ruining everything. Again. He couldn’t even get some food without messing up, he was just -

“In, two, three, four… You’re safe, Ju, just breathe… three, four, and out, two… That’s it… in, two, three, four…”

Juniper wasn’t sure how long they had been sat there, him hunched and shaking but gradually managing to time his breathing to his housemate’s quiet counting, Jacks cross-legged and calm, cold coffee staining trousers and feet alike, when there was movement by the door. It was obvious the second the newcomer saw the mess he had made, and Juniper felt the panic swirling back up his throat again as he flinched backward. Not someone else seeing him like this. He couldn’t bear the idea that Jacks was here for this, let alone the idea of anybody else watching him tear to pieces.

“J, what’s - fuck, what the fuck? Juniper, are-”

“Come back later, Noah. Everything’s going to be okay. That’s it, Ju, just focus on me, it’s okay…”

“Are you sure? I can clean up - fuck, you need help and-”

“Go away, Noah. Go back to bed.”

“No, I - I want to help, J, Ju, what can I do?”

Jacks seemed to know what Juniper was thinking even before he started shaking his head, ragged breathing shifting back toward unsteady gasps as the iron bands around his chest tightened. “Fuck. Off, Noah.”

Silence. Silence, other than his panicked breathing and his quiet sobs and - and then footsteps, and the blurry figure in the doorway was gone. Jacks exhaled slowly before turning back to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, and guilt rose like bile in Juniper’s throat.

“I - I’m sorry - Juh- Jacks, he’s - you shuh - shouldn’t ha-”

“He’ll forgive me. He’s just worried about you, Juniper. We both are. Do you want to try breathing again?”

“He’s yuh-your -”

“We’re going to go back to the breathing. Forget about Noah. Inhale, that’s it, one, two, three, four… And out again, two, three, four… Inhale…”

Gradually, painfully slowly, Juniper found himself calming down. Jacks’ voice was easy to focus on, it was steady and tranquil and safe. They weren’t mad. They weren’t angry with him, not like they should be, not like he deserved them to be. When his shoulders finally slumped, Jacks gave him a soft, encouraging smile, and squeezed his hands again. “There we go…”

“I’m sorry…” He had said it before, of course, said it many times already that morning, but now Juniper’s voice was a hoarse whisper and no longer shaking. The dark-haired person in front of him shook their head and reached up to rest a hand against his cheek, thumb swiping at the remaining tears in the corner of his eye.

“You don’t have to apologise, Ju. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

A few seconds passed in in silence again, a quieter silence than before. When Juniper looked up through his untidy bangs at his companion, Jacks seemed to be chewing on the inside of their cheek. He didn’t really have the energy to be properly worried about what his housemate was thinking, but when Jacks didn’t volunteer it immediately Juniper took a slow breath.

“What is it?” Did his voice have to be so scratchy? He sounded pathetic. Then again, wasn’t he?

“I’m just thinking.” Jacks paused, and Juniper’s stomach gave a weak jolt. It had to be something bad, or the other wouldn’t be spending so long trying to corral their thoughts into working order.

“... About?”

“You. This.” Something must have shown on his face, because this time Jacks rushed to fill the silence. “Nothing bad, I promise. I’m just… Worried. Something happened on Tuesday night, and then nobody saw you yesterday, and then this h-”

“I’m sorr-”

“Ju, please stop apologising. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just - ugh.” The hand that had been cupping Juniper’s cheek had dropped to rest against its owner’s knee, fingers dipping briefly into the cold-coffee puddle between them, and Jacks seemed to realise the mess they were sitting in. “Ew. We’re both gross now…”

“S - I mean, I’ll clean it up, let m-” Juniper’s words were cut off yet again as Jacks waved a slender hand.

“I’ll get it. Always cleaning up after people, that’s me - and don’t you dare apologise, that was a joke really.” Dark eyes ran briefly over Juniper’s half-slumped figure, taking in his messy hair and rumpled hoodie, coffee-stained pyjama trousers and bare feet now purple with cold and red where the boiling liquid had splashed across them. Juniper wanted to apologise again. He was a mess, and Jacks had just had to spend he didn’t know how long calming him down, and now they were going to clean up after him? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. Still, he held his tongue, and then Jacks was standing and extending a hand to pull him to his feet. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You, Juniper Washing Machine Owens -”

A weak chuckle left his chest, and they beamed at him. “Not even close, and you know it.”

“- are going to go upstairs and take a shower, and then you’re going to put on some fresh clothes, and then you’re going to get your ass back down here and eat whatever I can persuade Noah to make. I’d like to talk about this later, though. If that’s okay with you.”

Juniper hesitated, eyes darting away from his housemate and toward the floor, and Jacks caught the motion. They squeezed his hand gently again.

“Nothing bad. Promise. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Go on, dude. Go shower. I’ve got caffeinated bread mush to clean up. Go on. Get out of here.”

He hesitated a moment longer; Jacks waved a hand at him in a shoo-ing motion and Juniper chuckled again in spite of himself. Nodding once, he made his way slowly out of the kitchen, trying to ignore how numb his feet had become. He was half way up the stairs when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a green-haired figure slipping into the kitchen and heard the murmur of voices. Were they talking about him? Had Jacks been lying when they sa- Then Juniper remembered Noah trying to help, and Jacks’ reaction, and felt guilty again. He appreciated Jacks sending their boyfriend away, but… No, they were going to be okay. It hadn’t even been a fight, really, and Jacks and Noah were really good together. He could apologise to Noah later, and if there was a problem he could pull the blame onto himself. It would be okay.

And then he was outside his bedroom door again, and he had to focus on finding clean clothes.

Half an hour later, curled up under a blanket on the battered blue couch in the main room and clutching a plate of pancakes almost shaped like octopi, Juniper had to admit that he felt a little better. Jacks hadn’t been angry with him. Noah didn’t think he was a freak. Quint, apparently, hadn’t even noticed him freaking out on Tuesday, and had been mildly concerned not to see him the previous day (of course, that was just what Jacks and Noah said - Quint was rarely up before eleven - but they had no reason to lie to him). They didn’t think he was stupid, or crazy.

They just wanted him to be alright.

And, for now, he was.

#JuniperWMOwens #JacksRodríguez #NoahVerria-Woods #Original Characters #Where Juniper doesn't have a good morning #Where Jacks is a sweetheart like usual

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readerficsbyhyaku · 5 years ago

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On the verge of broken dreams (Hop x Reader) Part 1

summary

When you began your Pokémon journey with your best friend Hop, you didn’t think about what would happen. You didn’t think you’d have to save the world one day. You also didn’t think you had grown so close to him, your eyes trained on the challenge and missing everything beside it.

Timid times when Hop and you collided, before wandering apart again. You bear the burden of breaking his lifelong dream, but as kind as he is, he says it’s no big deal.

What happens when everybody finds their place in life and finally has time to think ?

author’s note

There’s not enough Hop x Reader so here is an attempt at one. This follows the storyline in game so don’t read if you don’t want to be spoiled.

You were born and raised in Galar, beautiful region adorned with greenery, wild areas and an array of different and exotic Pokémons. Though, you were a country bumpkin, so the only Pokémon you got to see on the regular were mostly Wooloos, save for the occasional Rookidee or Yamper, and those pesky Skwovets that always managed to eat part of the harvest, be it in the fields or in the bags.

You grew up with another boy, named Hop, and it happened his brother became the champion. Not just a champion, but THE champion of the league of Galar, the one at the top. He became very famous and busy, so you didn’t get to see him that much, and neither did Hop. But with a strong culture of catching Pokémon to train them to battle and being exposed to matches countless times on TV, seeing Hop’s brother, Leon, being so cool and all, it was obvious you’d want to become a Pokémon trainer one day.

And you did. One morning, Hop came to your house because Leon was coming back from Wyndon to visit him – and you ! So you dressed up, gobbled your breakfast as quickly as you could and rushed out to see Hop already waiting for you. The both of you rushed past his house and carefully tread onto the small portion of road that housed wild Pokémons until you were at Wedgehurst station. Leon was already there and a small crowd had gathered, cheering the Champion as he made his signature pose.

Seeing his brother, Leon had parted the crowd and greeted you both, a very kind smile gracing his features. And to be honest, he couldn’t be anyone else’s brother. They had the same hair color, eyes, and over the top motivation to do anything.

“So you’re the one Hop won’t stop talking about, right ?”

Hop excitedly interrupted.

“Lee ! She wants to be a Pokémon trainer like me. She’ll even take on the Gym Challenge ! “

Everything went pretty fast then. Leon gave you your first Pokémon, Hop got one too, you had your first battle with your childhood friend and beat him. And to top it all off, Leon endorsed you both so that you could partake in the Gym Challenge. To try and defeat him, the Champion.

One day, you were just a regular girl helping her mom with chores and feeding the Wooloos, and the next day you were on your way for a trip around the country, battling people and attempting to dethrone the national icon.

——————————————————————————————-

It had been a while since then. You were now 8 gyms into the challenge, having only the final tournament left until you could perhaps face Leon. Your progression was pretty uneventful, except maybe meeting Bede and Marnie, two other rivals that were respectively absolutely shit-mouthed and adorable. Your team was diverse and you grasped quickly the concept of type advantages, so beating a gym leader that only used one type was really no big deal. You did struggle a bit against Raihan, but then again he had the most annoying battling style you’d ever seen.

On the other hand, Hop had encountered some… setbacks. As enthusiastic as he was, he took everything very personally. His encounter with Bede didn’t go very well, as the arrogant boy won against Hop. And being the soft-hearted boy you knew, he lost in self-confidence. That one loss made him remake his team from scratch, a desperate attempt to change everything in hopes that it would be better. It was hard for you to watch, seeing your best friend questioning so much about himself, his dreams, his abilities. You wanted to help him, you honestly wanted to give him all the wins so that he wouldn’t seem so sad and out of it. But the challenge continued, and the tournament took place.

You beat him again. It was just the two of you, the last battle that would decide who would face Leon the next day. And you won, yet again. You felt so bad, seeing him sad but hiding it with his usual beaming smile. You knew that his dream was broken by you, and your actions. At the last moment, you had considered giving up, letting his team beat your own, anything so that he could fight Leon, but it wouldn’t have been fair. Not for your Pokémon who were giving their all, not for Hop who was doing his best and expecting you to do the same, not for Leon who was also going to battle the winner with all his might to keep the title of champion.

——————————————————————————————-

So you were stuck here, having the heavy weight of Hop’s broken dream on your mind as the crowd cheered you on.

Leon was facing you, but as he was unclasping his cape before battling, the big screens all around Wyndon stadium lit up to display chairman Rose’s face. He had freed Eternatus. The Darkest Day was taking place right now in Galar, and you didn’t know who the heroes that had saved the world were. You had only hints, suppositions, even Sonia didn’t know for sure. But there was no time to think, as the sky turned red and ominous, swirling clouds were gathering to the south, where Hammerlocke and its power plant were. Leon said he was going to meet with chairman Rose to try and contain Eternatus, and Hop arrived to get the both of you to the Slumbering Weald.

After a short ride beneath an agitated – to say the least - Corviknight, Hop and you rushed inside the dark, misty forest. If there was a hero, a legendary something that could help you save the world, it was there. You hadn’t forgotten your strange encounter earlier during the year.

As you progressed through the maze of trees and Pokémon, the mist became clearer and you saw a small stone bridge crossing a small stream and its muddy banks. As you got over it, you saw some kind of altar in front of which Hop was already standing. After the arch was a sort of tombstone facing a lake, light pouring from the clearing in the trees there. The place had a very soothing effect, even if it was the end of the world.

Near the tombstone were a rusted shield and sword, and you took one while Hop took the other. It was your only clue, and you hoped very, very hard that something magical would happen with those artifacts because the clouds were growing thicker as you exited the Slumbering Weald to head towards Hammerlocke Stadium.

Once you were there, Sonia hijacked the doors to an elevator leading to the power plant. When you entered the room where chairman Rose stood, you were astonished. A gigantic, broken Pokéball, and weird bulb type structures that must’ve been the dynamax energy collectors or something. All doused in red, rubble on the floor and Rose looking not one bit sorry for what he did. What a foolish man, still thinking he could harness the power of something as destructive as Eternatus. You settled things quickly with a fight, while Hop rode another elevator to the top, where Leon already was.

When you finally joined them, you were greeted by the sight of an enormous, skeletal and angular dragon all of purples and reds, hovering above the ground. Leon was facing it with Charizard, but your arrival distracted him and Eternatus fired a blast directly from his ribcage. Leon and Charizard were sent tumbling away, the champion being knocked unconscious on a larger piece of rubble scattered on the roof.

Hop and you scuttled to cover, shocked that Leon was already out of the game.

“That’s crazy !” you muttered to Hop while crouching behind some kind of parapet. “What are we going to do, Leon was wiped out in one blow !!!”

“Don’t worry, mate !” Hop said while smiling as best as he could. “As far as I know, you are the one that can whip Lee’s ass, so that Eternatus should be no big deal.”

You stared into his eyes, unsaid words making you remember Hop would never have that chance because of you. Right now, you were unsure of a lot of things. You were not sure you could beat the beast of a dragon waiting behind the wall. You weren’t sure you could protect Hop, and why he trusted you so much when you had been the worst to him. You tried to find answers in his amber irises, when he spoke softly.

“But in case you can’t…”

And he pressed his lips against yours, gently. If your heart wasn’t already pounding because there was the fucking dynamax god right out there, Hop’s kiss would have made it go to 100 real fast. Time seemed to stop for an instant, when it was rushing between your fingers moments before. He tasted like Pomeg berries, enticing sweetness and a bit of spice. You started to think you didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to face whatever came after.

But Hop broke the kiss quickly and, rising to his feet, took your hand and nudged you towards Eternatus, a sheepish, blushing, sorry smile on his face.

Thank Arceus he had kissed you, because the adrenalin rushing through your veins made you capable of facing the maddened dragon and bringing him down. Once. And then the second time with Hop by your side, as Eternatus gigantamaxed himself and the two heroes that had saved the world came back to help you. Everything was a blur of sensations, fear and hope mixing together, the air saturated with dynamax energy as the giant clawed hand of Eternatus glared down on you. The sword and shield you had taken from the Slumbering Weald rose into the sky and fused with Zacian and Zamazenta, adorning them with a sword and a shield-like breastpiece, making them resemble chivalrous knights.

In the end, you caught Eternatus. The end of the world being averted and chairman Rose being arrested, life suddenly went back to normal, as abruptly as everything had went sour. Well, it seemed very mundane and normal to you, after defeating the source of all dynamax energy and saving basically thousands of Pokémon from dynamaxing and wreaking havoc around Galar.

You had to face Leon the next day, to try and become champion in his stead.

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 5 years ago

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Madelaine Petsch//Three Months

Request: Madelaine petsch x reader where Madelaine gets caught up with Vanessa and starts neglecting r and all their fans notice and Madelaine finally realizes it after it had been happening for a while and makes it up to r.

For over a year, you and Madelaine have been dating. A year and three months to be exact. You see each other every day, due to working together. You just recently talked about moving in together because you practically already lived together, you barely spent any time in your own apartment. You’ve even looked at adopting a dog together. You were a constant in each others lives. Wherever one was, the other was. You would be in her vlogs, Instagram stories (as well as basically everyone else’s), you were all over her social media accounts, and she was all over yours. You did literally everything together.

However for the past few months, she seemed to distance herself. It started slowly, she would miss a few date nights, or she’d bee too busy for you to come over. Which of course you understood. She was a busy woman who had a very demanding job, as did you, but you still always made time for each other before. However, you let it go, deciding that maybe she just wanted a bit of space. However as the days turned into weeks you saw her less and less.

Anytime you tried to talk to her at work, she would be talking to somebody else, mainly Vanessa. You still hung out after work, but each week it seemed to get less and less. She was always too busy. You hadn’t been in a video of hers for about 2 months, and even though its sounded trivial, it still hurt. It was like she’d replaced you with her best friend, leaving you to wonder what you’d done.

But the worst thing was that everyone seemed to notice, except her. The rest of the cast made an effort to hang out with you more, while also trying to talk to her, but no use. She was to wrapped up in her new friend to notice she was neglecting her girlfriend.

A part of you wanted to hate Vanessa for taking your girlfriend away from you. But you knew it wasn’t her fault. You were glad she had made a new friend, and it wasn’t Vanessa’s fault Madelaine had been ignoring you.

Today was your day off. You weren’t needed on set, so you were hanging out at home, moping in your bed.

Usually you would hang out with Madelaine, even if she was still on set, you’d just go with her. But you needed some time away from that place, and from her for that matter. The more she ignored and neglected you the more your view of her soured. But you were conflicted. You gave her space at the beginning of this whole thing and that seemed to make everything worse.

As you lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your phone buzzed beside you pulling you from your thoughts.

madelame is live now! The notification made you sigh but you opened it anyway. A few seconds went by until your girlfriend appeared on screen, beside her was Vanessa, the two of them smiling brightly.

“Hey guys!” She greeted and you couldn’t help the small smile that forced its way on to your lips. That smile could still cheer you up, even if you felt a million miles apart from her and wasn’t intended for you. That thought makes you frown and focus your attention back on the screen. “We have a little bit of spare time in between takes so I thought we could do a Q&A! We’ve already tweeted about it and you have all been asking a lot of questions, so thanks! Anyway, V, do you wanna start?” She asked, turning her attention to her friend.

“Sure!” She smiled back before looking at her phone. “How’s season 4 going?” She read and the two of them smiled. “Great!! We have some great storylines this season! And all the secondary characters have much more screen time!”

“Yeah!” Madelaine jumped in. “Y/n has been in ever-” She cut herself off with a frown and you sat up, your eyes glued to the screen in front of you. Was she actually noticing? “Anyway.” She shook her head and you sighed, lying back down. The weight on your chest that you’d been feeling for the past three months, just got a whole lot heavier. “What has been your favourite on set story of this season?” Madelaine asked, facing Vanessa.

“Oooo.” Vanessa thought for a second. “Oh! I’ve got it!” She said suddenly making Madelaine giggle a little. “Can you remember when we were filming the an episode, and it was like 2am. I think practically everybody else had gone home apart from us, KJ and Cole, and while we waited to be called to set we just hung out and talked about life and stuff. And you told me all your future dreams and then you fell off the bench we were sat on.” She explained before the two of them laughed loudly.

“Yeah!” She giggled. “And KJ walked past us and called us tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, before he tripped over a branch and fell face first into some mud. When he stood up he had leaves and twigs all over his face and he had to go back to make-up.” She continued and you sighed. You remember that night, and not just because Cole had told you. You were there that night. Sitting a few feet away from them, not that they seemed to have noticed.

You decided that that was enough heartbreak for the night, so with a heavy heart you closed down Instagram and placed your phone on the bedside table, the thoughts of your and Madelaine’s relationship swirling around your head until you fell asleep.

“Okay!” Madelaine clapped her hands together. “Final questions. Are you and y/n still together?” Madelaine read, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Yeah! Of course we are, what makes you think that?”

“Loads of people have been asking.” Vanessa interjected. “Its like one of the most asked questions...”

“What makes people think we’re not together anymore?” She repeated her question.

“Apparently you’ve forgotten about her.” Vanessa replied, reading the comments from a few Twitter replies. “People are saying that she’s been in none of your videos or social media posts. And people have started picking up on it. Apparently you’ve been too caught up with me to focus on her.” She explained.

“What?” She whispered. “We’re needed back on set. It was great answering your questions and I’ll try and do another one soon...” She explained, trailing off at the end before ending the video. “Have I really been ignoring her?”

“I dunno. I don’t think so.” Vanessa shrugged. “Why don’t you go through your Instagram, and your videos. I’m sure she’s in them.” She said, trying to reassure her. Madelaine nodded before going through all her accounts.

“She hasn’t been in any. Not one for the past three-ish months. Not even in the background.” She sighed. “When was the last time I text her?” She asked herself before checking her phone. “A week ago.”

“What was it about?” Vanessa asked, looking over her shoulder.

“What time she was going to be on set the next day.” She sighed and Vanessa placed a hand on her shoulder.

Madelaine thought for moment, and then it dawned on her. For the past three months she’d been unintentionally ignoring you. She can’t remember the last time you slept at her house, or went out on a date. She barely acknowledged your presence at work, let alone any other time of the day. Three months ago you’d been talking about moving in together, and now she can barely remember the last time you just properly hung out together. “Shit!” She shouted, making Vanessa jump.

“Its okay.” She squeezed her shoulder.

“Its not! I’m officially the worst girlfriend in the world. I’ve ignored her, basically replaced her. Jesus Christ, I’m the worst!”

“You’re no-”

“I am! And I literally have no excuse for it.” She said while gathering her things.

“Where are you going? We’re due back on set in fifteen minutes.”

“Tell them I’m sick.” She replied before throwing her jacket on and running out the door.

--------

“Y/n!” A heavy pounding on your front door wakes you up from your nap and you have to blink a few times to get your bearings. Its only been two hours since you’ve fallen asleep, but from the sound coming from outside it sounds like the entire worlds gone to hell.

“Hold on!” You shouted back and stood up, slowly walking towards the door. For a few seconds you forget everything that has happened with you and Madelaine, for a few seconds everything is normal and fine and you have a great girlfriend that loves you more than anything. That is until you open the front door, and all that comes crashing down around you...the sound almost deafening. “Madelaine?” You asked in disbelief. A part of you thinks that you’re still asleep and that this is what your depressed self has come up with to cope with the fact that your girlfriend has abandoned and replaced you.

“Can I come in?” She asked, tearing you from your thoughts and you look back at her.

“Yeah, sure.” You shrugged and moved so she could come in. She sends you a small nod before walking passed you, and you watch her look around the living room.

“Is that new wallpaper?” She asked and you sighed.

“Yeah. I er-I decorated about two months ago. I did try and talk to you about it...just to see if it was worth it because of-well because we had talked about moving in together. I got a vague answer back so I decided to just do it.” You explained, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Ah.”

“Yeahhhhhh.” You trailed off. “Do you want tea or something?”

“No, I’m good. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, er-okay?” You said before sitting on the sofa. She sat beside you and the two of you looked at the opposite wall, both unsure of what to say. “Listen.” You started and turned to face her. “If you’re gonna break up with me, can you just do it already because I hate feeling like this. Like I’m stuck in some sort of in between until you decide you want to keep me around or not. It sucks, and its not fair on me.” You told her and she felt the wind being knocked from her lungs.

“Y/n.” She said softly, her hands reaching out for yours. Tears pooled in her eyes as she squeezed your hands. “Do you really think I would break up with you?”

“Well, I mean...kinda, yeah. We’ve barely spoken in the past three months. I just assume you’ve moved on. But don’t worry.” You forced a smile. “Because there’s no hard feelings. We’re still gonna work together and shit so we can still be friend-”

“Y/n.” She interrupted you and you looked at her, your hands pulling away from her grip so you could wipe the tears from her face. “I don’t deserve you.” She sobbed and you stared at her. “Look at me, I ignore you for months, I practically replaced you and everyone could see it but me. And then I come over here to make it up to you, even though I don’t deserve you’re forgiveness and I’m the one who starts crying. And then you comfort me. This should be the other way round, or you should be shouting and screaming at me.”

“Do you want me to shout and scream at you?” You asked and she laughed slightly, which made you smile.

“No.” She shook her head. “I just-okay. Let me do this again.” She took a deep breath and wiped the rest of her tears away. “Y/n.” She grabbed your hand again. “I am so sorry for ignoring you, replacing you, neglecting you, basically forgetting about your entire existence. I don’t have any excuses, but I guess I just got caught up with making new friends and memories, meaning that I forgot about my best friend who I share all my memories with. I really am sorry and I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please forgive me?” She pleaded and you stared at her.

All the hurt you’d been feeling for the past few months disappeared. Of course some of it would be there for a while, and she would have to do some groveling, but how could you not forgive her? She was the most perfect woman in the world and everyone makes mistakes. Plus, you had been miserable without her, breaking up would make that so much worse.

“Okay.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I forgive you.” You said and she sent you a watery, but bright smile.

“Really?” She asked and you nodded before she pulled you into a very tight hug. “I love you so much.” She mumbled against your neck. “I’ll never do anything like this ever again. I promise.”

“You better not.” You quirked an eyebrow as you pulled away. She placed her hands on your cheeks before kissing you deeply. She kissed you as if her life depended on it. As if she was trying to show you how much you meant to her. As if she was trying to tell you how much she loved you. And slowly, but surely you started to believe her, even if it would take some time.

------

One Year Later

“Is that all of them?” You asked as you placed a cardboard box down on the floor.

“I think so yeah.” Madelaine replied as she hugged you from behind. Her arms wrapped around your waist while she rested her head on your shoulder. “The bed isn’t gonna be here until tomorrow though so we’re gonna have to make do on either the sofa or the bed.” She said with a sigh and you turned in her ams, a bright smile on your face and a glimmer in your eyes. “What?”

“I have a much better idea.” You grinned.

“What?”

“Blanket fort!” You cheered and she laughed.

“I love you.” She mumbled.

“I know you do.” You replied and pressed a kiss to her cheek before wiggling out of her grip. “Come on, we have a ton of boxes to unpack. I can’t believe we own a home together.” You said, still in disbelief that you got to wake up to her everyday and spend all your time with your best friend and most favourite person in the world. Just the two of you and Ella the Bulldog you guys rescued a few months ago. Ella ran in from the backyard just then, like she knew you were thinking about her, and she ran straight into Madelaine’s legs making the two of you laugh.

“Wait a minute.” Madelaine grabbed your hand and pulled you back to her.

“Babeeee. We have to unpack.”

“Not yet. We have a lifetime to unpack boxes, lets just enjoy this moment.” She said and wrapped her arms around your waist again. “Dance with me.”

“There’s no music.” You raised an eyebrow, but wrapped your arms around her neck anyway.

“Thats okay. We don’t need music, we’ll make our own.”

“You’re so cheesy.” You rolled your eyes, despite the smile on your face and she giggled. “But then again, I already knew that.”

“What do you mean?” She asked as the two of you swayed slightly.

“Oh you know, just the time you filled my apartment with flowers like two days after we got back together. Like you filled it, I couldn’t move for flowers, and it wasn’t just one kind, it was every single type of flower you could think of, all crammed into my apartment. And then there was all the cute little notes you put around yours and my apartment so I can see them.”

“Yeah, just because we moved doesn’t mean thats gonna end. There’s gonna be so many more because this is actual house. There’s so much more room!” She said excitedly making you smile.

“See.” You replied and she rolled her eyes. “And then there’s the cute little dates you take me on, all the appreciation posts you put on Instagram, I think you post a picture of me at least once a week and I honestly don’t know where you’re getting all these pictures of me from.”

“What? My girl’s pretty and amazing, I need to tell people.” She shrugged and you rolled your eyes again.

“The video montage of all our sweet moments that you asked your twitter followers to help with?” You asked sarcastically and she looked at the ground.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I am a bit cheesy...”

“A bit!” You replied. “The video was half an hour long and you made an entirely new email address for people to send you videos that they may have had of us. You had been planning it for four months.”

“Fine...a lot. But you love it though.” She shrugged. “Don’t you?”

“Of course.” You replied and kissed her softly. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

“And I’ll never stop loving you. Not for three months, three years or 300 years.” She said before kissing you.

“Good.” You pulled away. “Now, lets go find some blankets! Give Ella her first blanket fort!” You said excitedly before walking into the bedroom, Ella following closely.

Madelaine blinked, thinking about what you just said as she watched you walk up the stairs. “How do you know she’s never been in a blanket fort?” She called after you.

“I just do! You can tell when someone’s never been in a blanket fort. And she hasn’t. It makes someone sadder.” You replied. “They have a vibe about them.”

“...she’s a dog.”

“And?” You replied, popping your head round the door.

“I really do love you.” She laughed. “I’ll never stop, no matter what.”

#madelaine petsch #madelaine petsch x reader #madelaine petsch imagine #madelaine petsch x you #riverdale #riverdale imagine #cheryl blossom #cheryl blossom imagine #cheryl blossom x reader #cheryl blossom x you #cheryl #cheryl imagine #cheryl x reader

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thefieryeclipse · 4 years ago

Text

“The Wall” Petlar - Pride Month

In honour of Pride, I’m reposting a segment from my post-series Heroes WIP as a short story here on Tumblr. You can consider it a standalone if you like, or if you want to read more you can find the full fic here ^.^

I hope you enjoy this dive into the memories of Petlary goodness behind “The Wall”!

(M, slash, m/m, angst, blood, tears, fluff, feels)

(This gorgeous gif, my favourite one ever, doesn’t belong to me. All credit to the original creator, but sadly I still don’t know who that is!)

SPOILERS BELOW FOR “TONGUES OF FIRE” - Chapter 38

Peter awoke on the ground, but he couldn't remember getting there.

Everything was silent. A pressing white noise so vacant it was deafening, and nothing at all stirred but the slow rise and fall of his chest. Lying on his back, he opened his eyes to the velvet blanket of a vast, cloudless sky high above.

A sky that was... flashing?

Confused, Peter frowned up at the moon chasing the sun between elongated skyscrapers, shadows washing over him where he lay while days and nights passed before his eyes like the swinging beat of a pendulum.

Feeling oddly weightless, he picked himself up from the middle of an abandoned city street, lined on both sides by a row of neat trees. And suddenly the niggling thought that he was forgetting something important didn't seem to matter anymore, that he was supposed to be somewhere else.

He didn't understand. It should have been New York City. The streets Peter had grown up in, the island on which he'd spent nearly every day of his life, but he didn't know this place. It was an amalgamation, a hybrid, a new face whose features merely resembled those of his hometown. The city was deserted: empty streets and empty buildings lined with a million windows gaping at him like hollowed eye sockets, watching him struggle to find his bearings. There were no signs of life. Not even a car had been abandoned by the sidewalk, not one old newspaper fluttered through the windless air. Peter shivered, although there was no temperature. His faint breath shuddered, although there was no sound.

And then the echo of raised voices behind him made his heart thump loudly in his chest.

Peter span just as the sun froze in the sky, high on the crest of a bright and clear morning. He recognised the voices rebounding off vacant husks of buildings around him, just before two men turned a corner and appeared into view, one storming ahead while the other tagged along angrily at his heels. Peter couldn't have hid even if he wasn't exposed out in a wide open road, his feet rooting him to the spot as his blood instantly ran cold.

“...like it or not, Peter, you're stuck here forever, with me, and I am trying here! Are you? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't feel like it!”

“Am I supposed to feel guilty? You murdered my brother, I don't owe you anything!”

“Yes, I did. I murdered him.” Sylar snarled, and although he wasn't shouting this time his words reverberated further, more clearly, than the others before. “I slit his throat and watched him bleed out and I didn't even care. He died alone, Peter. Scared. Defeated -”

“Stop it!”

Heart racing faster, Peter saw himself turn on his enemy, hands balled into fists at his side. Sylar stopped walking in response, head held high. And all the while Peter was outside it all, unharmed, invisible on the outskirts as he just stood there gazing at the surreal sight unfolding before him. Holy shit.

“- And I've said it a thousand times before, and even if you don't believe me that doesn't change the fact that I'm -”

“Don't!”

“- Sorry.”

The word ricocheted around the barren city. It lodged itself in Peter's gut like a bullet shard, sympathy pains felt from the shaking young empath standing before him in the distance. “Stop saying that. You don't mean it. If you were sorry you wouldn't have killed him. If you were sorry you wouldn't have killed any of them.”

Sylar scowled after the smaller man as he continued storming along the street, drawing closer to where his dream-like counterpart stood. Neither of them noticed him at all.

“Oh I get it,” The killer tagged along again, more infused with a fiery emotion than Peter had ever known him. “You've never made a mistake. You've never looked back and wished for a do-over. That you could change, that you'd made different choices, that you knew then what you know now, because your life has been nothing but a series of winning decisions, is that what you're saying?!” Sylar grabbed after his accuser, wrenching him back around by the arm. “'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like they only served to land you in the exact same shithole as mine.”

Peter tugged himself free. “At least I never killed everyone who ever tried to love me!”

The following silence rang out loudly. Now close enough to the pair to make out the nuances in both men's faces, Peter watched with a weight constricting his chest as Sylar reeled, deeply wounded. Regret shone plainly on his own self's face, for just a heartbeat too long before it was forcibly concealed behind a mask of defiance.

Sylar's reply was quiet, but not gentle. “Loved ones. Mothers. Friends. Tell me, where are yours, Peter?”

The counter attack winded Peter Petrelli. Both the haunted man currently backing away from his enemy's space, and the spectre set adrift in the strange city that didn't belong to him. Peter and Sylar glared at one another, two lost souls forced together among nothingness, concrete, brick and stone, the double-bladed burn of rage rising between them like smoke in the air.

Sylar tipped his head slightly in a manner anyone else could construe as sympathetic. “I wonder what's worse? The thought that everyone else out there is dead; or that none of your precious heroes have bothered to look for you all this time?” He twitched one heavy eyebrow to hammer the point home. “Do you think anyone's even noticed you're missing? Or do they just not care?”

For a moment, the looming promise of an echoing crack of a punch rang throughout the city. But none came. Peter didn't attack, and he didn't make a sound beyond the pained catching of his breath. Then he tightened his fists and turned his back on Sylar one last time, picking up the pace as he left the killer behind.

“Like it or not, Petrelli, I'm all you've got!” Sylar called after him, teeth bared. “And neither of us are going anywhere for a long, long time!”

Peter's heart lurched when his other self faltered a step, almost level with where he hid, veiled out of time. He fought the urge to reach out and bridge the impassable distance with a touch, as the same vulnerability and fear that itched within his ribcage flickered over the other man's face, pooling in his eyes. But then his dream counterpart pushed on, leaving a full, unobstructed view of Sylar's dampening temper in his wake.

Slowly, the killer's scowl eased. He hunched in on himself, watching every step as his only means of company walked away.

It might have been the first time Peter had ever witnessed something close to shame from the guy. Something close to regret. It was a painful pill to swallow, like it went down the wrong way. And when Sylar finally dropped his eyeline to the ground and turned his back, Peter hurried to follow his own footsteps deeper into the city without pausing to witness one more second of the killer.

But as soon as he took his first step the sky fast-forwarded again and he was alone.

Morning became noon became night as Peter found himself lost among vacant streets and stretching shadows that snatched at his heels like fingers. Guided by an invisible cord looped around his waist, he searched with no direction, intention or idea where he was going, just a ghost adrift in an endless maze that re-arranged itself in his peripheral vision.

He lost track of how many times the sun rolled across the sky before it stalled once again, a red glimmer hanging low between the towering spires of skyscrapers. Peter stopped running, somehow not even out of breath, once he was framed in the open mouth of a back alley, the sunset staining a towering brick wall blocking the far end crimson.

The hairs on the back of his neck tickled as he caught sight of himself once again, unmistakable in his fury, stalking the length of the alley ahead.

At the far end, Sylar climbed to his feet at the base of the wall to accommodate the approach. And even from this far away, with merely one glimpse of him, he certainly didn't look like the same, smug serial killer Peter's nightmares had been plagued by for years.

Again locked in place, he watched himself stomp towards the murderer without easing or slowing down; watched Sylar ball his hands into fists but not lift them; watched himself raise his arms and tackle Sylar around the neck, winding him, knocking the breath from them both –

But it wasn't a fight. Instead, they both swayed with the momentum of something so unexpected, something so harmless, as a hug.

Alone on the outskirts of this secret, Peter's throat tightly constricted. He couldn't breathe. He didn't need to. He was only a ghost, anyway.

Floating closer to the exchange, he couldn't seem to make sense of the bewilderment shining plainly across Sylar's face. Or his own arms holding the guy close, or the sound of his soft, strangled voice muffled in the depths of Sylar's shoulder.

As if he hadn't ever been a mortal enemy. As if he wasn't a ruthless serial killer. As if he'd never heartlessly cut down Nathan Petrelli in his prime.

“You were right.” Realistically, the words shouldn't have rebounded down the alley, but Peter heard them anyway. “No one's out there looking for us. No one's coming to save us. It's just you and me, Sylar, and I just can't... I can't fight with you anymore.”

Peter's arms tightened around the taller man. And only then did Sylar let his eyes flutter closed and tentatively place his hands on Peter's back. He bent down into the hug, returning it, indulging in the feel of it as if it were the first of his life.

“It's down to us. Alright?” Peter continued huskily. “It's you and me, and I don't wanna live this way forever. I can't carry this... this hate much longer. I can't.” He paused to chase a breath, and when he continued his voice was dangerously close to cracking. “We can't keep going like this if we're gonna survive, here. We've gotta do better, Sylar. We've gotta make it work. Okay?”

For a long time the men simply stood there entwined, rocking slightly on the spot, where no one could see them and no one would ever know. And in that reprieve it didn't matter that they'd shattered one another in the past, or that they shouldn't want to hold each other close, because for a moment it was as if the fights had never happened and the miles of blood stained history belonged to someone else.

Watching, Peter struggled to swallow when Sylar slowly nodded his head in agreement. When he then pried the smaller man away with gentle hands and an unfamiliar softness to his eyes, and just held him there close, looking down into his face as the whisper floated down the alley and imprinted into the witness's skin.

“I want to make it work, Peter...”

Time sped up again before he could see what happened next, before he was ready, erasing the men, the wall and the words from the slate like they'd never existed at all.

Day and night pulsed around Peter once more as he struggled to keep up, resuming the endless path to nowhere with less blind trust than before. As he searched vacant streets he shivered, and as he walked broken roads he worried, plagued with the strangest sense that this time he'd left more than just the alley behind.

The city warped around him. Buildings moved when he wasn't looking. Brief flashes of sunlight revealed new sights that hadn't been there the moment before. And then night fell steady and constant upon the world and Peter was somehow high atop a rusting fire escape, outside the only window in the sprawling city that housed the warm glow of light. Of life.

Helpless to resist, he numbly phased through the window as if he were a phantom, heart pounding heavier than ever in his chest.

Inside, the apartment was dark, cluttered, unfamiliar. Floating shelves lined the walls, packed to the brim with canned food while their previous occupants scattered the floor in precarious piles of books. A workbench stood near the back wall, buried beneath some sort of mechanical scraps Peter couldn't make out from here. But he wasn't really looking. Because that glow of a light didn't come from within these rooms, he now realised, but from between them.

A hidden hatch stood open in one wall. A two-way mirror that revealed a winding, shadowy corridor beyond. And the swinging light bulb within lured Peter in deeper as if he didn't have a choice but to obey.

Just as before, the two living souls in this place didn't look up as he approached them in the dark. They didn't even acknowledge him. And just as before, Peter couldn't name the mass of emotions that ached within his chest at the very sight of himself and Sylar, sitting silently side by side on the floor, their backs against the dusty inside of a wall.

The taste of horror seemed familiar on his tongue. But if this was due to the tears currently drying on Sylar's flushed face, or the desperate screams scrawled by bloody fingertips on the walls, he couldn't decide.

“It's from... before. Way before, when my ability first...” Sylar tried then faded off, as if he didn't even know the words. Meanwhile, sitting beside him, Peter nodded and took a steadying breath, caught between giving his split attention to the crying man or the ghastly bloodied 'forgive me's towering above.

“S'okay.”

“No, Peter. It's not.”

Still sniffling slightly, the killer turned to Peter, exhausted and unguarded and unashamed of his vulnerability in a way that sent more spasms tightly clenching through the empath's heart. Because this wasn't an act and it wasn't a pity plea, and as much as he hated it, and as much as the sight made his stomach cramp as if he were about to throw up, Peter couldn't tear his gaze away from the blatantly human sight of the man visible in fractures behind his shattered facade.

Sylar's voice was soft when he elaborated, thick with a recent burst of emotion that had yet to fade. “None of it is okay. No matter what I do or how many times I start, I can never get past... this.” He blinked rapidly, not quite looking at a hundred broken attempts at redemption pressing in on him from all sides. “I've tried. I really tried, so many times, and I wanted to be better. But after all these years... I just don't think I'm strong enough on my own. And no one has ever stayed long enough to...” He stopped himself again, scowling at his own self-pity.

The Peter on the ground tore his focus from the sorry sight of Sylar, looking up again upon the defaced walls. A timeline. A mural of blood, sweat and tears, a memorial of the killer's endless battle with his demons. And Peter drank in each word despite the burn.

Please forgive me... Help me... I'm sorry... Forgive me... Please...

He closed his eyes just briefly, biting his lip. “I will.”

“What?”

“I'll stay.” Peter clarified, sighing out all the tension in his frame. Sylar stared at him. “I won't leave you. I won't run out on you. I won't lie, or betray you, or manipulate you like my mother did.” Now Sylar looked so affronted that a sudden telekinetic choke hold wouldn't be a surprise. But instead he just gaped at Peter, lips twitching soundlessly as he struggled to untangle his thoughts into something resembling words. “If you're serious about wanting to be better, Sylar... I'll help you.” Peter finished, a soft exhale. Only then did he meet the killer's eyes, and there was no room for doubt in that tiny corridor that he knew exactly what he was signing himself up for. That they all did.

Silence stretched for a long time. Until the older man recovered some semblance of his vocal chords. “Wh-why would you want to do that?” The question was laced with hope and suspicion, two compounds at war with each other.

But Peter just looked at him, and the honesty on his face was clear for all to see. “'Cause the guy who wrote this?” He glanced back at the blood-scrawled walls as if pained. “He never had that chance. And maybe if someone had just listened to him back then... none of this would've happened.” He offered Sylar a sad little curve of his lips. “Maybe all you needed was a friend.”

The killer's heavy brows eased from their furrow. Fresh tears streamed from his disbelieving eyes. Too late, he seemed to notice what was happening and averted his face, tremors consuming his hunched form.

And rather than leave, Peter leaned into him, a comforting warmth. And rather than recoil, the empath reached for Sylar's hand and held it gently, surely, and just sat with the man in silence while he cried.

And then time shifted forward again.

Left reeling on the spot, Peter the spectator, the ghost, tried to blink away the blurriness stinging at his own eyes. When it subsided he saw he was no longer crowded by bloody prayers or that lone, swinging light bulb: he was back outside on the fire escape. And that same old cord, his guide, was pulling him on again, but he didn't want to answer the call this time.

The tangled mass of feeling expanded further inside with every step he ascended the rusty staircase. More years flew past within moments. And the whispering breath of wind grew louder the higher he climbed.

On the final step, darkness blanketed the city for the last time. The sky was vast and starless high above, the rooftop captured in the cool tones and hues of the illusive moment between evening and night. Shaking slightly, it took Peter a moment to realise that the whispering breaths didn't belong to the wind, after all. And through shadow he discerned the shapes of two bodies on the ground, naked and writhing beneath a bundle of discarded clothing.

He meant to jump back from the scene but the steel cord wouldn't let him. So Peter was forced to hide here in the dark, unable to feel his limbs at the sight of his own self kissing the lips of his enemy. The pair broke apart with deep, shuddering breaths, and Peter watched himself lie back and smile sleepily at the man in his arms.

Then a murmur punctured the night, sending goosebumps rolling down his spine.

“Do you trust me, Peter?”

“Why, you think I'd do that with just anyone?” The empath chuckled and pressed a kiss to Sylar's shoulder. But when the man didn't laugh Peter propped himself up on an elbow to better look down upon him. “What's up, buddy?” He prompted with another small smile, trailing a hand over the killer's bare chest and stirring the hair there.

The gesture was so natural and yet so obscene, that in the rational corner of his mind Peter wanted to yell and run – no fly – away before he saw something else he'd never be able to shake. But he was still chained in place by something heavier than shock, and the warden of fate wouldn't let him move or even make a sound. Instead, he bore witness to the exchange of intimate touches, adoration, a familiarity that he'd never been able to keep with anyone in reality.

“I was just thinking about Elle.” Sylar confessed, looking up into the darkening sky.

Peter's caresses slowed. “Oh.” The spectre watched his own face fall slightly, far too familiar with that feeling not to experience second hand rejection gnawing at him now.

“Not like that.” Sylar appeased Peter slightly by prying the man's hand from his chest to absently entwine their fingers, but still didn't drop his gaze from the heavens. “I was thinking about how... how I didn't kill her for her ability. I killed her because she betrayed me.”

Peter frowned, the ease from earlier fading. “Is that supposed to make it okay?”

“No. But it makes it different. She lied to me. It was... personal, the others weren't.” Peter's sigh finally earned Sylar's full attention, and when the smaller man untangled himself from the killer as if to get up, Sylar held onto his wrist, keeping him there. “I could have loved her, Peter.”

On the far side of the rooftop, Peter felt that word impact like a sledgehammer to the gut. Love. But on the ground, he didn't look surprised by this information at all, reluctantly indulging the other man with a scowl still dirtying his brow.

“I trusted her. I let her in. But she...” Sylar's expression grew distant then, cast back through time. “...Recoiled. And I reacted. It was... fragile.”

The empath huffed impatiently through his nose, biting his lip. “What're you trying to tell me, Sylar?”

Sylar fell quiet, his face unmasked in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to his enemy. And more than he had when intruding upon the secret closet of bloody remorse, or catching the pair naked and breathless with sweat still drying on their skin, Peter felt wrong, voyeuristic, to be spying on such an intimate sight from the shadows as that expression.

Sylar reached up to trail Peter's long, tousled hair from obscuring his eye, a painfully sweet gesture. And when he took a breath it shook slightly. “This place? You and me? Whatever the hell we've gotten ourselves into... It's fragile, too. It's special.” He gave up on the stubborn lock when it refused to stay put, dropping his hands to fold across his stomach. A shadow of affliction passed over his face. “And if people knew they'd try to take it from us.”

Peter relaxed back down over his companion, lips quirking up on the working side. “Then we won't let them.”

Sylar tried to smile in response to the gentle nuzzling of his nose. A weak, short-lived thing. “You're too trusting, Peter, and I'm too destructive and it would be easy, too easy, to ruin this if they wanted, which they will. And if we ever do wake up and all this feels like a dream, I don't want there to be any doubts between us. Nothing they can use.”

Concern ghosted across Peter's features. He climbed free of his companion to fall flat on his back beside him, looking unseeingly into the ebony void far above. “Why are you saying these things?” He hugged his arms around his own torso, suddenly feeling the cold he hadn't a moment before.

And the spectre on the sidelines only drew closer to the scene, ever helpless, defenseless to resist.

Sylar turned his head to survey Peter, shadows emphasising the heavy angles of his face while his messy hair splayed out around him, thick and dark on the ground. He should have looked dangerous lying there so close, heart rate still elevated, skin still heated. He shouldn't have looked handsome, striking in his vulnerability. But he did. And only more so when amusement brightened the serial killer's features through the slight pursing of his lips. “Do you remember I told you about Lydia from the carnival?”

Still refusing to look at him, Peter just nodded, only more confused. An affectionate smirk twinkled at the corners of Sylar's eyes. And he was even less recognisable as the brutal murderer that had ripped reality to shreds in his wake.

“I've been thinking for a while, now. And if we ever get outta here... I want you to use her ability on me.”

At first, Peter just met the man's eyes, blinking quickly at him while he processed. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position, squinting down at Sylar as if the statement would be clearer from that angle. His hand shook while he ran it through his disheveled hair, and only upon close inspection was it evident that Sylar was holding his breath.

Stunned, Peter could barely muster his voice. “You'd trust me to read your soul?” He looked unsure, as if at any moment he expected his companion to reveal it as some sort of joke. But Sylar only nodded, that knowing, affectionate smirk washing across the rest of his features. And sudden tears welled up in the empath's eyes, refusing to fall, in the moment the truth finally hit home. “Really?” He breathed, a sound so small it couldn't carry the short distance across the rooftop.

But from above, his ethereal counterpart heard it anyway. And he saw Sylar laugh a little in response to Peter's disbelief, the deep, pleasant sound catching in his chest.

Equal parts horrified and entranced, Peter struggled to believe what he was witnessing from this man and that voice and those lips: the fearsome lone wolf who'd always killed before letting someone get too close, close enough to hurt him.

Yet, he saw his other self's eyes roam between Sylar's, so close below his own. And looking at the men now, having already obliterated so many boundaries to have gotten this far, sharing in the midst of the rubble they'd created, Peter could see every scar that had transpired between them, scrawling signatures embedded below one another's skin. They'd never be free of the other. They were already imprinted, marked forever like tattoos.

And for the very first time, it looked something close to beautiful.

On the ground, eyes wide and glistening, Peter hesitated slightly before skimming his knuckles across Sylar's cheekbone. The murderer caught his hand, cradling it between both his larger, stronger ones, the hands that had spilled an ocean of innocent blood long ago. “Only if you want it,” he smirked, “otherwise I was joking.”

Peter's answering grin illuminated his entire face, an emotion so potent that his unseen counterpart hungered for it, ached for it, even just to know what it felt like.

Because he was pretty sure he'd never smiled like that in his life. And he'd never known such a certainty as he was witnessing unfold before him now. As far back as he could remember, nobody had ever trusted him that much. He'd never found that someone who thought him special enough to want to hold, to want to keep, to want to let so close that it was literally, humanly impossible.

And now his heart broke when he saw himself lie back down against the rooftop, and his last reservations fell and pooled around his ankles as his other self leaned in and murmured against Sylar's lips.

“Alright.” He promised.

The kiss was gentle, intimate, achingly tender even from the outside. Soft lips against lips, hands cradling bare skin, smiles curving against one another while Sylar rolled atop Peter, pinning him to the cold ground. Night was entirely upon them now, and the whisper of deepening, breathless kisses leaked into the air, meanwhile on the outskirts Peter felt like he was falling. Like his core was being hauled up into the air by that same old invisible thread, leaving a vital part of himself behind.

The city was evaporating around him. The horizon floating away like ash, the walls closing in upon where he stood, trembling and weak, longing for a breeze to soothe the burning promise of tears gathered in his own eyes.

He'd seen too much. He hadn't seen enough. He didn't understand, yet it made all kinds of sense. That wrong was right and people could change, could forgive, and that try as he might Peter couldn't find the will in himself to deny what he knew had been real, once.

And suddenly he was enveloped by the heat of another man's arms around him, strong and sincere and reliable. He felt the living softness of someone else's skin touching his, although still he stood alone, his lips tingled beneath the sensation he'd almost forgotten was that of another pair against them, it had been so long. And he could sense every part of that body, he could breathe the familiar, comforting scent of his hair, and somehow he tasted the gentle press of Sylar's tongue in his mouth, and he felt safe. Trusted. He felt wanted more than he'd ever been wanted before. And it invaded his senses all at once, unrelenting, overstimulating, until he couldn't discern between fear and arousal and he no longer knew where the Peter on the ground and the Peter on the outskirts collided.

Only then, the shackles keeping him frozen in place broke free. Feeling returned to his limbs and he stumbled away from the illicit lovers as fast as shooting pins and needles would let him.

But he wasn't steady enough. And with that cord now severed, he fell.

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everythingoesnk · 5 years ago

Text

Once in Rockfield Farm (5/5)

summary; whatever man i just hope u go easy on me and that u enjoy it. thanks to those who read every chapter or sent me beautiful slash encouraging messages saying the story was good, i appreciate it a lot :( i just wish you don’t cringe 2 much

word count; 3 197

warnings; my inability to write good endings

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

********

Ricky Nelson’s divine and comforting voice filled Roger’s Alfa Romeo.

He had it repaired, that’s why you hadn’t been introduced to it yet.

Gazing out the window wasn’t an option, since the weather was foggy and the eternal repetitive picture of trees and empty road wasn’t really entertaining you no more.

As an alternative, you were recollecting flashbacks from your graduation ceremony.

Everything’d been absolutely perfect except for the evident.

The tension between Mary and Roger was palpable, detestably and boringly palpable. None of them told you how the argument went, and you were late to be able to hear anything. Both screaming over each other didn’t contribute to the cause. Mary did him dirty and Roger didn’t make an effort to control his hysteria. Before attempting to sow any peace, they needed time for things to cool down. You could understand both parts and weren't about to take any side.

Everyone, including you, had been wrong at one point.

But forgetting about Mary for a moment, you still had a pending conversation with Roger. And you owned him an apology as well.

The things he said to you at home before the ceremony, even when you were given your diploma, stuck with you. Mind split in two, one side was present in the event and the other replaying Roger’s words claiming that you were ‘stupid’ because you didn’t notice that he cared about you.

Clutching your knees to your chest, you breathed in deeply looking straight ahead.

Roger didn’t speak, and you sighed louder. And louder. Until he laughed a very cute laugh.

“I thought I made it clear the first time,” you said, “I hate not knowing where I’m going”

Roger rolled his window down and rested the arm there. A faint wind messed with his locks.

He didn’t turn to look at you before answering.

“It makes it more enjoyable to me”

“Is it far?”

“It isn’t”

Driving with one hand, Roger switched off the radio.

He didn’t look like he wanted to converse or have anything distract him, hiding the mirrors of his soul behind aviator sunglasses. You could tell he was nervous, making you wonder what was so nerve-racking that wouldn’t let Roger be his talkative and joyful self.

“Fine” you shrugged. “But before we get there I want to tell you something”

He nodded, as if inviting you to go on.

“I talked to Brian about the whole thing long before it blew up. I complained about you supposedly fucking those girls to provoke me, which we all know now it was the ultimate purpose, even if you didn’t shag any in the end. Well,” you sighed, “I’ve been a bitch as well”

Roger locked his eyes on yours instantaneously. You quickly put your head down and clasped your hands together.

His eyes went back to the road.

“I complained about you jumping to conclusions when I literally have no right to condemn it because I did the exact same thing. For weeks I avoided talking to you instead of getting things straight”

You glanced at him without really lifting your head up yet: his hands were gripping firmly the steering wheel.

Blood rushing to your face, you contemplated his profile.

You loved his nose and how it wiggled when he spoke or was deep in thought like it had a life of its own. You loved his chin, his lips, his eyebrows, his ears and his hair. You loved everything. And he was a jerk if he truly believed you didn’t notice he cared about you.

You were hurt that you hurt him for ignoring his feelings to focus on yours not getting brutally broken. That was some fucked up fat shit. You just couldn’t believe he was still somehow interested in you at that point.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I hope you can forgive me, I really do”

“We’re here”

He killed the engine, remained motionless for about fifteen seconds and hopped out of the car.

Blowing out your cheeks as soon as he exited the vehicle felt good. Only a little.

Was it something you said what bothered him? Angered him even? What could that something possibly be? You’d been polite, picking the words with care. Did you hit rock bottom, or was there further to fall? Was he going to tell you he did forgive you but that you should leave it like that? That your relationship was wounded to death? Yeah, we’re cool. ‘t was nice meeting you, have a nice flight to America. But don’t contact me again.

Roger threw open the front seat passenger door and held out his hand for you.

Feeling dizzy you took his hand, and he pulled you towards him.

Only to crash his lips into yours after your chest bumped against his.

Putting his hands on your lower back to steady you both, he worked his lips against your mouth in desperation and agony.

His forehead puckered, it looked like if it were hurting him kissing you.

It only hurt him that he couldn't have done this sooner.

Heart hammering against his ribs, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy and complete.

It was impossible, this much love.

You could feel your skeleton melting. It was getting harder to not fall on your knees. They felt weak, incapable of bearing with your weight right now.

The kiss started being kind of a mess, Roger fast and you trying to catch up with his clumsy rhythm out of eagerness. Your tongue pushed her way into his mouth, and he moved one hand to the back of your neck, holding your head in place.

The roughness made you grunt.

Butterflies swarming hysterically in your stomach and fireworks going off in his chest, you cupped his face in your hands, not planning on breaking the kiss for a while.

He took a few steps forward and soon your back made contact with his car.

You were drowning in euphoria.

Roger set his palms down flat on your sides.

“Roger—“

He ran his thumb over your lip, glanced at you for a brief couple of seconds in which you discovered how much his pupils had dilated -yours must’ve looked identical-.

The tip of your noses touching, he grinned and kissed you again.

Pink cheeks, pulse uncontrollable, arms embracing each other as if your bodies were what could save you from falling apart. That's all you were.

Tilting your head a little you stroked his cheek. He smiled at that.

You didn't miss the gesture and instantly opened your eyes even though you were still kissing, and smiled too closing them again.

Because of the lack of air that was threatening to make your lungs explode, you gradually began to separate. Treading your fingers down his chest, you wrapped them around his rainbow suspenders and sighed contently.

Roger took his time to open his eyes once the kiss finished, totally lulled by the hundreds of millions of sensations his mind and body were putting him through.

Awkwardness washing over your face due to the intimate moment you two just shared in the middle of a random street, you looked over his shoulder so you wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Roger laughed breathlessly and pressed his forehead against yours. You giggled a bit as well, and swallowed the urge to shake your head in disbelief that it finally happened.

He slung an arm around your waist.

“I like you, (Y/N)”

You held your breath.

“I forgive you”

You nodded and told yourself not to cry. Ignoring how much you wanted to.

“Ay,” he said, looking into your eyes and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You smiled big at his exclamation: he must’ve grown so used to hearing you say it that it slipped out of his own mouth, “now it’s when you confess you like me too”

You cackled and rolled your eyes playfully.

“Oh really,” you teased in a whisper. But soon you waved the sarcasm off, this was what you were dying to tell him. It was now. You had to do it, “I like you too, Rog”

He pecked you on the lips, a huge pleasing look on his face.

“God…,” you breathed, the realization hitting you like a tsunami, “it’s all so… I’m so…”

You were mad you couldn’t find the right words.

The corners of Roger’s mouth quirked up.

He flashed you a bright smile, recognizing the signs of everything being a blur himself too even being in the moment yet.

“Me too, sweetheart”

You couldn’t resist it, and went straight to wrap your arms around him in a loving whole-hearted hug.

With your cheek brushing against his cheek you hoped this wasn’t all a dream.

It made you hold him tighter, with a beaming smile that could blind the blind, when you knew this was nothing but real.

“Love,” Roger spoke, not pulling away, “we should go now. We’ll have plenty of time to snuggle”

“Just one more second” you wished into existence.

Gently stroking your back, he took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing into the hug.

More than one second passed by when you agreed it was a reasonable time to let Roger go.

His smile broke into a giggle at you pouting.

“Hold my hand” he said softly.

Resting your chin on his shoulder as you two walked into the building, his thumb caressing your palm, it then hit you that you were in the EMI Record offices yet again.

You raised an eyebrow. Roger watched you.

There were many more commuting people around this time. None of them seemed to pay any attention to none of you, concentrated on their obligations. The place was loud.

Roger didn’t like too many questions, so, for once, you just shrugged.

“You lead”

Once inside the elevator, Roger cracked his knuckles, looking as if he were being escorted to the death row. The four walls of the elevator were suffocating him. Nothing of his earlier behaviour back on the street could be seen, it was like he turned into a different person.

“You alright?”

He pinched his nose.

“After what just happened, I don’t want you to be mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why would I be mad at you for?”

He didn’t answer.

“Roger, what—“

The doors opened and a huge group of people stepped into the space. You rolled your eyes and walked closer to Roger’s side.

Seriously, he always seemed to have something up his sleeve.

Tapping your fingers against your lips you couldn’t think of anything he could’ve done to make you angry. He was probably just exaggerating. Although you still didn’t quite get why you were there.

Bouncing on your feet, you stopped when the doors opened again.

13th floor.

You arched an eyebrow. That was were Foster’s office was, if you remembered correctly.

Smoking a cigarette next to Forster's -opened- door, was Paul Prenter. You knew that man. He came from time to time to talk to the boys about Opera, to know if they needed something and to get information about the album's progress in general. However, you noticed that when he paid them a visit, he only acknowledged and cared about Freddie.

He liked him, everybody knew.

You didn’t treat Paul like he were a ballbuster like Roger and Brian did. John, Mary and you weren't comfortable with his presence either but kept it to yourselves.

“Paul?” Roger asked, confused.

“Rheid contacted me” Paul explained.

Paul looked at you, then at Roger, and then at your hands held together.

“They’re waiting inside. We better come in—“

“We? As we?” Roger pointed at you three. “We are going, you stay out of this”

“Rheid told me—“

Roger dragged you inside the office and closed the door in his face.

Deep in conversation as they were, everyone in the room snapped their heads at the two of you. When you raised your head, it was Rheid who you saw first.

“Roger, (Y/N)” he welcomed with a nod. “Please, take a sit (Y/N)”

Were you blind or did he just point to the chair right in front of the desk? Not like you were the protagonist.

You shook your head and eyed Roger. He was looking at Foster.

Miami was also in the room, you spotted him next to the big window. He waved at you and you smiled a little. Miami was a good person. You liked him. You liked him very much. You felt a bit more comfortable now that you knew he was there.

“Go ahead, (Y/N), sit” Foster insisted. “I’ve got little time and would like to discuss and go over the contract as quickly as possible”

Roger put his hand on your shoulder, and for some reason that made you shiver. He nodded at you to sit down and stood behind you, hands on the back of the chair, suddenly finding the room very hot.

Eyes exploring the room, you were beginning to feel giddy because of the secrecy thick in the air.

Contract?

Foster looked at you in the eye.

“What’s that face, woman? You’re a lucky one”

You turned on your seat to stare at Roger. You caught a glimpse of what seemed to be… fear? No, it couldn't. Fear of what?

Rheid, hooking two glasses in one hand and grasping a bottle in the other, made his way to you but stopped after studying your conduct.

“You didn’t tell her?” Rheid interrupted, wide-eyed, reflecting on yours and Roger’s attitude.

Foster was growing impatient. He slammed the contract down on the table.

“(Y/N),” Roger began, voice weak, so weak you weren’t sure you would understand him if he weren’t to raise it up a bit, “remember when you wandered off with Brian with the bikes? That day Freddie and John were out to town, and I was left alone”

“I do” your heart kicked ferociously.

“I know singing is your passion. Not singing, writing songs it is. Well, performing, so I guess that both. Both, both” he cursed under his breath for stumbling. “You said nothing was holding you back from going to America”

Afraid of what his actions might cause, he gulped the bulge in his throat before daring to lay his eyes on yours.

“Maybe there is something”

Your nails were digging into your palms.

Roger scratched his eyebrow. He felt like if he’d open his mouth his heart would fly out of it and land on your feet. He shut his eyes with a racing heart as he revealed what brought you there.

"I sent Foster a tape of All Too Well I found on the studio that day”

“Pardon?”

You didn't even finish registering what Roger'd done before the word came out of your mouth.

Stomach in a knot, Roger forced himself to look down at you, to meet your gaze.

He was mildly surprised by your reaction, expression spoiling how you precisely weren't overjoyed nor ecstatic about the news. But he knew this could be one of the outcomes.

You sprang to your feet, redness in your cheeks, forehead and neck, and said a small ‘Mind us a minute’ before turning on your heels and demanding Roger with a look to exit the office. You didn’t miss how a thin layer of light pink rose to his cheeks.

Miami's face wasn't saying much, but he didn't look away when you cast him a glance.

Clasping your hands behind your head, heart about to crash due to its rate mightly increasing, you closed your eyes. And it felt like you could hear and see your heart pumping blood.

Roger leaned against the hallway wall, looking at his shoes.

Fallen into a long lapse, Roger waited. He waited for you to speak first, but you didn’t. You just mirrored his posture, standing right across from him, hands covering your face.

“Say something, (Y/N)”

You hesitated to do, and your voice came out as a dark painful crack.

“I’m thinking of Todd”

Roger’s eyebrows knitted in doubt.

“That’s my grandfather’s name”

Unsure if you were gonna ask him to stop, he pushed himself off the wall and stood closer to you. You didn’t tell him to fuck off like you wanted to at first, but still were trying to figure out what to do with the information you’d been delivered.

Your heart plunged when he affectionately bumped his shoulder against yours.

Roger’s mouth opened slightly when he saw that your eyes were liquid with soon-to-be-released teardrops.

“What would Todd tell you if he was here now?”

You gave a sniff, wiped your eyes with the heel of your palm and grinned, latching onto the picture you visualized of your grandfather rolling his eyes, instructing you to get the shit done.

“To stop being a crybaby and to follow my dreams”

“Your dreams are just a signing away”

Roger caressed your nose with his. He was speaking in an undertone, careful not to disturb you.

“Are you mad at me for sending them the tape?”

You puffed your cheeks and let the air out thoughtfully.

Am I?

“You have to know this wasn’t the initial plan, I need to get this across. I just wanted them to hear it, so when they called to ask me who’s the talent I could tell you that your work has potential. Much more potential than you think. But they, well, you see, are interested”

Roger continued, seeing that you were still having a draining mental battle with yourself.

“We’ll take care of you. Miami and I. And Freddie, Brian and John. Everyone. If you accept, you could come to Japan with us and work on your debut album meanwhile”

“It’s… tempting”

Roger nodded and brought your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“You’ve got the last say, love”

With incredible patience and self-control, he focused on perfectly fitting his lips onto yours.

It felt so right and perfect to savour him.

Beyond immersed on the many opportunities that your destiny portended if you signed that paper, you didn’t even realize you were saying the following words until you were done reciting them.

“Thank you for believing in me”

And you knew the meaning behind Roger’s words was way deeper, referring to everything you’ve gone through. For believing that he didn’t do anything with those women and for not taking for granted that he wouldn’t be able to sustain a formal relationship.

Because you were a thing now, weren’t you?

Flashing a pair of crinkling eyes, happy that your future was now shining bright next to the man who made it possible that you could make yours’ and Todd’s dreams come true, you shoved your face in his neck, attaching him to you with your still tremulous arms.

Were you scared? Yes. But you had him, and that’s all you needed to know to feel strong enough to take such important plunge.

Engulfed in a wave of hope and gratitude, you let him hold you.

Todd would’ve loved Roger, and you were determined to not let any of these men down.

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring @mercurycrowley @ixchel-9275

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years ago

Text

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Sixteen

Bruce was quiet when he walked into the room. You were already asleep. You’d had a long day, he knew. A whole gamut of emotions in a few hours. Starting when he’d walked into your shop with Jane Foster in tow. She was going to be working with Bruce for a few weeks on a project and She and Bruce had been walking and talking while he brought you a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate cream pie.

Jane had been... Jane. Bruce reflected. Curious and oblivious. She asked about a hundred questions and you answered them all with a smile, in between bites of breakfast and sips of tea. She kept asking and the questions got... invasive. The cagier you got, because some things were secret and not fit for casual conversation. Bruce tried. He really did but like a dog with a bone, Jane just would not let up.

“What about your mom? How powerful was she?” Jane had asked. Bruce felt a reflexive tension in his shoulders when the words came out and your hands stilled. “Powerful enough to be worth burning,” you answered flatly. In that moment Jane seemed to realize she’d crossed a line somewhere and glanced at Bruce. “Witches, honest to god witches,” he explained, “Don’t think of their abilities that way... It’s not how powerful one is. It’s what they do with the powers they have. It’s the people who hunt and kill them. They target anyone they think they can take.” Bruce pointed Jane out of the shop and pulled you into a hug, kissing you gently, “You okay?” he asked, “I’m sorry. I forgot how... enthusiastic she can be.” You nod and snuggle into his chest for a second. Savoring the feeling. Bruce had a project which meant you were about to become a lab widow for a little while. Not that you were worried about him working with Jane. He adores you, especially if that morning’s lovemaking was any indication.

Six months after the walk through the woods when you’d told him you were ready to start trying and he was still devoted to the idea. And had been disappointed every month when you started to get cramps and then the inevitable blood and discomfort. You hated seeing him disappointed. It made it worse that he felt like he couldn’t tell you about how disappointed he was, but you knew. “I’m okay, Bruce,” you murmur, “It’s just. Irritating.” Bruce smiles a little and kisses you softly, “How are you feeling?” he murmured. You sigh, “Tired,” you answer, “Very tired.” He nods.

Tired could mean a lot of things and not necessarily what he wanted it to mean. “Take a short day?” he suggested, “Get some rest.” You shake your head, “I’ve got too much to do. I’ll be okay.” Bruce sighed, “Sweetheart,” he protested, “You’re going to get sick if you don’t get rest. A tired witch is not a healthy witch.” You smile a little, “I’ll be okay. Even if I take a short day I don’t really wanna spend it alone. You’ll be in the lab and my usual crew is on a mission so...” Bruce frowned but kissed you, “I’ll see you for lunch?” You nod and snuggle him for an extra second, just wanting one more second of feeling okay. It’s not your favorite time of year and there’s a lot of general malaise right now. It helps being held for a while but, Jane is waiting and Bruce has shit to do so you shoo him out of the shop with a smile. He’s excited as he walks with Jane. Thrilled to be sinking into a new project. You watch him go, already knowing that he’s going to miss lunch.

Bruce in the lab all day, does miss lunch. But more importantly, he misses the chaos of your Dad bursting into the tower yelling and acting like an ass. He misses the fall out of that. He hears about it, of course, from Darcy Lewis who burst into the lab breathless and chattering. Hours after the fact of course, AFTER she heard the gossip. Not knowing who you actually are. It made Bruce stop and try to call you, only for it to go directly to voicemail. He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was 11:30. Of course you were asleep. You had the same sleep schedule as a chicken. If it was dark you were asleep. He not so subtly threw both women out of the lab, anxious to go upstairs. Anxious to check on you.

He let himself into the room, both pleased and sad that you were already asleep. He tucked the blanket around you tenderly and went to go and shower quickly. He’d just been in the lab but, it made him feel better. Less tense. Usually. Today, no dice. It had been a long day and the deadline for the project had moved 3 different times. Personally, Bruce just wanted it to get done. He loved projects and designing new things. Learning new things. But he wasn’t a fan of the long hours away from you. He missed you. He was you through the glass on the shower door and his heart warmed a little as you stepped into the water with him. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you carefully, “Hey, pretty girl,” he said, “You okay?” You nod and kiss his shoulder, “I’m okay. Just a bad dream.” You card your fingers through his hair and pick up his shampoo, starting to wash his hair. Bruce had already done that but, he wasn’t going to stop you. It always felt so good when you took care of him. Everything you did felt better. He relaxed into the touch and smiled, “That’s the best,” he sighed. You kiss his jaw and lean his head back gently, carefully rinsing out all the soap. Bruce basks in the attention and he kneads into your ass and hips with his fingers. He loves the feel of your skin, warm and wet under his hands. You blush a little and kiss his neck, “You’re so handsome,” you tell him. His hair done, you apply yourself to the rest of him, fussing and scrubbing his skin gently. Bruce blushed. He always blushed when you called him handsome. He knew it was inevitable that you were going to fuss until you were satisfied that he was taken care of. That included all the things he was insecure about.

Changing into the Hulk and Back had left him with stretchmarks and his metabolism being trashed left him with some extra weight that he just couldn’t seem to drop. Not a lot of weight. But compared to a team of superheroes that are ripped at hell, he sometimes felt a little... inadequate. But, right now. In this moment, he felt good. You kissed and nuzzled tenderly. It was amazing, the feel of your lips on his skin. It was like a drug. His only addiction. He felt his prick twitch and he groaned, “Baby,” he murmured, “Let me take care of you?”

“But I’m not done with you,” you protest, kneeling in front of him. Bruce feels his breath hitch. Once, you’d told him that you were good with your tongue. That you’d learned to compensate for your intimacy issues. Bruce had been hesitant to allow you to do this for him. Especially not before he’d be allowed to take care of you. But now, it made him dizzy. You hadn’t been lying. As you licked up the underside of his prick, he felt like his knees were going to buckle. He wasn’t sure what exactly you were doing with your tongue. What witchcraft you were doing. All he knew was that it didn’t take long for him to feel like he was going to burst. He helped you to your feet and kissed you softly. “Turn around, baby?” he coaxes. You nod and let him position you, facing the wall, legs apart, so he could find his release. He sank into you with a groan as he laced his fingers through your where your hand rested against the wall. He thrust into you steadily and slid his fingers against your clit slowly. He’s not going to feel right, having your mouth on him without having you come for him. He wants you to come with him. “Come for me,” he murmurs, “Let me hear you?” He intensifies his efforts and you gasp softly, “Bruce,” you pant, “Fuck.”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he says, “We’re gonna fuck a baby into you.” You squeeze the hand that’s holding yours moan softly, “You want that, don’t you?” he said, voice a warm rumble in your ear. “Yes,” you answer, breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises, edging you closer to orgasm. “Don’t stop,” you tell him, “Please.” He groans, “Not gonna stop baby,” he says, “Not til you come for me. Not til I put a baby in you.” When you cry out wordlessly, coming apart on his cock, Bruce lets go and lets himself spill inside you. He wraps his arm around your waist and rests his forehead on your shoulder panting as he clutches you to him. “I love you,” he murmurs, “So much.” You smile and bask in the feeling of him. You love this. He holds on to you like his favorite teddy bear and gets so lovey. He’s still inside you, going soft as he murmurs endearments against your skin. You like that too. When he gets a little bossy, more assertive. Under normal circumstances, he’s so soft. Non-confrontational. Easy going. But making love made him bossy. Especially now that he realized you liked it when he got assertive. It made you feel weak at the knees. Your belly got warm and you couldn’t tell him no. Not Bruce. Not with his big doe eyes and messy curls. His gentle hands and deep voice. If he told you to do something, you were going to. And he knew it. When you turned off the water as he slid out of you slowly, he reached for a towel to wrap you in. “Ladies first,” he said wrapping you up and kissing your head before wrapping a towel around his waist. Once he had you dry and tucked back into bed, he turned his attention to himself.

He felt better and he hoped that meant you did too. Having now met Deckard Blanche on one occasion when he came to New York before, he could understand how you might have gotten upset. Deckard was... Abrasive to say the least. Self-centered and arrogant but, there were moments when he was charming. When he was flirting with the waitress and winding her deftly around his fingers. Bruce could see how a 16-year-old Lenora would have fallen for it. And he was thankful you’d devoted yourself to your studies to avoid men like that. He laid next to you and pulled you close, “So, what did Deckard want?” he asked as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Money. Money and some rare spell components... probably for something less than aboveboard.” Bruce chuckled, “Did you give him any of it?” he asked. “Fuck no,” you say, “He’s a grown-ass adult wizard.” Bruce cuddled you and kissed your head. He knew you’d been hurt and angry when he showed up. You had a complicated relationship with Deckard, at best. He hadn’t raised you. He hadn’t even known that your mom was dead for a year. He’d been distant. Always distant. Bruce wasn’t even entirely sure Deckard knew how old you were. Bruce was also reasonably certain you weren’t going to want him around any children you did have and he was fine with that. He really didn’t like Deckard.

As he held you, soothing you back into sleep, he felt himself getting tired. He didn’t know what spell you had cast on him or how you knew how exactly what he needed, but you did. Before, when he’d been alone, he’d still be working. But now, your soft body in his arms and your breath against his neck, he was ready to sleep. To know that you were safe and with him. He felt like an asshole, first missing lunch and then leaving you to deal with Deckard alone. But, it was nice having you in his arms and that’s what he focused on as he drifted off. The future he wanted to have with you at the center of it.

Weeks pass. The project turns into a mission and Bruce is called away. You miss him. The steady comfort of his presence. Your best friend. It makes you sad, but you know he’ll be home as soon as he can.

In the interim, you spend a lot of time with Natasha. And Clint. You like all the Avengers but Clint and Natasha are different. You knew them first. You know them best. And sitting in your suit with them watching Netflix feels normal. It’s comfortable. Aside from feeling nauseous at the smell of Clint’s stupid cheesy popcorn. The three of you fall asleep in a comfortable pile. Natasha has her head on your stomach and Clint has his head on Tasha’s thigh, hugging her legs like a body pillow. It’s comforting being near people. Having them there. And you suspect that they noticed you hadn’t been sleeping well. You’re grateful.

The next day in the training room, Natasha watches you carefully. You look pale and you’ve been looking a little dizzy. About the time Sam walks by with some grape flavored nonsense and you gag, she quirks an eyebrow, “First cheesy popcorn and now grape?” she tuts, “Y/N you’re falling apart on me.” She throws an arm over your shoulder and walks you out of the training room. There are people listening now and she knows this is probably a private matter. “Tasha, I’m fine,” you protest. She smiles a little, “I know that. What I want to know is how long.” You cock your head, “How long what?”

She gives you a look, warning you not to play dumb, “How long have you and Bruce been trying to get pregnant?” she asked. She knows you. If she’s not straightforward you’ll wiggle out of answering. As a rule you don’t lie, but you will avoid. You blush and smile a little, “Since December,” you murmur. “And you kept it from me this long?” she pouted. You blush a little harder and she hugs you, “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “We just. We decided it was better if we kept it a secret.” She nods and kisses your forehead, “How long have you been nauseous?” she asked, a little worried. You shake your head, “Not long. It’s really only been rough the last two days.” Natasha frowns and watches you swallow hard, “You need to go to medical,” she said, “If you are pregnant, you need to know. Now. We can’t send you into something that could be dangerous.” You nod, “Come with me?” you ask softly, “Please?” The Spy can’t tell you no.

For all her aloofness with strangers, she can’t not be soft with you. You were like the little sister she never had. She remembered her early days at SHIELD. How alone she felt. Until Clint dug you up out of somewhere. Fresh out of training with chipped black nail polish and a big friendly smile. She hadn’t wanted to be your friend but... You hadn’t given her much choice. “C’ mon,” she coaxes, “It won’t take long. And if we go now, we can probably keep it a secret. At least until you can tell him.” You let her take your hand and walk with you there.

You aren’t sure if you’re nauseous because you’re nervous or if it’s whatever it was before as you sit on the table. But you can’t watch them do the blood test. You just hate needles. Natasha doesn’t let go of your other hand. Not the entire time. You were quiet. Anxious and scared. If you weren’t pregnant you’d be disappointed. If you were... what if you weren’t ready? What if Bruce changed his mind? Everything sounded like it was coming from underwater. The only thing you understood was that it was happening.

You were, in fact, pregnant.

Natasha took over then, dealing around your shock and arranging your first appointments while you cried and dealt with the shock. There were tears. A lot of tears. And you desperately wanted to talk to Bruce. You didn’t know if you could actually keep it a secret. Not for much longer. Mostly because now that the shock was wearing off, you were excited. In the hall as you and Natasha stood hugging and crying, neither of you realized Steve was standing not far away. He was trying not to listen but, it didn’t take much to put pieces together.

He blushed and cleared his throat, “Ladies,” he said, “Tony, Bruce, and Sam should be back this evening. We just got word.” You wipe tears away on your sleeve and nod, trying to pull yourself together, “Thanks, Steve,” you say nodding, “Gives me time to make a nice dinner.” Steve clears his throat, “Everything okay?” he asked. “Fine,” you say, “Just fine.” Natasha smiles and grabs your hand, “What’s for dinner?” she asked, steering you to the kitchen to get you out of Steve’s line of sight. “Fried Chicken?” you guess, “Potatoes, gravy, and peas?” Natasha smiled, “If you can stand frying the chicken.” She pokes your belly gently and kisses your head.

You do manage to make dinner with the help of Natasha and Clint. Clint has to fry the Chicken but your apple pies turn out beautifully.

When Bruce walks in and you fling yourself into his arms, your legs around his waist, you start crying again. He hugs you close and kisses you, setting you on the counter to wipe your tears away carefully, “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, “What happened?” You shake your head smiling, kissing him again, “I’m just so happy you’re home. I missed you.”

All through dinner, his hand isn’t far from yours. He eats and fusses over you, a little concerned. You don’t cry. Not just because you miss him.

It’s not until he has you alone. Until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed in a t-shirt and panties, waiting for him to come to bed, that he notices anything amiss. But, it’s a little hard to miss a prettily wrapped gift on his side of the bed. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up and kissing you. “Open it and see,” you tease, practically vibrating with excitement. Bruce chuckles and unties the ribbon, carefully taking the top off the box. It takes a moment. Inside the box there’s a tiny pair of black converse baby shoes.

Bruce stills. His heart swelling in his chest. “Sweetheart,” he said, “are you? Are we?” He can feel tears welling up and you nod, wiping away new tears of your own. He laughs and tackles you on the bed gently, lavishing kisses and caresses on your body, stopping to nuzzle your lower belly, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. You card your fingers through his hair and he smiles, “You need sleep,” he fussed, “And vitamins... Have you been to the doctor?” Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s fussing. You tut softly, “Bruce, don’t worry. We have our first appointment next week. And there are vitamins in the medicine cabinet.” He nods, cuddling you close. You’re already drifting off and he’s happy to see you getting rest. He can ask more questions tomorrow, but for now, he wants to bask in this moment. To feel the joy of knowing the future he wanted was coming.

Tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @golddaggers @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts @process-pending @xmarveled @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess

#bruce banner #chubby bruce #bruce banner x reader #hulk #hulkx reader #witch reader #long chapter #MCU fanfiction

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wildmoonflower · 5 years ago

Text

These dreams are made of tears

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: AU where you share your dreams with your soulmate and yours turns out to be very kind, sad, hurt and insecure Avenger Warnings: Depression, mentions of self-harm, sensitive topic(death), swearing but also some fluff Warning 2: I got carried away and the word-count ended up being 12K...I'm sorry A/N: This is my piece for writing challenge for @afewmarvelousthoughts on a prompt n.16: 'Don't leave me. Not now.'

@afewmarvelousthoughts Thank You again for understanding my situation of needing longer deadline. I hope You enjoy this :) I also take criticism so I would be really glad for one, it would help my writing :)

With a sharp gasp for air, you wake up with a jerk, pj's shirt drenched in sweat, comforter crumpled at your feet showing rough night. Today, dreams of your soulmate were just as intense as always. With a groan, you sat up on the bed, rubbing your tired eyes. Pink, purple and red light of the dawn was slowly filling your room was not reflecting the mood you were in, tired and so not ready for work. It was clear that restless night was a omen of a shitty day before you. After you got up from bed, you noticed the charger not properly plugged in the outlet, leaving your phone on weak 30%, you were running out of toothpaste with no spare under the sink and coffee taste bad for some reason. You could feel tension in your body slowly add up.

Dreams of your soulmate were intense tonight, much worse than last few days, which left you wondering what happened that made bloody horrors to come back. Darkness, screams, heavy scent of blood were so strong, so real it made your skin crawl. And yet, the worst was a hand, your hand, covered by black glove, holding a gun. Weight of the gun was unbearable but your hand was holding it tightly, pointed on the blurry figures, that wailed and trashed, faces unknown to you. You couldn't watch anymore but when a cold voice shouted from behind, your hand, hand of your soulmate rised up, finger pulling the trigger.

Sound of your phone pulled you out of your reminiscing. "Shit!" You exclaimed, looking at the screen. The alarm that warned you you had last 10 minutes before you have to leave for work has gone off. At this point, you don't have time for make-up, even thought it is usually just a few swipes of mascara and lip balm. As fast as you can, you get dressed in comfortable clothes and sprint out of your small apartment. Working in a Caffee, you were responsible for opening the place after checking if everything is in place, normal start of a week.

Rounding the corner, you collided with a strong body of a man, making you stumble and if it wasn't for a muscular arms grabbing you by your hips, you would be kissing the concrete. "Woah, easy there." Deep voice sounded from up above, hint of amusement clearly because of your shocked face. Looking up, warm brown eyes stared at you, one corner of the lips turned up, visibly suppressing himself from laughing.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking." You blurted out, offering apologetic smile to dark-skinned man in front of you. Behind him stood a man with a polite smile. Looking at them, you noticed both of them were in simple jogging clothes, man who you crushed into clearly much more sweaty and tired than his friend, who didn't look even fazed. Your brows creased, their faces were somewhat familiar but before you could place them, your phone beeped again, snapping you out of another trance. "I'm sorry, I have to go to work right now. Once again, please, excuse me." You apologized, running away full speed, giving two men no time to answer, knowing that owner will be already there, most likely in his normal stance of exasperated dad.

Living in Manhattan, NYC, was mostly nice and relatively calm. Or at least when aliens were not raiding the town in lead of crazed demi-god. The Caffee-ironically named Safehaven-was very close to the Stark Tower, now known as Avengers Tower and when huge portal opened, you were at your shift, ushering small group of customers in the kitchen before a police came and took them to safety. Noticing a small kid, hiding under the table, you went back, not realizing that everybody already left in hurry. Staying in unlocked place was as dangerous as out in the streets, but you took your change in the back-alley, hoping for no monster to be there. And for sure, you heard a crushing sound of breaking glass from inside the shop, followed by a sound of growls and brawl. Not making even four steps further, three Chitauri warriors busted through, shooting at a red-haired woman. By then, you were in full panic mode, almost throwing small boy behind the dumpster just to hide him from the brutal sight in front of you. Unfortunately, the movement drawn the attention of the Chitauri monster. Before you could move a muscle, petite woman kicked the monster from behind, shooting him from a strange stick-like weapon, other staff rolling to your leg. __ "Are you okay?" She asked, calmly wiping the blood from her busted lip as if she just didn't kick ass to a bunch of aliens. You nodded your head, still speechless as you noticed one of the Chitauri get back up, weapon in hand, aiming at red-head's back. Without hesitation, you picked up the staff by your feet and shoot the monster, by some miracle not the woman who barely flinched, just spun on the heel to round-kick the twitching body away. "Well, thank you for that." With a quick stride, she trudged to you, taking the staff from your stiff hands and motioning the boy to come out. "I'm Natasha, nice to meet you." "Y/N, my name is Y/n." Your voice finally came back, shaking your hand with petite beauty before you. "I guess it's me who is grateful. That was awesome." "I guess we are almost even. Let's get you two to safety." With that, Natasha carefully led you to nearest group of police officers, who were shouting orders´. Not long after the centipede-like monsters poured out of the sky, you could see Hulk, Iron Man and Thor take down one and then move towards the Tower. You were nervous, you knew Natasha was out there, risking her life to stop the extraterrestrial madness and sent countless number of prayers to anything, anyone that was above. And sure enough, the talk about Avengers rose, the group of remarkable people, who swore to fight the battles normal citizen never could.

You were not late, thanks to mad dash you made and your head being in the cloud, you were surprised you were not hit by a car or toppled by a cyclists in rush hour. The owner, Mr. Goodman, indeed stood like a bouncer, watching your arrival with squinted eyes. "Y/N, I hope you have a good reason why my shop is still not ready to be opened? It's a rule that is set to maintain some level of order," Older man looked at you, noticing dark circles under your eyes, deep sigh fell from his lips, "another tough night?"

"They were...intense." You nodded, apologetic smile on your face. You loved Mr. Goodman, that man took you under his wings and gave you steady job when you couldn't stand pitying eyes of your family and moved out, even helped you find an apartment with reasonable rent. At first, owner looked like a tough criminal, scar on the cheek, hair in a buzz cut and tattoos of various monsters covering both hands. After knowing him, you find out he loves to read, has a passion in brewing coffee and cooking and tends to stray cats and dogs in the back-alley, which gets him into a fight with his wife, who knew they can have only so much pets at home.

"Nothing I can't handle. Just a minute, I will open the store right away." You quickly changed the topic and begin to work. Mondays, as always, are hectic and first customers comes in with almost zombie-like manners, in desperate need of caffeine. Day was going slow and you could not wait for Jessica, sweet university girl who worked a few hours after school. Lack of sleep was catching up in full force, resulting in strong case of resting bitch-face, which tended to get you in occasional trouble.

Around 4PM, an hour when shop was the least busy, a familiar face popped in. "Nat! Oh my God, you're back!" You rushed towards black Widow, who smiled let you give her a bear hug, patting your head with her free hand. "When did you came back?" You asked, not noticing other three people standing behind her, watching your interaction curiously.

"Yesterday, late at night." Male voice replied and a certain archer stood next to Natasha, ruffling your hair. "We said not to worry, if I remember right." He laughed at your attempt to jab him in the ribs. "Missed you too, Y/N/N." "Well, I always worry so I stopped listening to you." You smirked but leaned and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Shortly after the attack, Natasha came to the shop again, this time with Clint, with who you immediately clicked. You loved the seemingly carefree man, who often acted dumb. You called out the bullshit on that, as you had the chance to witness the wits, quick thinking and impeccable instinct. "I'm glad to see you back, Clint."

"Stop hogging her to yourself, Clint." Natasha nudged Clint with her foot, putting a hand around your waist and pulled you to her side. "Y/N, this is Sam and James. They work with us. Guys, this is Y/N, the one I have talked about before." She motioned towards two men, who silently watched previous conversation. Your eyes widened at the sight of a man from the morning.

"Hey, we met this morning." You blurted out, making Sam laugh and extend his arm to you, which you awkwardly shook. Never in your dreams could you imagine meeting an Avenger in such inelegant way. "Sorry, again, for almost manhandling you." Looking behind him, your breath hitched at the sight of the last man, James. Somewhere deep in your stomach squeezed and an unknown feeling washed over you. Man before you was tall, dark hair long and kinda unkept. He was looking at you but because of the cap, you couldn't see his face clearly, just a dim spark in eyes and a few-days-old stubble. His whole body showed exhaustion and some sort of fragility that made your heart skip a beat. Now you have realized all of them had a cap on, trying to conceal their identities, which still surprised you that it mostly worked. "Hi," you said softly and listening to the quiet voice in your head, you made and slow step towards him, extending your hand to him, "nice to meet you. Probably everything she said was a lie." You grinned a little and heard Nat scoff behind you.

James looked at your hand and shook it in the gentlest manner. "Only the good things and praises." He answered, voice gruff and low. "So, lies." You joked, earning a soft chuckle from him that made goosebumps go crazy on your back. Tracking your eye down, you notice his left arm covered in black glove, while his right hand was not. James shifted on his feet uncomfortably and you stepped back, playing it cool. "So, um, I guess you want to sit down and order. Or is it to-go?" You asked, looking around.

"We will have it here. We'll take the corner table." Nat jerked her head to the table, around which were no customers. "When do you have your break? Come sit with us." She asked.

You looked at the clock above the doors. "I can take it right now but I'm sure you guys want to have some quiet and peace for yourse-I wouldn't ask if we wouldn't want you there." She interrupted you, her tone of voice leaving no room for arguments. "Come when you take your things." You rolled your eyes on her, earning a toothy grin that gave you different kind of goosebumps than when James smiled.

"Fine! Here are the menus, sit down, I'll give you time to pick." You shooed them to their table and went to Joe, another student trying to survive college without starving. "Joe, I'm taking my break, if something is wrong, holler for me." You informed him and took your smoothie from the fridge. Working in a Caffee, after a while, it made your love for coffee decrease a little, finally pushing you to drink something healthier. "Okay, did you guys pick what you want?" You placed down your drink and the sandwich Mr. Goodman made for each of his employees. "I'll take Long Black with three shots of Espresso." James said, closing the menu you've handed him earlier. One glance at Nat and Clint and you knew it was their usual so you turned your attention to Sam, who smiled at you in toothy grin, handed you the menu. "Americano for me."

After passing the orders to Joe, you finally sat down beside Natasha. "You look awful, Y/N. You look like a panda bear with those bags." She scolded with Clint nodding his head who calmly sipped from a steel cup, most probably his own coffee mix, which one time made you shake for three hours and sweat bullets while shaking like a leaf in the wind. How he was still alive with the amount of caffeine intake without suffering an heart attack, that was beyond you.

"Speak for yourself, all of you look like you could use some sleep." You said but the pointy look from a pair of assassins told you your distraction didn't work. "I couldn't sleep last night." You sighed silently to Natasha, who too lowered her voice. She didn't bother to tell you that James, who was bickering with Sam, could hear every single word you two muttered.

"Your soulmate?" All you could do was to let out a bitter laugh:" Of course. My soulmate either loves action movies and relives them in his dreams or he is actually a freaking psychopath or a hitman." You laughed out, sounding little bit hysterical.

That is how this world worked. Since forever, two people, destined for each other, could see the dreams of one another. It was a strange sensation, as if two different tapes were playing in your head. Your dreams always felt different, as if watched from afar, while the dreams of your soulmate were pulling you in. During the early years of childhood, you had no dreams whatsoever, what nobody took seriously, maybe your soulmate was a little kid still too. But soon, it changed. Nightmares, horrible images filled your nights, leaving the small you terrified, terrified of the world, of people and cruel words behind seemingly kind faces. Just as quickly the nightmares came, they have disappeared, leaving your mind in disarray. You had some peace for a few years, until one night, when you have woken up, drenched in sweat, screaming your lungs out at horrific images . Depression kicked in, leaving your family heart-broken at the sight of a barely teen girl, shivering under the covers. That's how it went, for every few years, the dreams of your soulmate came back, every time making your night living Hell, resulting in insomnia and depression.

To that, Natasha had nothing to say, just an empathetic pat on the back that made you feel bad. She has confessed that her soulmate died long time ago, as dreams of her other half simply disappeared. Despite that, she never let that define the relationships she had, as you knew of her 'chummy time' with Bruce Banner, as Clint called it, not in front of her, of course. Even after years of friendship and having each other's back, he knew better than to make fun of her or a man, whose problem tends to turn big and green. Forcing yourself to smile, you turned to James and Sam, who were silently bickering about something, catching words 'tin foil man', 'Steve', running' and 'left'. "So," you said, taking a small bite of your sandwich," do you have any missions planned now? Or do you actually have something magical called a leisure time?"

"Stark is planning a big party tomorrow. Is it considered leisure?" Clint asked, earning a disgusted face from Bucky. "No, it's not, because of course, all big shots are going to be there, trying to get all friendly with him or Captain." Clint mumbled and you huffed a laugh, remembering when he confessed you that only parties most of the Avengers enjoyed were with less people, Avengers and closest friends at the best.

Nat, suddenly grabbed you hand, big grin on her face made your skin crawl, you already knew you were not going to like what she was about to say. "Day after tomorrow, keep it free." Horror filled your guts as you knew what she was planning. Turning your full attention to red-head beside you, you spouted the first thing that came to your mind.

"I have something planned already that day." Trying your hardest not to break eye contact, you could feel the sweat slowly build on your forehead, a normal reaction to the pointy look that felt like thousand needles moving under your skin, a reaction that Nat could easily evoke in an instant. Leaning forward in her seat, she squinted her eyes, not uttering a word, you knowing what was about to come. "Okay, I don't, stop doing that." You peeped, making others laugh. "Nobody is going to believe a lie just because you do not break your eye contact. Not moving or blinking is the same as confessing. You also started to tweak your palm. Plus, you are like the worst liar I've ever met." Natasha counted all mistakes while leisurely sipping on her drink. "I'll pick you up tomorrow after your shift, we will go to buy you something that will fit Stark's dress code expectations."

Despite knowing how annoying Nat found whimpering, you couldn't help it but let a small groan escape your mouth. "Nat," you nudged her with leg, "you know I hate parties, especially with lots of loud and most importantly, unfamiliar people around." "Too bad, I already told Stark you are my plus one." Not so pleasant answer made you sad and annoyed all the same, determined Natasha was harder to stop than an enraged bull.

Unknown to Y/N, her little quarrel with Black Widow was overheard by Bucky, who couldn't help but feel relieved by the outcome. At least, another relatively normal person will be there, one more person to talk to when Steve or Sam will get called over. He still disliked being at those parties, incessant feeling of being watched and the wall slowly closing in on him still gave him panic attacks, but as he was reminded by Tony, all Avengers must be present, as a form of apology for the damage they caused on the last mission. Watching Y/N as she sprawled herself on Nat, pursing her lips in pouty way, with Sam and Clint telling her they will be there for her, he had a feeling they will find each other at the party when the time comes. "I shouldn't have sit with you." "Too late, Honey."

Stark's idea of small party was something like a 'Nightmare Exclusive' for you. What felt like whole city was before Avenger Tower, either trying to will their way in or simply to catch a glimpse of the mightiest heroes. It was next to impossible for you to get close and you still had your doubts of how you will get through the security as Nat was not picking up her phone. You were no celebrity to be recognized, nor have you ever made it public that you know one of the Avengers. Despite that, as you got close, one of the men, his name tag shown name Hogan, pushed through the crowd to you and bent down a little, helping you hearing him through the cacophony of music, honks of the cars and screaming voices. "Miss Y/L/N?" Your shocked face must have assured him of his right guess as he put his hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you towards the doors. Your face burned bright red as you heard angry whispers of people waiting in the line. "Ignore them. Pompous a-holes will always be a-holes, they should taste what it feels like to be made wait." Happy said, now much relaxed as two of you entered the reception, noise from the outside almost non-existent.

"Is it wise to talk like that when Mr. Stark is your employer?" You asked amused, already liking the man walking slightly ahead of you. "And, how did you know me?"

He looked over his shoulder, a small smirk formed on his mouth. "I stand my ground." He mumbled and stopped before the elevator: "Miss Romanoff made it clear she has a plus one and has shown me your picture. "Pushing the button, he turned around and began to leave, helping the men with the chaos outside, "Just ask Friday to get you to top floor." He said over his shoulder and rolled them as he stepped outside, as if to appear taller or scarier, or both. You smiled at the sight, he reminded you of that one uncle who thinks he is big and tough while being a total sweetheart with a slight potty mouth.

With a soft click, doors opened and you stepped inside. "Umm, top floor, please?" You asked into the space as you noticed no buttons and surely, a female voice answered, making you jump: "Right away, Miss Y/L/N." You chuckled to yourself as you remembered Natasha telling you about A.I Tony Stark created. Elevator was spacious, one side fully covered with mirror, giving you time to check yourself the last time. Your make-up was very light, you never liked to waste too much time in front of the mirror but you felt the pressure to cover yourself a little bit more than usual for this kind of 'once-in-a-lifetime' event and your hair... you were too lazy to do something fancy as you just washed them and attached a few small hairpins. The dress, that was something you would you yourself would never bought if it wasn't for a certain red-haired that occasionally had a scary scowl on her face. One side sleeveless but the material connected to another hand with 3/4 length sleeve, showing off your collarbones. The camisole was tight on the skin and several layers of soft chiffon went down in bit more loose skirt. In soft flow from the knee height, an intricate lace swirled upwards, creating a design of a flowing water from a certain angle. The dress was too much but seeing the way Nat's eyes twinkled, you just hadn't had the heart to say no to her. You were lucky the shop had it in your favorite color and the material was soft and comfortable. You made it very clear to Nat, comfort over style was your motto, you hated uncomfortable clothes with passion. You had a thin necklace on your neck, beautiful thin silver chain with a tiny pendant, a small black widow spider standing on the rose, Nat's present to your birthday. Your wrists were covered by a delicate lacy fingerless gloves that reached about the middle of your forearm, covering the parts of you you have never shown to other people, not even Nat.

"Top floor." A.I, Friday, announced and opened the doors, giving you just enough time to take a deep breath. The room before you was...overwhelming. Tables with food stood against the wall and right next to it was a bar that you knew Nat will dominate later on. Everything looked expensive, even a small pouffes looked more pricey than half of your apartment. Few people were walking around, carrying various stuff, most probably doing the finishing touches before the mayhem begins. Taking a few steps into the room, you immediately gets fascinated with the view. The sun was slowly setting down, painting the sky with many shades of red, blue and yellow, a gentle hue of ending day with a city in the background, slowly waking it's lights.

You watched the distant skyline, clutching the phone in your hand, still no answer from Nat. It made you remember the parties you went to younger, with the only friend present that later left you to stand on the sides, waiting for them to come back and save you from the awkward standing around. "Can I help you Ma'am?" A deep voice asked from behind you, making you jump as you have not heard any footsteps. Turning around, you are suddenly standing face-to-face with Captain America. Advertisements and pictures did him no justice and as he stood before you in black jeans and navy blue button-down shirt that was a size or two smaller, looking more buff and taller than you imagined from what you saw in Smithsonian.

His face was calm and polite, a pleasant smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes completely, as they held a slight guarded, careful look. "Uhh," you made your best 'intelligent' sound and took a step back, also because looking him in the eyes was ruining your neck, "I came here for the party. I'm Natasha's plus one?" You stammered, baby blue eyes on you felt like as if you were under an X-ray or hooked to a polygraph. This was NOT how you imagined meeting America's Man from the past and before you had a chance to excuse yourself and bail, another male voice sounded from behind Rogers, this time you knew the deep bass with a warm, fun undertone.

"Who you got over there, Captain?" Sam asked, appearing on the blond's left, smile widening at the sight of you. "Y/N! Glad to see you didn't back out of this." He exclaimed and gave you a big hug, as if you two were friends for years. "And risk Black Widow's anger to rain upon me? I'll rather handle a few snobs for a few hours." You joked as you hugged Wilson back. Knowing Sam Wilson for three days was enough for you to already like the presence of metal-winged superhero. After you two met, he came to the café again with James, filling your time with stories about Avengers while his friend simply listened, adding a quiet remarks here and there. "So, where is Nat? Or Clint? Don't tell me he is trying to hide in the vents again."

"He tried but Natasha alerted Stark who clogged the vents from air supply." Another voice said. Just as Captain, James made no sound walking even when dressed in formal boots. "Y/N," he softly smiled in greetings and looked back at his friend, "Stark has something to talk about with you, Steve." When James Buchanan Barnes talked to his hero friends, he talked louder, more confident, so different when he talked to you, so quiet and soft, as if afraid he could frighten or hurt you with words alone. Of course, by now you knew who James was. Obviously you have heard about Winter Soldier but after the Triskelion rising to the skies, you completely stopped concerning yourself with whole Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. thing, except keeping the contact with Nat but you trusted her to be careful not giving out who she is nor who you are to her.

"Evening, James." You greeted the man in return, discreetly eyeing his tall figure. There was no denying he was an eye-candy, dressed in black jeans and similar shirt as his friend, two-days scruff giving him rougher look you can't say you minded. What worried you were huge black bags under his eyes, so similar to yours. Clearing your throat, you turned to Sam who was watching you with that one-sided grin of his that made you roll your eyes. "Sam, can you take me to Nat? I'm going to kill her." You said in serious voice that made Falcon snicker and both Super-Soldiers look at you in shock.

Putting his arm around your shoulder, he pushed you towards another elevator, this one bit smaller, looking like for more of a personal use. "Sure thing Y/N. Captain, Buck, see you in a bit." He said, calling the elevator, giving you time to turn a bit and wave at two men. "You didn't expect this many people? Don't worry, after two or three hours, it' mostly just Avengers and the closest friends." Sam continued mostly his monologue, another reason why you liked one of the most normal human in this place. "By the way, you look charming, Y/N, Nat went nuts with that shopping." He added, motioning to you, making you chuckle. "Thank you Sam, you don't look half-bad yourself." You returned the compliment but by the glint in his eyes, you knew you will regret saying anything.

"But it seems you'd rather have someone bit broodier, or older to tell you that?" He teased and burst out laughing when you took a weak swing at him, "Calm it, Wilson, I have a pepper spray and I'm not afraid to use it." You warned him, dangling the small letter-purse in front of you. Sam raised his hands in mocked defense and got out of the elevator, pointing his finger in nearby room. "That's Nat's room, just knock, she should be inside. See you up there." And with that, he took off.

Looking at Natasha, who was currently putting on heels, you felt under dressed. In her bright red evening gown that shown most of the back and hugged all the right curves of her body, you wanted to rip your dress from your body and bury yourself in her bed, to wait out the party that was about to start. Nat was not satisfied with your make-up and almost tied you to the chair, giving you 'some details' to your face that made you feel like it was not you anymore.

"Help me with that, please." Nat turned her back to you, holding a thin necklace in her hand, her necklace with a small silver bow, showing her lasting friendship with Clint. Noticing your smile, she rolled her eyes: "Last time I forgot to put it on, Clint was pouting whole day. It was during a mission, it was kind of annoying."

"Jesus," you muttered and helped her. Despite looking calm, you could see the sparks of joy in Nat's eyes, probably needing some distraction from work and party was exactly what she needed. Slowly, some of that enthusiasm crawled on you and you too, couldn't wait to meet other Avengers. "Miss Romanoff, Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Stark is calling everyone in the main hall, party is about to start." Irish female voice warned you two. The zeal that was emitting from Nat almost shocked you, even after knowing her for a few years, you seldomly saw her break the careful mask completely. She was humming some old russian song that sounded like a nursery rhyme. Sneaking her hand around your hip, Nat

squeezed you to her, a toothy grin full of enthusiasm lightening her face, pulling you towards the first beats of the music. "Let's go!"

Meeting rest of the Avengers was going surprisingly smooth. Of course, Tony freaking Stark immediately tried to make you tell embarrassing tales of his two assassins. Thankfully, before you could panic and make a fool out of yourself or Clint and Nat, Pepper Potts came and dragged him away, giving you apologetic smile. You bumped into young looking red-head, who introduced herself as Wanda, and felt the connection almost instantly, not something you could say about the man with her, Vision, whose facial expression and way of talk made you nervous, despite being polite. Behind the bar stood Bruce Banner, polite with sense of humor that lots of people wouldn't notice. And lastly, you were officially introduced to Steve Rogers, who now was much more relaxed. With all that handsomeness and beauty around you, you were feeling overloaded, silently thanking that Thor couldn't attend, you doubted you could handle also meeting a God of Thunder.

Party itself went better than you thought it would. For your biggest relief, not that many people came, or better were allowed in. You were not left alone even for a second, with Nat either sticking close to you, glaring at every older man trying to flirt with you or simply dragging you over to bar to get shots. It was tough, despite the smaller frame, you were already feeling the buzz when she just started, laughing it off to her Russian genes. When Nat was called over, almost immediately, Sam, Wanda or Bucky with Steve appeared by your side.

It was nice feeling, being around people who seemed so honestly nice. As time went, ices started to melt even more, you finding out more about the human beings that laid behind the masks of superheroes. Bruce was much more crazier than he let on, understandably forcing himself to be calm when around unknown people. Tony Stark... was almost batshit crazy and center of attention all the time, trying to make everyone feel welcome while teasing the heck out of them, while Pepper and James Rhodes, who appeared later with bad jokes, tried to save him from himself. Steve was the 'caretaker' of Avengers, making sure everybody behaves, trying his hardest to keep Sam and James, Bucky as he asked you to call him, apart but failed so as two were bickering like a two true brothers. Clint was a walking disaster but that was nothing new to you, as you have already had the pleasure of taking care of him and Nat, when they appeared in your apartment, smashed drunk. That day, Natasha used all your oils to fill the bathtub and bathe for four hours while singing old Russian songs that gave you chills and Clint pulled water balloons out of nowhere and was sniping misbehaving people from your balcony, screaming something in a sense of 'Caw caw, motherfuckers.'

Around 1am, it was just you and superheroes sprawled across the room. Now Stark was behind the bar, mixing drinks for him and Bruce, using the fact that Pepper went ahead and went to bed. Bruce was nearby, head in clouds with slightly blushed cheeks and all giggles. The rest were hogging the sofas with Rogers standing behind the couch where Bucky sat with Sam, Wanda and Vision. You were on a smaller sofa, in the middle with Nat's hand wrapped around your shoulders and Clint, whose head was almost in your lap, looking ready to pass out for the night. You were content with the way the whole day went, knowing your dreams could be calm at the best.

Having nightmares of your soulmate was not the worst thing. Now every night was a hurdle you could often not overcome. Your own dreams were treacherous too, flaring up your depressions before laying to the bed. You didn't know your soulmate but it broke your heart, knowing he won't find the serenity from your dreams neither. Tears often appeared before you fell asleep, fearing what kind of horrors awaitens both of you. But today, your mind was fuzzy with alcohol and you were happy, so happy to have been able to not only meet the heroes of the world, but also the people who made Natasha and Clint often so happy too.

"Okay, it was a very nice meeting all of you but I think it's time for me to head home." You say aloud, making people turn and look at you. "It's quite late, darling. You can take the room next to Red. Or you can hop in with me." Tony said with a wink, sipping from his glass, ignoring the disapproving look from Steve. You chuckled, the flirtiness levels went up higher with every glass of whatever he was drinking. "Can it Stark, or I'm calling Miss Potts back. I live maybe twenty minutes from here, I will survive." You shot back, shaking your head and as you tried to stand up, two hands stopped you. Looking to your left, Clint was doing a puppy eyes, or better, was trying but the alcohol and sleepiness closed one his eyes halfway, making him look just very high. "Clint, no, don't make a puppy eyes, I have things to do tomorrow." You whined while everyone was laughing at Clint. "Nat, tell him, something, you are the wiser one-why the Hell do you do this to me?!" You exclaimed at the sight of your friend, doing so much better job of looking like a kicked puppy. Just the fact she was trying to look so meek was a clear sign just how much she was actually drunk, 'gonna-puke-and-be-very-grumpy-tomorrow' drunk.

"That's hot look, Red. Friday, save that look in 'Blackmail' file-" Tony's speech was interrupted as Nat's hand flicked and a soft thumb was a sign the cushion hit the target despite the level of drunkenness. Nat cupped your face, ignoring everybody, smiled and whispered in somewhat sad voice: "Won't you stay tonight? You can sleep with me, Котенок(kitten). I may go for a mission soon." You have never seen Nat so soft and it rendered you speechless, so you could only nod, your eyes widening as she immediately smirked, all tenderness gone. "Natasha!!!" You screamed and pounced on her, huffing in annoyance as she grabbed your hands and pushed you down, sitting on you without a problem. "Why do I keep falling for that face?" You sigh, making everyone chuckle and Clint beside you to get up to his knees, giving you a big kiss on the cheek: "Because you are adorably trusting."

"Fine! But I'm taking your Captain America pjms." You smile wickedly as she froze, while everybody burst out laughing, only Steve looking anywhere but at your direction with a pink flush on his cheeks and Tony who had hurt look on his face. You gave her those pjs about a year ago and she always wore it on your occasional girls night as a joke. "You just started a war you will not win, Y/N." Clint whisper-shouted at you, getting up, stretching up. "I'm gonna go to bed, you will need all the energy with those two around." That was a cue for most of the Avengers to scatter to their rooms, Tony being dragged by Rhodes, being shut after saying he needs to go to his lab. Bucky too, was half-dragged by Steve, his eyes suddenly tense, giving you tight-lipped smile before disappearing behind the elevator doors, his tension rubbing on you from an unknown reason. You felt happy but who knows what dreams will your soulmate have tonight?

A pillow landed on your lap, making you almost jump out of your skin. "Come, you little traitor. We have a long day before us." Nat took your hand and pulled you off the sofa, her tight grip showing she could tell what's going on in your head. Elevator slowly opened as you sighed. "Hooray."

Your hands were tied behind your back, pushed on your knees, eyes glued on the floor. Muffled screams and sniffs beside you made you aware of presence of other people. You were in a... living room, cozy and warm, with lots of pictures of a laughing family, board games stacked in the corner. Or it should be warm and cozy. Instead, a group of three men stood before you, dressed in black, one with a strange muzzle hiding his face. This dream, it was-it was different, the usual mist surrounding the figures was thinner, you could see the cold eyes and cruel smirks on their faces. Coming to you, a man raised his hand, smacking you across the face. "Face down, you shield-rat or I'm gonna pay my attention to your wife more." He growled, kicking you in the stomach, making you tumble over with a cough, the pain ever so real. "We don't take kindly to traitors, Weber, did you really think we didn't have you on our radar, you and your pathetic little family?" Man continued his monologue, stopping in front of a boy, barely in his teens, Weber's-your son. "You and your wife are worthless but we might take your son, after a good wiping, he should make a good asset." He laughed at your wife, who started to trash at his words, enjoying the despair. "Raspopov, enough. Take the boy, we have what we wanted." Second man said in bored voice, as if the malicious scene in front of him was nothing. He turned to the passive man behind him, "Get rid of them and clean this place. And make it slow for him." With that, he walked out of the door, Raspopov behind him with trashing boy being dragged by the collar of his shirt. A pained screams from your left were deafening, your wife tried to scurry her way to her son, only to be pushed down by the third man and without hesitation, a shot through her head made her body go limp. A roar, filled the room, by the scratching pain in your throat you knew it was you, Weber. A hand closed on you, gripping your throat and lift you in the air, fist colliding with your face, bone-shattering pain exploded in your head. This was new, never before you felt the pain, the anger and sadness so strongly. The blows were coming and coming, your body broken, thrown on the floor. Boots came in your line of sight, black combat boots were going to be the last thing you will ever see before you heard the cock of a gun. Silently begging for this to stop, you looked up, staring at you were two blue eyes, filled with equal pain and sadness, when the shot turned everything around you into a blackness.

"Good morning." Natasha chimed at Steve and Bucky while pouring herself a cup of coffee. Super soldiers nodded their head, gulping down the water, still breathing hard from the morning run, while Sam looked ready to die, almost hugging the doors to the kitchen. "Y/N?" Sam squeezed in between the deep breaths, ignoring Bucky who was smirking at him. "Still asleep. I almost didn't get out, she is like an octopus, she wraps around you and drain your warmth until satisfied." She shaked her head. They ended up sleeping together, you wouldn't have Nat sleeping on the sofa and you wouldn't either since she made you stay a night.

A groan entered the room with Clint, who looked like he was up the whole night. "I need a caffeine." He almost whimpered. Without missing a beat, Nat pushed his giant mug towards him, already filled with his share of coffee. "I hope you bunch didn't leave coffee beans in the sink again. I'm getting real tired of it." Tony entered the room, cranky as every morning with a mark of keyboard on his face he laid on. "Where is our cute guest?" He asked, pondering if to mix his coffee with a bit of whiskey.

"Not a morning person. I let her sleep since she seemed to be calm-Miss Romanoff" She was cut by Friday, A.I voice pressing. "You are urgently needed in your room. Mrs. Y/L/N is suffering a severe nightmare." The message left the room in total silence, Natasha and Clint sprinting out in a second, before even Tony could open his mouth.

"Friday, put on the screen and alert Bruce, we might need him." Tony ordered, no trace of fun in his voice. A touch screen rose from the table and revealed the image of a room. Rays of sun lightened the room in pink and orange hue, giving everything happy-go-lucky vibe. A very strong contrast to the sight on the bed, where Y/N laid, trashing around, a blood-curdling screams escaping her lips. "Jesus. I'm going there." Sam shot out, his knowledge in traumas and PTSDs giving him better outlook of what could help. On the screen, a door shut open, Nat and Clint sprinted towards the trashing friend, immediately taking her in her arms, Nat looked at Clint. "Get the wet towel and a bucket or something." She shouted, wincing when one flailing hand hit her just bellow the neck. "Y/N/N? Y/N, wake up, Котенок. It's okay, shh, you are safe." She cooed, the sound of her voice seemed to calm you a slightest bit. Taking a towel from Clint, she gently patted it against your forehead and down your neck, collecting the sweat you were drenched in. With a whimper, you woke up, gasping for air while pushing your hand to your ribs, as if she was in pain.

"No, please, no, no no no no." You cried, eyes darting around the room, not focusing on anything, trying to pry away from Nat's embrace. You whimpered again as Clint took a step in front of you, taking your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. "Y/N/N, love, it's okay, it's just us. Look at us." He said in soft but resolute voice. "They killed them, Weber....that man, he took their son and kicked me and my wife...Raspopov punched me..." You blabbed, not making any sense, your mind still trapped with image of Weber's dead wife bleeding on the floor, blood and tears soaking in the carpet. Your cheek was slightly hit by a wet cloth, snapping you out of your trance, your eyes moved to Natasha, who held a dripping towel in her hand. "Don't talk, Маленький(Little one). Just breathe." She said, brushing your hair from your face. "I'm going to puke." You gagged and heaved over the bed, just in time for Nat to push the bucket in front of you, emptying your stomach. At the same time, Sam and Bruce arrived, rushing to your side. All four of them worked their way around you, Clint cleaning up the mess while Nat and Sam talked to you in hushed, soft voices, Bruce checking you pulse, eyes and temperature.

The kitchen was silent. Tony and Steve stood side by side, both face filled with worry and pity. "Well, so much for a calm morning. Must suck, having unstable psycho for a soulmate." Tony stated, his voice much more silent, his knuckles white from the strength he was gripping his hands, remembering the time of his own nightmares which he used to wake up to, mixed with cries and panics of Pepper. Steve just nodded, his eyes found Bucky, eyebrow creasing. "Buck, are you okay?" He asked, gripping his friend's shoulder, taking in Bucky's horror-filled eyes, pale face and shaky figure. Nightmares were almost a constant visitor of Bucky's and he never took it well when anybody else had the same problem. "Buck! Breathe!" Steve shook his friend and looked in his eyes as he whispered: "Those names." Bucky breathed in as if he was sucker-punched in the stomach. Steve's face was confused for a second, eyes widening at his best friend when he realized his words.

"Buck," he took him by arm, dragging him out, ignoring Tony's curious eyes, "do you know those names?" Putting his hand over his mouth, Bucky muttered, sounding nauseous and broken. "Raspopov was Hydra's main interrogator. Worse version of Rumlow. Weber was S.H.HI.E.L.D.'s double agent." Bucky raised his eyes in Steve's, self-resentment and disgust making Steve unable to react, "I killed him and his family." Before blond super-soldier could say something, the dark-haired one gripped his shoulder with his metal hand, enhancing the need in his eyes. "Steve, she can't know. Promise me, you will not tell her who I am!" His deep voice breaking at the thought, he could see the fear and disgust the second you would find out.

For so long, Bucky thought he never had a soulmate. Back in 40's, he was heartbroken as he never experienced the feeling of sharing his dreams that everyone described. To diverse his mind from the pain in his heart, he dated a lots of girls, later watching as some of them met their soulmates, or how they left him in hope of meeting their destined one. Then his enlistment came, changing his life to a swirl of pain and years of emptiness. He still remembered so vividly the first time his dreams was not his only. Even the wiping chair couldn't stop his excitement when the swirling rainbow of colors and shapes appeared in his dreams and pure feelings, feelings of love, happiness, even repeating felling of hunger and soft anger made him snap out of his Winter Soldier trance. The beating he got that day almost killed him but he didn't care, his last thoughts before he was shoved into the chair was of his soulmate, his little soulmate who was just born, the feeling so strong he cried the first time in forever. And that little nub of happiness was his, regardless of number of wipings he went through. The dread and guilt he felt when he woke up the first time to the nightmare full of violence and pain and desperation, the nightmare that was not his and yet so similar, made him so sick even Stark looked mildly concerned.

Disagreeing look on Steve's face was not a good sign, he knew 'the talk' was coming and rose to his feets, taking his leave. "Her knowing is not going to change anything, so I why not prevent the bigger heartbreak?" Bucky said bitterly. "That decision is not yours alone, Buck, she deserves to know. She might understand." Steve called after him but he met just silence. A presence behind Steve made him turn around, cold sweat breaking out as he noticed Tony standing in the doorway, his typical smirk somewhat bitter-looking. "Tony." Steve's warning tone was once again met with silence as Tony zipped his mouth with his hand, a gesture completely and painfully pointless when it came to Tony. Sighing, Steve ran a hand down his face. "You've got to be shitting me."

Exiting her room, Nat stopped as Bucky turned around the corner, strange look in his eyes. "How's-how's Y/N?" He asked, looking somewhere above her eyes. "Bruce took her to infirmary, alcohol, puking and sweating made her heavily dehydrated so he will put her on IV drip. And give her something to calm down." Nat answered, eyes boring in Bucky's, making him squirm, even the former assassin couldn't help but be nervous being under Black Widow's radar. "She is suffering from nightmares long before I have met her and she tells me her dreams. If she will ever meet her soulmate and it will be some sadistic asshole, I'm most probably put a bullet through his brain." Nat's voice was casual, if not a little bit cold and her eyes were shining, challenging Bucky to say the truth she had a hunch about.

"What are the chances she will meet him?" Bucky asked bitterly and turned back around, turned his back to the person he wanted but didn't deserve.

Few days passed after the party and your sleep-over faux pas. Apologizing profusely while leaving, everybody just waved it off, only asking about your health, Stark looking like he wanted to say something every time you made a short visit but changed his mind, unknown to you, due to James or Steve sending a death glare his way. Nightmares didn't stop, even got worse in some sense as now, as you guessed, they mixed with your own and the man with muzzle now killed your new made friends, making you call Nat and Clint more than ever. James started to come to your work more often too, sometimes with Sam in a tow, his big blue eyes full of concern that warmed your heart. Faint voice in your head seemed to always try to tell you something when tall super-soldier was around but you ignored it, something in you not wanting to hear it out, reveling in the ignorance.

Days turned to weeks and Tony invited you to another party, Avengers and friends only. From Nat, you knew it was his way how to lift the mood in the Tower after a recent bad mission that made even Clint snarky and that was something you have rarely seen. Despite the circumstances, you gladly went. You liked being around Avengers, their friendship that went beyond just having each others back made the atmosphere around them warm. And you would be lying if you would say that you didn't miss a certain brown-haired soldier.

With Nat going to missions more than often, Bucky now was your safe heaven, he was a smooth talker once you get to know him and his deep voice always made you forget your dreams, at least for a while. He told you about himself a lot, leaving the gruesome Hydra parts, but just as he never forced you to talk about your dreams, you never asked him more about his times as a asset. More than once have you thought he was your soulmate, more than once have you bit your tongue, stopping yourself asking the words. It wouldn't change anything, a person like him needed somebody stronger, less pathetic by his side, you thought, angry and disappointed at yourself. He wouldn't need a woman who became broken from the dreams of someone else.

The party was held on the Friday night. Your bag was little heavier, prepared for the sleepover you knew you couldn't escape, not with Nat and her screenshot of a fancy bottle of Gin for you and Vodka for her she'd sent you. Getting in the Tower was not a painful procedure to you anymore, as now you were known by every receptionist and Friday, whom you asked to call you Y/N, now opened every door without asking and you were finally not jumping as a frightened cat every time she talked. The mood upstairs was better than you expected, most likely because a Norse demi-god was in the room, booming loud voice cheerful. You had met Thor before and even though Bucky was slowly taking over your mind, it was hard not to stare at the tall blonde who stood with his hand thrown around Tony's shoulder, making him look almost tiny.

"Lady Y/N!" Thor called, making everyone turn their attention to you. Smile creeped on your face as a wave of greetings came your way, Natasha immediately handing you the glass that almost instantly burned your eyes a little and a quick peck on the cheek. Coming closer, Thor bent down and gave you a bear hug, all air leaving your body. "I was told you were coming tonight. How are you?" Above his slouched shoulder´, you noticed Steve, Sam and Bucky standing nearby, Sam and Steve looking at Bucky, who was watching you, smiling as your eyes met, repaying the small wave you sent him with your free hand. "Quite normal, Thor, just bit tired. How's space?" You laughed breathlessly, tapping his side to let you go. "Space is fine, feasts of Lithasblot are beginning soon. Or, midsummer, as you Midgardians call it." He smiled, taking a sip from his drink, from which even from afar, you could pick up the strong, very strong smell of alcohol.

Going around, you made a quick circle around the room to say your 'Hi' to everyone, until you came to 'army group'. Nudging Bucky to the side, you grinned at the cup in his hand. "I thought alcohol has no effect on super-soldiers?" You asked, small 'oompf' escaping you as you took a sip from your own glass. "It does not but Thor brought some of his Asgardian stuff." He laughed, scrunching his nose in the most adorable way that made you stare. He was not laughing enough but with the brainfarts it gave you when he did, maybe it was a good thing. "Will we see you and Steve wasted tonight? Cuz I bet Stark is ready to record it anytime." You said slowly, trying to change your focus to his eyes, not making it any better. Maybe it was the alcohol but the usual soft blue was almost gone, replaced by darker shade that made your stomach twist. "Everybody needs a good bender every now and then. I just missed mine for couple of decades." He joked and as he said, even that barely noticeable tension that hung around the room was gone. "Then, cheers to occasional 'benders'. You mused, downing your drink and took Sam's offer to get you another one.

The night was flying by fast. Around 1am, there was not a single sober person, Bruce excluded, who watched from behind the bar with drunk Nat. At the spur of a moment, Tony challenged you to a dance-off, in which you totally destroyed him, surprising everyone, just Nat and Clint knowing that once you have alcohol in you, you dance without the care of the world around you. Around 3am, everyone stood around the table, watching Thor and Steve arm wrestle. Steve was holding on pretty good but the game was over when the table below them gave up and broke. Around 4:30am, right after Tony was trying to do mini striptease on the table, some more clever people, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Bruce and surprisingly Steve, who looked pumped up and more relaxed than you've ever seen, called it a night and went to bed. Clint was already asleep, curled below the other table, while Tony was taking pictures of him in weird angles, eyeing the sharpie on the table. Thor was talking with Bucky on the balcony and you were now behind the bar, poking Nat in her cheeks, trying to make her drink some water because hungover Nat the next morning is not a pleasant experience. Helping her lay down on the couch, you massaged your eyes, big yawn foretold you about the coma you will have once in the bed. Your senses were still numb and slow as a warm hand landed on the small of your back.

In greyish light of the early morning, Bucky was smiling at you, eyes soft and much more focused than you thought they would be after the amount of Asgardian alcohol he and Steve downed. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed," he whispered. Looking around, you must have dozed off as now you were sitting next to the sofa, no sight of Thor and Tony was sleeping on the bar counter, Nat dead to the world, curled in a small ball. Standing up, your legs wobbled, resembling a newborn fawn. "My legs fell asleep." You giggled, obviously still drunk.

Bucky smiled down at you, your wobbly form trying to get up from the floor, so vulnerable and weak on it's own way. After that night, when he realized you are his soulmate, the dam in his heart began to crumble, the need to be around you stronger everyday. So many times he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying the words he told Steve to never utter in presence of others. The pain in his soul was slowly becoming unbearable, seeing your eyes losing their gleam each time night hour approached, every time dreams and soulmates were discussed.

"Raise your hands, doll." His little pet name didn't seem to faze you, as your hands shot up towards him immediately, her face pretty despite the dark circles under her eyes. Your body fitted his perfectly, your head right below his chin as he held you in princess hold, like two pieces from the same broken statue pressed together once again. Bucky's heart skipped a beat when he caught a whiff of your smell,. He couldn't identify the sweet scent but he could say with clear conscience it was the best smell he ever smelled.

Elevator down was quiet, occasionally filling the silence were your consent hums as you laid in Bucky's arm, half asleep. Bucky's footsteps still silent as he entered Natasha's room. Your body relaxed at the familiar scent of Nat's bed as Bucky took off your heels. "Don't fall asleep yet, doll." Bucky whispered and playfully pried the comforter from your hands as you tried to cover your face, loud giggled bursting from beneath the thin cloth.

Quiet shuffling on the other side of the comforter told you Bucky left the bedroom, clanking noise from the bathroom made you stick out your head, watching him put down the bucket next to the bed and glass full of water pushed towards you.

"I'm not that drunk." You said kicking off the comforter from you, only making it tangle around your feet. Looking up in annoyance, you almost stopped breathing at the sight of Bucky with the softest smile, crouching next to the bed. "Drink the water, dolly, you'll thank me later when you wake up." He pressed the cold glass in your hands. "Nat is keeping some Advil in the nightstand if you need it later." It was impossible to miss the care in his eyes and as you downed the drink, you followed his figure as he went to get you another one, shamelessly eyeing his muscular back, narrow hips with killer legs. Bed sheets were deliciously cool against your hot skin, snuggling in, you felt the sleepiness take over. Last thing you felt was a gentle hand tugging the hair out of your face and inaudible voice wishing you a good night.

You were riding a motorbike, rear lights of a car a few meters ahead of you. Your mind was set on the mission, hydra's officer's words resonating in your head: "Eliminate the target and obtain the package they carry. No witnesses, seemingly an unfortunate accident." The voice of the handler cold, emotionless, pure poison and cruelty in a form of a voice, so different from your own pain and refusal in your soul, in your heart. And yet, your head slightly nodded, turning around your body towards the armory. The sound of a speeding bike is replaced by loud breathing, short, pained gasps for air and distant cries, a woman's voice calling the name of bloodied man lying on the ground, his name filling you with confusion and guilt and another pain. "Sergeant Barnes?" Your breath hitched in your lungs, hand pulled behind ready to strike before orders flowed in your head again and your fist collided with his face and twice more, blood splurting from the face, man fell down, motionless. Pain got worse, stomach twisting so much it felt like a knife pierced through, your own voice screaming inside the head, you fought against the power that made your legs move, long steps around the car. Reaching to the passenger seat, your hand grasped on the petite throat, squeezing-

"NO!" You shouted, breathlessly looking around the room, gasping for air as bright Sun blinded you. Sudden change of surrounding left you speechless, never before could you escape the dream by your own will, always forced to see till the very end.

It was morning, not early enough to make you fall back asleep and not late enough to make you feel bad of wasting a day dawdling around in bed. Sickly sweet-sour taste in your mouth and persistent thumps in your head reminded you of your another alcoholic lunacy with Avengers. You sighed as your eyes landed on the pills with a water nearby. With tight jaw, you reached for them, setting your mind on the sudden goal. You were gonna talk to Bucky today, no more tip-toeing around.

Bigger part of Avengers was already up, even though some of them probably wished they were not, seeing Nat's and Tony's, even Steve's red eyes and groans that followed every loud noise. Bucky was standing next to Sam at the door entrance, both snickering at Steve, not even trying to hide their amusement. His tired blue eyes darkening in worry as you strode in, waving your greetings, your eyes finding his immediately.

"Bucky, can I talk to you?" You asked, gently tugging his sleeve towards the living room. There was no coming back from this anymore. You were too tired of this whole situation and so was he, obviously, even though he seemed more denial. Your hands were sweaty as you looked pointedly in his cautious, yet sad eyes. You had no doubt now of who was Bucky anymore, not after this last nightmare, all your anger, blame and distrust gone, just a bottomless pit of pity and guilt towards the man whose soulmate was just a poor example of one. "Don't." He whispered ever so softly, word carrying a hundred of years of pain and insecurities, his eyes darting to Tony, who cleared his throat.

"Finally having your 'soulmate talk'?" He quipped, brushing off the death glare from almost everyone in the room. "Good luck though, with Manchurian here, he might try to gut you later." He continued and looked rather coldly as Bucky quickly stomped out of the room. Anger flared inside you as a burning Sun, your quick steps towards Tony left everyone with hanging mouths. "You have no right to say that!" You seethed at older man, who was now looking at you with raised eyebrow, a move that normally made you smirk now pissing you off even more. "Considering he killed my parents and almost shot me in the face, I think I have all rights to say that."

"You have no right to say that when you have no idea of how much guilt and pain he was in when he dreamt about that night. Not after he re-lives every goddamn thing they made him do in his dreams, not when you do not hear the pleas in he screams in his head!" You stepped back, not noticing Tony's eyes softening at the sight of your trembling form. "I witnessed all that since I was a baby, so don't you dare call him names, Stark." You growled as you sprinted out of the room, leaving the room in silence.

"Bucky?" You called out, he was nowhere to be found in the living room, the door to the balcony opened. He stood outside, head hanging low, hands gripping the railing, his metal hand clearly bending the frail metal.

He heard you behind him, you could tell from the way his whole body went stiff and so incredibly still, looking as a statue. "Bucky..." Sigh escaped your lips as he slowly turned around, not looking you in your eyes, staring somewhere above your head. Silence fell as both of you just stood there, your sudden confidence disappearing.

"I underst-," he started and stopped, swallowing nervously he tried again. "I understand if you do not want to have anything to do with me." His words, pained, quiet and yet so loud in your ears shocked you, this was not what you expected to hear from him.

"What?" You pushed out in tiny voice of disbelief. The look on his face told you the meaning behind his words, shame and guilt and disgust all over his handsome face, painting a dark shadow over it. "Are you kidding me right now?!" You rose your voice an octave, making Bucky flinch. "What does that mean?" You stepped towards him and your question tore down the wall Bucky laid down so carefully, as the words shot out of him in rapid fire.

"You don't deserve somebody like me. What right do I have to be near you when only thing I can possibly give you are another nightmares, those visions of the brutalities I have done. Just pain, fear, guilt and shame of having no normal soulmate. My fuckedness is so strong that I haven't seen your dreams for years! If my nights are not filled with horrors of my sins, all I feel is another pain and just how hollow and weak I am and-Except those feelings are mine!" You screamed over him, shutting him up effectively.

"Your nightmares are understandable, they made you do those things against your will. But those feelings, that emptiness and pain, those are mine. I should be your soulmate, the one that should give you the support, not make you feel all those useless feelings. How can you think of yourself as weak? After all you went through you are pushing through life while I tried to-" You stop yourself from saying those words, hands picking on the loose thread of the shirt's sleeves, made in a style of a fingerless gloves, hiding the hideous scars, a proof of your weakness.

Bucky's eyes trailed down eyes wide with horror as he grasped the meaning behind your words. "You tried to-" He didn't finish the sentence as you clasped your hands over your ears, shaking your head slightly as you started to walk backwards, panic filling your eyes. You didn't want to tell him that piece of information, you didn't want him to know of the time when the depression got so bad it made you cut yourself, deep enough to put you in hospital. "Doll. Don't leave me. Not now." His desperate whisper stopped you, your cheeks covered in tears that now flew freely, tears you never planned on showing to world.

"You deserve better." You whispered in broken voice. "You deserve a strong soulmate by your side, a soulmate that is not so weak, so pathetic, so stupid and naive and-" Your self-cussing was stopped as Bucky was suddenly in front of you, moving from his spot in a matter of a second, hands clasping your cheeks and lips planting on yours. His face was wet, stained by the tears he shed when looking at your frail form, his heart breaking at the sight.

Kiss was a needy movements of lips, all years of loneliness, of pain and separation poured in that one moment. "You are none of that." Bucky whispered in your lips, planting one on your forehead, touch softer than a butterfly wings. "You are brave," another one, this time on your cheek, "beautiful," other cheek, "strong," each eyelid getting their own little love, fluttering close. "So kind and understanding." He looked you in the eyes, his blue orbs crystal clear, so honest it just made your tears flow faster. "You are everything and so much more. You are all I need and want, even though I don't deserve you." He softly caressed your cheeks, wiping away little droplets of salty water. Despite the people using him for horrible, dirty deeds, he was still able to open up, to love and trust, his soul so kind and bright he able to calm you, assure you and tell you what you needed to hear so much, while not asking anything back.

Taking a step back, you pressed your palm on his chest, his heart beating just as fast as yours. “We are a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” You laughed, wiping your face. Bucky chuckled and pressed his hand on your cheek. His face looked calm but his eyes still held some of the pain and insecurity.

“I,” you took a deep breath, thinking hard about your next words, “I’m not confident to be your support all the time. I, I have my own emotional luggage. There are days when I’m just a huge pain in the ass or I don’t even talk. But, I’m willing to try.” You said looking down, feeling of letting him down gnawing on your mind. Your eyes shot back up as a warm hand lifted your chin and Bucky kissed you again.

“You are not alone in this but, it takes two to tango, doll.” He smiled brightly, that face almost made your heart stop beating. “I really hope Nat won’t kill me when she sees your face, she is very protective of you.” He muttered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Right now,” you giggled, “I think Tony is the one in real danger. Shall we save him?” You asked and laughed out as Bucky picked you up and buried your face in your chest, shaking his head while his eyes looked in yours, drowning you in love. “I will leave it to Steve today.”

“Okay Red, you can let me go now, my role as an asshole is over.” Tony said, tapping Natasha’s arm that was wrapped around his neck, keeping him bowed down. All Avengers were standing in the living room, looking through glass at you and Bucky talk and hug, being the overprotective family as always. “Don’t look at me like that, Rogers. A soulmate that doesn’t defend their other half is a bitchy thing. I wouldn’t wish that to Snow White.”

The End

#yourmarvelousthoughtswc #buckyxreader #afewmarvelous #james bucky barnes #avengers au #nightmares #writing challenge #avengers #fluff #au #avengersxreader #avnegers #tumblrchallenge

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golden-redhead · 6 years ago

Text

OUMOTA WEEKEND DAY #3 - nightmares (& bed-sharing & comfort)

About nightmares and how they define us.

Read on AO3.

Momota wakes up from the nightmares with a hydraulic press, a maniacally laughing bear and the rocket that takes him to the stars and then straight back to hell.

His eyes snap open with an accompaniment of a startled half-sob and half-whimper that tears itself out of his throat. For a long moment he just stares at the bare ceiling above his head, disoriented and in a daze, images and sounds from his dreams still bright and loud in his head.

In a frantic panic, he extends his arm to the side, worry and need of comfort swelling in his throat until his fingers brush against something familiar, something undeniably human and he lets out a barely audible sigh of relief.

Ouma's here, he tries to reassure the heart hammering wildly in his chest. Everything’s fine.

Except, it really isn’t.

His breath is loud in his ears, labored, and he can tell that he’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

He furiously blinks away the last traces of sleep and looks at Ouma’s much smaller form curled up next to him and was actually sleeping quite peacefully. He knows that Ouma has his own share of nightmares and all of them undoubtedly much worse than his own.

Momota got lucky. With the personality he got, with the execution, hell, even with how quickly he adjusted after the game ended and was released from the hospital, he had been deemed completely healthy within a few short weeks. Ouma? Not so much. He was never lucky, despite what his name would have suggested. Not with the personality they gave him, not with how lonely they made him out to be. Too smart for his own good, too paranoid to trust. And his death… so utterly gruesome and cruel that it quickly made its way to the top of all The Most Painful Danganronpa Deaths lists that Momota’s seen when he dared to check the Internet shortly after being released from the hospital.

It’s actually one of not many nights where he sees him sleeping peacefully curled up in a tight ball after swallowing three sleeping pills on top of his usual medication.

Momota closes his eyes, but it quickly proves to be a mistake.

The traces of the nightmare are still lingering beneath his eyelids, a sickly pale and scared face of a dying boy moments before the descent of a death trap, moments before all there is is a strangled final scream and a mosaic of blood splattered onto the floor.

Even as the memory of the scene starts to fade slowly, the sounds - the crack of bones, the splash of blood as it hits the floor and the last choked up gasp that gets drowned out by the whirring of the machinery - remain, as real as if he was standing right next to the press once more.

The room feels suffocating.

With one last shuddering breath Momota starts to untangle himself from the sheets, careful not to wake Ouma up, knowing how little sleep he usually gets. Once he successfully manages to free his arms he throws away the blanket and with one last glance at Ouma’s sleeping face stands up on slightly wobbly legs. Blindly, he finds the wall and tries to navigate his way to the door in the near-complete darkness of the room. He snatches his coat from where he dropped it the night before and slips his arms into the long sleeves.

He opens the door to the balcony and steps out, feeling the cold gusts of early spring wind against the skin of his bare feet, goosebumps rising on his skin. It’s still pretty dark outside, the first touches of dawn painting the sky with rosy tint of blues and oranges, the fog still hanging low in the air and coiling around the nearby buildings.

With a shaking hand Momota reaches to the small pocket of his coat and fishes a box of cigarettes out of it, humming approvingly when it turns out to be almost full. He pulls out one of the cancer sticks and pushes the box back into his pocket. He brings the cigarette up close to his face and reaches for the lighter that he always kept in a flower-pot on the windowsill, so it is there whenever he needs it. Momota puts it in his mouth, the bitter taste already burning faintly in his throat and inhales lightly while holding the flame of the lighter to the tip. Soon enough dry fumes reach deep inside to wrap around his lungs and the pungent smell carries to his nose, familiar and comforting, wisps of silver-grey smoke curling and dancing before his eyes. He leans against the balcony barrier, watching for a moment as the curls of smoke drift into the chilly morning air.

He closes his eyes and tries to clear his head, throw out all those nagging thoughts away, so they won’t haunt him anymore.

The tendrils of smoke continue to float above his head, coiling and shifting until they fade into the thin air. There’s a sense of solace that you can only really see in the early hours of the morning before the city wakes up again with its noises and foul smells.

He’s on his third cigarette when he hears the shuffling from inside their little apartment.

“...Momota-chan?”

The voice sounds small, disoriented and still heavily laced with sleep.

“Shit,” he mutters quietly, blindly reaching for the ashtray lying on the windowsill.

By the time he slams the balcony door shut Ouma is already in the living room, crutches in hands, legs trembling and wobbling and bending as they struggle to support his weight.

Momota feels a painful strike of guilt piercing through his heart and hurries to his side.

“Here, let me help you.”

Ouma flinches when Momota’s skin brushes against his, just like he always does, but doesn’t protest. He passively lets Momota wrap his arms around him and support his weight, too used to it to protest even though he hates this forced dependence.

Slowly they half walk, half shuffle to the kitchen. Once there Momota carefully lowers Ouma onto one of the chairs, ignoring the smaller boy’s little huffs of annoyance and scrunched up in distaste face.

Momota moves to rummage through their cupboard, cursing Ouma’s extensive tea collection under his nose. For him it’s all the same.

“You smell like shit,” Ouma’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the acrid smell clinging to his skin like a heavy layer of perfume and Momota lets out a short breathy laugh and flicks him on the forehead.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says distractedly and turns to the faucet to pour water into their small red kettle, filling it to the brim.

When he turns back Ouma’s eyes are closed, little fists clenched and resting against his thighs. His useless useless legs. Momota quietly busies himself with the task of making him tea, just the way Ouma likes it.

A few minutes later he carefully puts a slender elegant cup before Ouma, one of the few things he has left of his grandmother. The real one, not the warm tender lady he remembers from his memories.

“You have another interview next week,” he starts slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving Ouma’s frail figure.

“Uh-huh,” is his only response as he holds the cup in his hands delicately, blowing so it would cool off faster, the leaves of his favorite jasmine tea coloring the hot water with a rosy shades of gold. His expression is unreadable, only the slight tremor of his hands and barely-there furrowing of his eyebrows betraying his inner emotions.

It’s always kind of surreal - watching Ouma bounce back to his in-game persona, all wide smiles and carefully shaped lies and sharp words that know precisely where to strike for it to hurt. He slides the mask on his face as if it’s a second skin, teasing and taunting and then falling apart in the warmth of Momota’s arms once the act is all over. It’s even worse if he actually has to interact with any other participants, almost as if it’s pulling out some bitter and darker side of him. Sometimes it’s hard to separate the two - the Ouma he knew in the killing game and the one he sees every day, struggling to carry the broken pieces of his past self. There’s a sense of dissociation to it, the difference between what is true and what is false grew so thin and fading to the point that he can’t even tell them apart.

He’s not much better, really. Momota from the game is so vastly different from who he was before applying to Danganronpa. And yet neither version of “him” feels real, making him feel like he’s floating somewhere in between, disconnected from both and unable to find the energy to care to find an answer. He rejects the Momota from before the game but he can’t be the person Danganronpa molded him into being either. So he clings to Ouma as if he’s his lifeline and out of some sick sense of guilt - for being so stubborn, for killing him - burning inside him with an overwhelming intensity.

He remembers Harukawa’s accusatory tone when he told them that he’s staying with Ouma instead of joining them as soon as the hospital staff deemed them ready to leave, her blood-red eyes gleaming with something like betrayal. She demanded that he tells her that he’s just joking and once he admitted that he was serious and that it doesn’t change anything between them she scowled and left without a word. Saihara’s reaction wasn’t quite as violent as hers but there was confusion, so much confusion as his eyes widened and he stammered a surprised “are you sure, Momota-kun?”. And Momota smiled, offering the widest smile he could muster, the muscle memory making it easier to make him look like the Momota that he knew and assured him that he knew what he was doing. Saihara didn’t seem very happy with this response but he didn’t pry, simply nodding in understanding and waved him goodbye.

And so Momota stayed by Ouma’s side. Somehow they managed to find a fickle sense of comfort in each other and for now it is good enough.

Momota presses his lips into a thin line and turns to the kitchen counter, pulling out ingredients and items that he needs to make them breakfast, muscle memory guiding him through the motions once more.

“You don’t have to go, y’know,” he drawls while lining the eggs up on the counter with one hand and turning the stove on with the other.

He doesn’t have to look behind to know that Ouma shrugs.

“If I don’t go they’ll cut off our money,” he says emotionlessly. “And then we’ll have to go to work.”

He says ‘we’ but they both know that he’s nowhere in a state that would let him do that, making all the responsibility fall on Momota’s shoulders.

Danganronpa representatives are willing to offer the participants money as long as they continue to perform the duties included in the contract such as participation in interviews, attending events and doing whatever they could in order to maintain the hype of their season.

Momota is popular, especially now that the excitement related to the fifty-third season is still fresh, but not nearly as much as Ouma. The little liar quickly won the hearts of fans from all around the world. This meant more responsibilities, more interviews, more photoshoots, more events… more everything.

With Ouma’s slow recovery they cannot afford to lose the money, even if there’s something dirty about taking it from Team Danganronpa’s hands.

Momota’s fingers twitch, hands instinctively curling into fists and rage coiling in his chest. It’s in moments like these that old Momota breaks through the surface with all his raw emotions and recklessness. But even then it feels muted, unable to reach that passion from before.

“Momota-chan cares too much,” mumbles Ouma, making Momota snap out of his thoughts. “Like the big dummy that he is.”

“I'm not,” grumbles Momota cracking the eggs into the frying pan.

“Nishishi,” laughs Ouma and it’s the single most fake thing Momota has ever heard. He almost voices this thought out loud, words already forming at the tip of his tongue but he bites his lip before they have a chance to escape.

“Remember that you have therapy later today. I’ll drive you.” He says instead.

He reaches for one of their sharpest knives and starts to cut the carrots, keeping an eye on the sizzling eggs the whole time.

Ouma hums tunelessly.

“I’m not going.”

The knife slips out of Momota’s hand and grazes the skin, a scream that is more surprise than pain escapes his lips. The droplets of scarlet blood instantly form where the knife pierced the skin, dripping on the carrots and the marble surface of the kitchen counter.

“FUCK!”

Ouma observes the whole ordeal with passive expression, fingers tapping against the smooth surface of the kitchen table.

Momota rises his hand to suck the wound, the bitter taste of blood immediately flooding his tongue. A deep scowl twists his features and he levels his gaze with Ouma’s. The eggs are burning behind him, long forgotten.

“Like hell you’re not.”

Ouma doesn’t even blink.

Momota groans. He doesn’t feel like fighting Ouma, not over this.

“Why the hell not?”

“Momota-chan is a horrible hypocrite,” he mimics his mannerism from the game, smile creeping on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “He makes me go to therapy but he stopped going to his.”

Momota frowns. “It’s different.”

Ouma’s face goes blank. Momota knows this look. This is a look he can’t win with.

“If Momota-chan doesn’t go to therapy then I’m not going to mine even if he drives me,” he says. There’s a sense of finality in his words, despite the childish pout that adorns his face and crocodile tears that start to gather in the corners of his eyes, his favorite guilt-tripping weapon. “I’ll just sit there for an hour and not say a word and then we lose the money we could spend on something better and then we’ll have nothing to eat and the-”

“Fine,” spats Momota through gritted teeth. “Fine! I’ll go.”

Ouma smiles brilliantly.

Resigned, Momota turns to save the rest of their breakfast with a heavy sigh.

He isn’t the person who he was in the game. He isn’t even the person who he was before the game. Neither is Ouma. He would like to say that they’re survivors but it doesn’t sound right, not yet.

He only hopes that they can get there one day. No matter how long it takes.

#oumota #oumotaweekend #oumotaweekend2019 #ouma kokichi #kaito momota #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa killing harmony #my writing #oumota weekend

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