#*wipes my tears and opens a google doc*

[branches-of-time]

not me laying here in bed at 5:59am listening to Francesca on loop and full-on crying about how much i love Venti

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬?

𝐭𝐰: 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, heavy angst! 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 

𝟔.𝟐𝐤 — my goal was 10k let’s all laugh masterlist

a/n: good morrow cousin, don’t mind me just vibin’ anyway— pls ignore the lack of formatting, google docs… count your days. this story still means so much to me, i won’t jump ship on it, and i hope you understand the mental headspace i get in while writing and how 🥰draining and crippling🥰 it truly is 🥲 BUT I DO IT FOR YOU MY LOVERS! ♥️😵‍💫

Sweaty hands were clamped in a bone aching constriction around your steering wheel the entirety of the drive to the club. Watching the whispy curls of dust from the gravel color the powder blue sky, you mutter to yourself.

This was so stupid.

Magenta hued beads hanging from the rearview mirror sway and clack together as you pull the car sharply into the your designated spot towards the back of the parking lot. Flitting a quick glance in the mirror to see if Eddie was still following, you tear your eyes away when the jet black steel of the fender catches the sun's rays, sending a blinding wink into the side mirrors as he approaches, parking alongside you.

This is crazy. This is insane.

Wiping your palms hastily on the ruby stockings pinched to your thighs, you wonder when the nerves in your chest would settle. If your stomach would ever stop churning with the rapid wings of a swarm of angry bees?

Why were you nervous? It was just Eddie.

Your knee bounces of its own accord as you remind yourself of just that. The dry swallow of the tablets you took before he could notice would start working in no time, and then you’d be able to stomach what you were getting yourself into.

Eddie Munson. A childhood friend. Taking a few deep breaths, you open the door into the shared space, and are met with that shit eating grin he never lost.

Here we go.

Green lensed aviators are nestled onto the bridge of his nose, a black bandana snug on his head that you definitely didn’t watch him tie back at your apartment as he straddled the bike before revving the engine and shooting you a daring smile.

Crunching gravel beneath his boots, he stands with hands in the back of his pocket.

“So…” he asks, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the club, “when did the Hideout go belly up?”

A sigh leaves your mouth and you turn to get the laundry from the backseat of your sedan, voice muffled, “eighty…-three, I think..” you say strangled like, as you struggle with the bulk of the laundry basket. The strap of your purse is slung over your shoulder when you finally emerge from the car and stand upright to face him.

“Here,” he offers, holding his hands out in offering his help.

Puzzled, you look at everything in your hands, deciding against thrusting the basket of sheets into his awaiting arms, you nod your head towards the car and step out of the way, “sure, my shoes from the back? I just gotta find the keys.”

Switching the basket to your hip you dive into the depths of your purse looking for the keys to unlock the club doors.

Eddie’s fingers curl around the straps of your high heels. A look of bewildered awkwardness coloring his brow. The aching reminder of his actions that damned you to this life were held between his fingers. Cheap leather material, a small brass buckle, plastic.

He slams your door in defeat, hating himself more with each day of being back in Hawkins.

Your hand finagles the key, jingling it out from the mess of your purse. When you look up with a sly little quirk at the corner of your lips for your triumph…Eddie has planted a fake smile on his lips… one that was buried within him before you can see the sadness in his eyes.

“Ready?”

Mrs. Click rattled on and on about WWII, sounding more like the adults in a Peanuts episode every second that ticked by. A loud yawn escapes Eddie’s already slack mouth as he doodles in the margins of his paper, a blue smear on his hand from the ink.

A crumpled ball of composition paper lands on his textbook skidding across the slicked pages and finding home against the wire of his notebook.

Without looking around Eddie already knows who the note is from. A simple scrawled sentence with big loops on the letters and a smiley face after the question mark.

“Lolly wants ‘sketti’ for supper tonight… you in? :)”

His dimples well deep in his cheeks as he scribbles a reply, stealing a glance your way. When Mrs. Click’s back is turned to scratch a hiss of powdered chalk into the board, he lobs the note back to you, hitting your shoulder lightly.

A slow smile creeps across your face as you flatten the note with your palms and read your best friend’s scratched handwriting.

“Hell yeah!”

…

The halls were quiet, Hawkins High students busying themselves with tests and worrying about grade point averages. Not even the janitor Sal was squeaking down the halls.

“If Ms. Judy catches us…”

“She won’t.”

“What about Higgins? I can’t get detention again, my dad will slaughter me.”

“Clove…” Eddie grumbled, stopping his task of picking the lock to look at you with the deepest sincerity, “I promise, we’ll be fine, okay?…just, shit, keep your eyes peeled, I’m almost… there…”

A wicked sliver of a grin plays on his lips.

“Yahtzee, baby! C’mon”

The door to the school kitchen swung open beneath his hand. The smell of Comet cleaner and fresh baked bread invade your nose.

The blade of his knife is closed with a clink on his hip as he bends low with a bow for you to go in first, “let’s go shopping.”

“Set them wherever,” you say nonchalantly, pupils adjusting to the darkness as you step through the threshold into the club.

Walking to the counter and shifting the basket on your hip tossing the keys on the bar, you wiggle off your purse, and turn around to see him standing by a barstool, looking slightly out of place, like a lit Christmas tree in the summertime.

Seeing Eddie in the club, in the depths of sweat and sin was gut wrenching. The club was accustomed to pleasuring pastors and preachers, cops and school teachers. They had all traipsed across the wood floor in their Sunday best, shoes shined to godliness… leaving with lipstick stains and reeking of alcohol. Sin on their breath and in their Hanes.

No, him being here made you feel like your skin was crawling, and that you were about to scream at any given moment.

Heaving the basket onto the nearest table, you take a wounded breath, holding it for longer than necessary to squish your toes along the muddy depth of Lover’s Lake. You spin to avert the lingering glances from Eddie, his eyes burrowing into you like hot steel to butter.

Slotting yourself behind the bar you holler over your shoulder, “park it, I’ll get some drinks.”

Lights flicker and hum an exhausted tune as they slowly shine light to the grim bar, just enough to not be cast in complete darkness.

Eddie grabs the stool in a swift all too cool motion, sliding his long frame over it, the chain on his hip jingling against the wood as he sits, “just water for me…what?” he laughs.

You’re turned facing him with a furrowed brow, holding two of the cleanest shot glasses Queens had in one palm, the other steady on your hip, an annoyed look on your face, “don’t make me drink alone, Slim.”

He laughs again, a loud abrupt sound as he shakes his head, tucking his sunglasses in the neck of his shirt. A modest blush pinking his cheeks as his tongue runs over the sharp edges of his canines.

You haven’t budged, and Eddie finally looks up to meet your stare.

His eyes are glassy, dark and almost a sheen of velvet to them under the shadow of bandana, and the comical yellow rubber of the bandaid.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, you were familiar with his scenery, this particular essence was hurt like you, wounded in the same ways. The past showed through the forlorn strangeness of the last few years like a weathered map with all too familiar paths. Looking into his pools of deep darkness felt soothing in a crippling ached breath.

Features could change but eyes couldn’t, they kept you anchored to him stuck in the void of his mud.

It’s a game before you realize it.

A stare down… in dim light, eyes drying by the second, but it’s Eddie who folds first, no cards left to hold, or rather letting his opponent win. Like old times.

“Always such a headache, huh? Fine,” he exaggerates with a petty eye roll, “you win.” The crooked smirk on his lips gives him away, matching your own.

The two stout glasses clink together against your palm, a bottle of Jameson held by its neck in your other hand, “Not much has changed I see,” you quip, setting them down and pouring the whiskey into the first one, “you still suck at games.”

Eddie cringes as you pour the second, “trying to kill us? Do you not remember what happened on your fifteenth birthday?”

You erupt with laughter, tossing your head back and giggling in that little way he hadn’t heard since you were kids, “oh please,” you snort, thinking back to how drunk the both of you had gotten, “you don’t either.”

Eddie smiles, “probably not the greatest idea I’ve had.”

Sliding a glass towards him you hold yours up, the lights coloring the dark amber into a caramel pool of regret, “to us.”

“To old friends,” Eddie follows, in a grand accent, holding his glass next to yours, “burying the hatchet, stitching old wounds..”

“Alright Shakespeare wrap it up.”

“.. to you.” he says barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning your face, and you shudder involuntarily before tipping the glass against your lips and swallowing the liquor.

It burned on your tongue, hot and unwelcoming, sliding like lava down your throat. Eddie winces, making a sour face as he slaps his glass down on the wood top of the bar.

“Fuck, that's horrible.”

“Ah,” you say, pulling a lever on the tap and putting a tall frosted mug under the spout of draft beer, “it’s not that bad.”

He watches as you pour another beer walk around the bar with one in each hand. His cheeks pink when you smile at him, and he quickly pulls out a stool for you.

Leaning your back against the counter you sip your drink. The bar is empty but the roaring waves of silence crash loud in your ears. It’s strange. Being here with him, would you ever get over seeing him after so many years?

“I won’t lie, Clovie, ’m not much of a drinker.” Eddie admits, rubbing his thumbs along the frosted mug.

“Well,” you say, holding your beer up to your lips, and looking over the edge to meet his gaze, “today you are.”

Taking a generous sip you smile when he follows suit.

“Eddie Munson, back in Indiana,” you tease, elongating the vowels of the state, “never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, tossing long curls behind his shoulder, “missed the scenery.”

You scoff, “yeah the luscious rolling hills of the trailer park really get me feeling like Julie Andrews too.”

He cringes, raising his brows for emphasis, “Those hills have eyes.”

“Eww..” your nose crinkles, “Craven outdid himself with that one, I still won’t watch it.”

Eddie takes a pull from his beer before adding nonchalantly, “that’s cause you’re chicken shit.”

Blowing a raspberry with your lips, your eyes narrow as you spit an insult. “This coming from the guy who slept with his lights on after watching E.T.”

“When he turns white by the river?! Fucker looks like a crushed powdered donut!”

It was easy falling back into the throws of jokes and banter with Eddie. You both giggle like kids talking about movies that had shredded horror as kids but now made you cringe with how poor they were done.

After a particularly long laugh about whether or not you still carried around your security blanket, Eddie sighs, “I thought this was gonna be weird,” Your nerves had calmed at the expense of childlike humor and talks of times long ago, that you finally slide on the stool he had pulled out for you. “us…. this place… Hawkins,” he bumps your elbow with his, “ shit I mean, we’re drinking in a bar, legally! Who would have thought?”

Your grin warms his heart like honey in a cup of tea, “somehow the beer doesn’t taste any better once you’re old enough to drink it.” The sip you took from your frosted mug was far from ladylike.

“You’re right,” he agrees, following your lead and taking a big gulp, “something forbidden always tastes better.”

Right now you felt like Eve, enjoying the fruits of company from Eddie Munson, and your cheeks heat. Rick hadn’t crossed your mind since he drove down the driveway this morning, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“…a motorcycle, huh?” you say changing the subject, “honestly didn't think you were the type.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a little dimple pitting in the plumpness of his cheek, “Type? Like I need to be a colossal douche to drive one, hell…it’s good on gas, real fast. I got a buddy who fixed it up for me, owed me a favor for a cover up I did on his back.”

“Cover up?” you ask, eyebrow quirked, “like…a tattoo?”

“Yeah,” he says, swiveling on his barstool to face you, rolling his sleeves up past his elbow showing off his tattooed arms in the space between you both, “did these myself, just something I do for fun.”

His skin is embellished more than it is bare. Dark swirls of onyx branched out along his left wrist and up to the rolled fabric of his shirt, and you wonder if it disappeared up to his arm, around his torso? The marks seemed to flow like a river, connecting, gathering, forking this way and that, etching more pages to a story of an unfamiliar tale. You hoped to one day know its origin.

Without asking, your fingertips trace the outlines of the black ink, delicately following the path.

They circled around a rose covered in heavy dark thorns, dripping with blood. It had bloomed in a grassy knob made of lyrics from songs you had never heard. The inscriptions continue to channel along to a long silver dagger with a jeweled embellished handle of pretty emeralds that were shaped in irregular patterns. The dagger sunk into his skin and poked back out, shredding tendons and marrow in its wake… all exposed, coming to a point at his wrist.

It was as if he created his own armor, each intricate drag of the needle serving as a steady reminder that he would overcome. You can’t help the smile spreading on your lips, you had never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

“Should have guessed you’d end up being some sort of artist, Eddie, these are really lovely.”

He smiles, warm and inviting as he reaches for your hand, angling it towards him to get a proper look at the stick n poke tattoo he did years before.

A rough thumb sweeps along your skin, and the whiskey coloring of his eyes pour into yours, “I could fix this for you, make it look better.”

“Absolutely not,” you falsely gasp, “I love it just the way it is… besides you didn’t cover yours up either,” you point to the tattoo on his left hand. The small heart and clover were faded and blown out, a stark contrast difference against the shadowed dark lines around it.

You grin and meet his eyes. “Do you remember how hot it was that day?”

Eddie had always kept that memory at the surface, remembered as if it were yesterday, thinking about it often. As if your hand was still sweating in his, he could practically smell the peanut butter in your hair, feel the dampness on his shoulder from your tears.

“Yeah,” he says with a sad little smile, “I remember getting our asses chewed because we burnt supper.”

The light leaves your eyes and your smile fades, venom on your tongue as you spit, “should have poisoned them both… could have saved ourselves a world of trouble.”

Eddie’s stomach rumbled at the empty hollow feeling it used to play on repeat, if it weren't for you, he would have starved indefinitely.

“Juvy couldn’t have been that bad, THREE meals a day? Shit, practically a cake walk.”

“Yeah, lucky bastards,” you admit, a small lost look on your face as you drop his hand, mind wandering to the long forgotten childhood you were abandoned in. If your dad wasn’t screaming at you and raising a fist it was the neighbors ignoring the hollering and groaning of furniture snapping against thin walls from the Munson trailer. Never a silent hour in the park.

It’s quiet for a few beats as you drink your beer, finishing it a few swallows and leaning over the bar to grab the bottle of Jameson, pouring another round.

“So, the motorcycle, tattooing… you must be fighting off the ladies.”

Eddie laughs, his eyes darting across your face with a quirked brow, “not hardly.”

Rolling your eyes you sip at the bitter drink, “don’t be prude Munson, tell me.”

He scoffs and moves hair from his neck, suddenly interested in the bottom of his drink, “I’m not telling you the woes of my love life, thanks.”

“C’mon..” you pout, showing your bottom lip, “we never got to have talks like this!”

Eddie snorted at the pathetic pout you showed, “yeah and we aren’t gonna start now because there’s nothing to tell.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you scowled at him. “You’ve always been such a bad liar, bet your ears are red,” you reach for his hair in a feeble attempt to reveal what you both already knew to be true.

“Quit!” Eddie yells playfully, batting your hand away, “alright yeah, I’ve had a girlfriend or two,” he shrugs, “never anything serious.”

You grin at him lazily, elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm, even though your heart sank a bit at the thought of him loving someone, “ahh, see? That wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie blushes under your stare, “speak for yourself.”

He looks down, rubbing condensation from his mug with his thumbs. “And you? d’you uh… got a boyfriend?”

Your smile fades and you try not to shiver in disgust as you pour another shot. Slapping the glass down hard on the counter as you drain it, “I wouldn’t exactly call him that… it’s more of an… agreement.”

His face breaks into a jigsaw puzzle, “what does that mean?”

“Dont wanna bore you with ‘my love life woes’…” you interject, ignoring him, putting the tip of your finger in his glass and dragging it towards you. Tipping in more Jameson and sliding it towards him.

The buzz was tickling your fingers, a lightness took over your head as the alcohol seeped into your blood.

“Down to the meat and potatoes Slim…why are you home? I mean it’s not as if this shithole holds any happy memories.”

He brought the shot glass to his lips, sipping it down as you pour yourself another.

How did you not know that the only happy memory he had of Hawkins was you? He didn’t know how to tell you that it was the memory of your smile that kept him company when the nights were cold and he didn’t know where his next meal would come from.

He takes a deep breath, “my uncle died,” he squints with a puckered sour face at the burn from the liquor shaking his head, “Al is either dead or on another bender so…” he claps his hands, “here I am… met with his girlfriend today actually.”

You frown, reaching for his folded hands, tapping his knuckles, “‘m sorry, Eddie. Wayne was sweet, respectful, a regular here… to the bar, not the club.”

Eddie rolls his shoulders, trying to untie his tongue to ask the question that burned in him, “when did you um... start working here?”

Your stomach drops at his question, and your nails clack around the Jameson bottle again as you dump yet another splash into your glass. Your answer is muffled behind a choked swallow.

He frowns, racking his brain, “wait.. isn’t that…”

“My birthday,” you fake cheer, eyes too wet for normal conversation, “big 1-8.”

“Jesus...”

Eddie’s eyes shut in horror and your doomed fate. He covered his mouth with a fist to shield you from his quivering bottom lip. It was a far fucking cry from what he could have even imagined.

His eighteenth birthday was no glorious day either but he wasn’t forced to work in a strip club. His stomach churns, making milk into butter at the thought of your naive innocent eyes, and how they had almost hardened to steel in his absence.

The whiskey is working its magic now you’re feeling a little hot behind the ears, fuzzy in your head, dizzy eyed.He stares for a while over at you, watching in disappointment as you get clumsy with the pours, spilling a little on the counter and wiping it away with your bare hand, as you slug down, yet another, shot.

You stand suddenly, stumbling behind the bar and to the chip stand. Your fingers miss the clips in your attempt to release the snacks but they finally find home and you grab a bag, flinging it to him before opening one for yourself.

“Cool right?” you say, struggling to open it, tongue poked out in drunken concentration.

“Y’know I think most kids get a car,” the bag opens sending a confetti of salted crumbs and chips scattering to the counter to be crunched at your feet. Trying not to meet his eyes you talk to the ceiling, “maybe a crisp hundred dollar bill for their eighteenth. Clove? Blisters, a couple of bruises.. oh, and my name! Carved on the bathroom door, for a good time call…”

He’s struck dumb. Shell shocked and blinking back tears. Eddie clears his throat and reaches across the bar for your hand but you pull away from him, instead grabbing for the bottle.

“Welcome back.” you muse before pressing the mouth of the bottle angrily to your lips… foregoing the glass entirely.

Tipping your head back the now tasteless liquor slides down your throat with ease. An expert at coating the agony, you wait for your brain to lose oxygen and beg for an intake of breath, silently hoping you’d drown instead.

Years have passed of you dulling misery with anything you could get your hands on, liquor, pills, a little bit of nose powder… you’d tried most of the things Rick sold. And it worked until you needed more and more. It was a vicious cycle you were chasing.

But with Eddie here? It was nearly impossible to breeze over the truth.

When the bottle, in its near emptiness, slapped against the counter… a pair of dark eyes stare up at you, wide and sad, glossy with tears of shaming guilt.

Eddie couldn’t have guessed that your life was going to end up this way. He was naive in thinking that. Fucking stupid. He should kick his own ass for leaving the way he did, but his options were limited. Still, he’d wear the brunt of this mistake on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Your eyes were empty, lost, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He shook his head slow, voice gravely.

“I owe you years worth of apologies, Clove.”

You’re more than tipsy at this point, and suddenly you can’t form words as your breath is trapped in your throat.

He was practically in tears as he tried his hardest to explain himself, tried to right this wrong.

“I was young, so fucking stupid..”

“Eddie..” As much as you wanted to know what happened it suddenly felt like too much, like your brain would implode, unable to process the heartache any further.

“Just listen, okay? Please?” He’s begging for your attention and you would rather melt into the floor. “I never told you, I never told anyone.”

Thicker than thieves. Eddie knew you like the back of his hand and likewise with you, so what the hell was he talking about?

…

“Check the back, I’m sure the canned stuff is there.”

The kitchen was eerily quiet, filled with sleepy rays of the afternoon sun, loaves of bread set out on the counter fresh from the oven for tomorrow's lunch.

You pad on tip toes to the back room lined with shelves of aluminum cans, and dried goods. You didn’t know where to start.

“How many should we take?” you whisper yell over your shoulder, “Two? Three?”

Eddie’s using his shirt as a basket, filling it full with small cartons of milk, shoving apples in his pockets, “Look for the big ones, then we won’t have to come back for a… oh fuck yeah, come to daddy.”

“Ew, Eddie!”

“Found some cheese!” he cheers, “we could make garlic bread!”

Label after label your fingers skimmed over the cans. Peaches, tapioca pudding, green beans, lima beans, and finally… in a can larger than your head, crushed tomatoes.

“Jackpot,” you whisper grabbing the cans and adjusting them one under each arm, “ready?”

Eddie’s frame fills the doorway, arms bundled with an assortment of goodies, a fresh loaf of bread in a plastic bread sack between his teeth, a joker’s grin wide on his face, “let’s roll.”

…

It was pure dumb coincidence that an exit was next to the cafeteria. You were surprised at the fact that Eddie's jeans didn’t fall down to his ankles from the extra weight of food heavy in his pockets as the two of you ran to his van and sped back to the trailer park.

“We made out like bandits, gonna eat like kings tonight, Clovie.” Eddie’s smile is spread wide as he helps haul the looted school food into your trailer.

Years of yellowing stains from tobacco use shown on every surface, a permanent haze of smoke lingering in the air, baking in the sunlight. Dishes littered the sink in standing dirty gray water, gone ice cold.

“Sorry for the mess,” you explain, reaching into the sink to pull the stopper, “I fell asleep before doing them while reading Lolly her library book.”

Eddie opens a drawer looking for a can opener, “and your dad didn’t come unglued? You must be Irish with that kinda luck.”

“He was passed out, I could have lit the place on fire and he wouldn’t have known, and he was gone before my alarm went off this morning.”

Peeling back the tin lid after pinching it open with the can opener, Eddie grunts, “yeah, my dad left early this morning too, said something about keeping my ‘filthy fucking hands off his stash’ and that he’d be gone for a few days.”

It was an enormous relief when it was just you and Eddie to fend for yourselves. Most teens could barely use the stove to make popcorn, but you had been taking care of yourself and Lolly for years. It was what you preferred.

Reaching for the one good aluminum pot that was stashed above the fridge, you pull it down and remove the magazine clippings of recipes you wanted to try or things that looked easy to make with the very little your cabinets held. “Good, glad they’ll be gone.”

Eddie sucks a tomato sauce covered thumb into his mouth, smiling in a way that made your cheeks heat, “almost like you read my mind.”

He’s hesitant now, fumbling over his words and brushing hair from his neck.

“I, you know I always talked about leaving Hawkins…practically had it all figured out by the time we were thirteen.”

You remember how serious his face was when he cupped your arms in the kitchen, his words branding themselves in your skull like a prisoner counting down days.

He swallows roughly, running hands through his hair, “I… I wanted you to… firstly…I need you to understand that I didn’t want to leave… not without you.”

Playing coy you brush off his serious tone, “.. stop.”

“I’m serious,” he sighs, reaching for your hand and your stomach flips when his calloused palm clamps tight on your knuckles, “you were everything to me.”

“.. c’mon Eddie, that’s just the liquor talkin’ now.”

“t’s not… and with me,” his eyes seem to grow in size as his sincerity leaks through them, “I’d never tell you something like this while drunk.”

You swallow dryly and nod, accepting that whatever he was about to say was true and real.

He takes a sharp intake of breath, as if this particular memory hurt him more than any other. His eyes were growing dark. solemn, and he squeezed your hand as he begins.

“I think it was about a year before I left… we made spaghetti with shit we stole from the cafeteria…”

A pain in your chest blossoms with a thought you hadn’t remembered until now when he reminded you. The taste of cheesy bread in the oven and salty tomatoey spaghetti invade your mind.

“I still can't eat spaghetti.”

A quick smirk dances in the corner of his lip and he meets your eyes, “yeah… me neither, I stayed over on the floor of the bathroom.”

You nod, remembering the sounds of Eddie retching into the toilet while you laid in your bed, a popcorn bowl keeping you company, thankful that Lolly hadn’t gotten sick. Even though you had gotten screamed at for being sick yourself when your dad and Al came back earlier than expected.

“Well, I was awake when they came home. They didn’t know I was there or even awake, and they were talking ‘business’.. you know those trailer walls are so fuckin’ thin, couldn’t not hear them.”

His eyes pinched shut like you would on a rollercoaster when it’s too scary, shaking his head, his other hand clamped over the one he held yours in, rubbing as if he could possibly buff out the callouses.

You can’t do anything but stare at him. Frozen in place. Scared to move, not even breathing.

“They had been talking about how some of their new “talent” wouldn’t be ready to go right away but… goddamn…” his voice cracks and he shakes his head before his demeanor falls and his voice gets quiet almost mute, “they had someone in mind to fill in in the mean time…”

No.

It shouldn’t have been a shock, shouldn’t have gutted you on the spot, usingyour intestines as a jump rope, but somehow, hearing this from Eddie’s mouth made it worse than if you were to hear it from them yourself.

You wanted to run away, to hide and never come out of a dark hole.

“… I hoarded away any nickel I could find, because we were going to leave. Together.” he squeezes your hand on the last word, possibly trying to bring you back to life as you stared ominously at the counter next to your conjoined hands.

The stagnant air is cold between you, and you aren’t sure if you’ve taken a breath within the last two minutes or not. Cold sweat formed on your lower back and any high you were feeling was dull, a competition to fight with your lucidness. Eddie took a few deep breaths before continuing.

“I replay that day over and over… how my dad came home, screaming about how I was a man now, needed to start helping with the family business stop freeloading like my mom… y’ know somethin’ Clove, to this day I’ve never touched that shit, and that was the one and only time I’ve ever seen heroin.” He hangs his head and you shift on uneasy feet.

“Telling him no was my first mistake, But I had to stick up for myself, had to let him know that I wasn’t gonna be like him,” he spoke now through gritted teeth as he admits, “but instead he swung on me,” Eddie chuckles despite the gravity of his words, “got a few good jabs in before he pulled those brass knuckles out.”

Your hand flies to cover your mouth before you realize it’s open in horror.

“I packed the van when I heard him leave, pocketed the cash I had saved up. This was it, we were getting the hell out. You and me, Lolly too… fuck I can’t even imagine how crazy I looked covered in blood,” he sighs then, shuttering like, voice shaking, his eyes wet.

Your heart broke for him. Broke for his demons that followed him around like a shadow. “I… I didn’t even get a knock in on your window before I felt a gun pressed to my head …”

It’s your turn to take a shaky breath, and you can’t hide the burn in your nose or the way your mouth tingled from holding in tears.

His voice is low, broken, “… I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t just me they were threatening. He made it more than clear how easy it would be to get rid of two kids nobody wanted to begin with.”

Slipping in and out of present time, you imagine how scared Eddie must have been. The look of terror on his face as a grown adult held him at gunpoint. How his own dad hit him until he bled, how he tried to get to you, tried to save you. You were a fucking fool for hating him when the one you should have been hating this entire time was yourself.

“… he followed me to the van… told me he’d fill me full of lead if he ever came back.”

You pinched your eyes shut, imagining him driving away from the only home he’d ever known, from his life, from you.

His voice fades in and out, as he works through the emotions wavering in his body. “I should have come back for you, should have, I dunno.. I’m sorry, Clove.”

It’s quiet as you process everything Eddie has said. The pain you’d shoved down for years is raging towards you like a bull. Red, angry, demanding to be felt. But you would hide from this terrorizing house of horrors for as long as you could, and you step out of the bull’s way, deflecting.

“Music!” you screech out of nowhere, through the thick haze of sadness, “we need music.”

Standing abruptly, sending the now empty bottle of Jameson clattering across the counter, Eddie tries to steady you from across the bar, his cheeks damp.

“Whoa, hey.. you okay?”

“I gotta,” your hands roam over yourself in search of pockets, “…hey you got a quarter?” The floor seemed to move as you teetered toward the jukebox, keeping your eyes on the colorful lights as you walked towards it like a moth to a flame.

“Wai…” he takes a step forward reaching for your hand but deciding against it, hand going limp by his side, his eyes searching inside your own.

You desperately want to break against him, to throw yourself in his arms and let him hold you until the tears dry on your cheeks, but you can’t let yourself be so vulnerable. Not in front of Eddie, not in front of anyone.

“Clove…” his voice is tender, concerned, “c’mon, you need to sit down.”

“No change? That’s okay, Slim,” you squeak, cutting him off in a rush, forcing a fake smile as you silently curse yourself for sounding so derailed, “Gotta change anyway.”

Spinning and nearly tripping over a stool in your attempt to get to the dressing room, you avoid the swelling brown of his eyes like the plague.

“Larry or Kenny should be here in a few, tell ‘im you’re on my tab and you can eat all the wings you want for free tonight, ‘kay? I’ll be back!”

The tears slid before you could stop them, hot pools that stung your eyes like acid. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked…no you definitely shouldn’t have pushed to know the reason why he left.

The bar was still spinning, waves of heat hitting you like an oven.

You prayed that your Eddie would come back to you, come home to save you and take you away from this life, but he’s here now and it’s entirely too much for you to deal with.

Vomit rose in your throat before you could swallow it back, and walking down the ruby carpeted hallway, your stomach empties itself on the floor before you can find a trash can, the wall holding you up as you crumble against it. Heart bruised and battered, despite Eddie’s efforts to mend it.

He stood in the open bar, soul empty and hollow. So many confessions left unsaid were formed but couldn’t quite fall from his lips. The conversation he wanted to have was not the outcome he had hoped for. He yearned for you, how close the two of you used to be and how it was torn away too soon. Time was a thief and the years spent apart ate at him, and all he can think of is the small manila envelope he kept of letters that went unread, addressed to you.

thank you for taking the time to read 💋 i know this chapter has taken for fucking ever to come out but i hope it was possibly worth it🥀

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[orgasming-caterpillar]

And It's Too Cold//It's Too Cold

Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg | Angst | Smut | 1695 words | on ao3 | in Google Docs

Songfic Based On: Sweater Weather, The NBHF

Nico was in the cooldown room when it happened. Towel in hand, he was wiping the cold droplets trickling down his torso when Lewis burst open the door. (They didn't even use the cooldown room at the same time anymore.)

“Nico.”

The name left his teammate's mouth for the first time in weeks. Nico's throat didn't have to tighten like that— he wasn't going to speak anyway.

“I need to talk to you,” Lewis said, something desperate in his voice that Nico wasn't sure was real.

All I am is a man

Nico’s words were careful, deliberately stern. “What do you want, Lewis?”

I want the world in my hands

“To talk to you- about the race.” Abu Dhabi. 2016. “You won. Congratulations. I still won the championship.”

That seemed to snap something inside Lewis. In a swift motion, he lunged at Nico. But his childhood friend was much too familiar with his tactics, he knew about his speedy attacks and had swift reflexes to match. All those teenage years spent wrestling on hotel beds weren't for nothing.

“I don't fucking care!” Lewis shouted, his collar grasped in Nico's hands, Nico pushed all up against the wall. “I don't fucking care that I won the race!”

“You seemed to care a fuck lot about it on the track, mate,” Nico spat.

Lewis jerked his shoulders, hitting his head on the wall in the process. “Why can't you see, Nico?! Why can't you understand? I can't take this anymore.”

I hate the beach

But I stand in California with my toes in the sand

“Take what, Lewis? Because all I've been doing this year is take and take and fucking take. You haven't taken shit compared to what you've put me through.” His eyes were burning now. He needed Lewis out of here.

“I can't take this— you pretending I don't exist. I will take the accidents and the crashes and the goddamn fistfights, but I can't,” —his voice broke, eyes welling up, and Nico had the urge to wipe them before any tears fell— “I can't take this, Nico.”

Use the sleeves of my sweater

“You really think you're the only one suffering? How self centred, how typical of you, Lewis.”

Let's have an adventure

“...What?”

“You think this doesn't hurt me? this non stop fighting and competition, and never making up? Open your fucking eyes. I don't like this any more than you do.”

Lewis' hands dropped from his shoulders, chest heaving. The air between them was electric, too dangerous to breathe in.

Head in the clouds but my gravity centered

“Then why do you do it?” It was the smallest voice Nico had ever heard.

Because it's better than admitting the truth. Because it has less consequences than saying 'I love you.' “Because you started it.”

Touch my neck and I'll touch yours

Dark eyes trailed from his wet hair to the damn skin of his torso, not in a lewd way, but like a man recalling all that he has to lose. When he looked back up, there was a hope in his eyes that Nico couldn't bear looking at. “And will you stop if I stop?”

You in those little high waisted shorts, oh

This was a terrible idea from the beginning. The Karting, the trip to Greece, the ride-or-die friendship, all of it— terrible.

Oh, she knows what I think about

“Stop fucking thinking so much, Nico, it can't get worse than this.”

It really couldn't.

And what I think about

The answer came in the form of a desperate hand grabbing the back of Lewis’ head to bring him closer.

It was a gunshot, the way their lips met each other's. It was the sweet shock of love after a lifetime of yearning. It was like their first sip of too-strong whiskey at fourteen, knowing they've crossed a line they can never go back to.

One love, two mouths

Lewis’ surprise melted into eagerness in a split second. Nico tilted his head and grabbed his bicep. Lewis had grabbed Nico's face with both hands like he was something dear and precious.

It really was a terrible idea, and nothing could ever fix it; but if they were going to burn they'd go down singing in the flames.

One love, one house

“Take off your shirt,” he grunted. Lewis obeyed.

Smooth brown skin burned under Nico's freezing palms. He grabbed a handful of the pecs, moaning into the kiss.

No shirt, no blouse

“Is this—” Lewis pushed him away. God give him dignity, Nico almost whined. “Is this a confession thing? Or a goodbye thing? Because I have no idea what I'll do with a goodbye fuck.”

Just us, you find out

Nico had no idea either. He didn't want to leave Lewis. But for now, the only thing on his mind was the throbbing heart under his hand. They were here. ‘Leaving’ seemed like something out of a hazy dream. “I don't know.”

Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no

Lewis had this look on his face— like he wanted to run away but his feet wouldn't take him. Nico wanted to tell him that there was nothing he could have done to change anything. There was nothing that could have ended up with them anywhere other than where they are. He didn't say anything.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

“Do you really? Or is this another game?” Yes, Nico wanted to yell. He knew what Hamilton was asking. 'Do you really love me?’ and he wanted to yell, Yes, yes, yes. I do love you. I do. I'm sorry. All he could do was nod.

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

Lewis put a hand on his cheek, kissing him again. Only this time it was so much more gentle, yet hurt so much more. Somewhere in his subconscious Lewis seemed to have realised that this was probably the first and last time they will ever do this; and he did it like he wanted to remember.

And if I may just take your breath away

There was so much Nico wanted to say, and he couldn't say any of it. He wanted to scream.

We will never be the same again, he wanted to say. I will never love another like you. A moan. You've destroyed all that I was. A sigh. Do not destroy what I am. Hands caressed his body, so soft it was painful. Build me a pyre, and I'll still whisper your name as I burn. A prayer. I love y—

“How do you want this?” Lewis whispered, hands working him out of his pants.

I don't mind if there's not much to say

Nico grabbed his shoulders, using the stability of Lewis’ hands on his thighs to wrap his legs around his waist. He relished in the way Lewis groaned, he would never hear it ever again.

Sometimes the silence guides a mind

To move to a place so far away

Lewis was gentle, so gentle. They both loved like an ocean. With Nico it was a tsunami; desire coursing through his veins as he groped, wrecked, swallowed everything that came in his way. And with Lewis it was this; sweet, gentle and relentless like moonlit waves in the darkest hours of the night. What choice did either have but to drown?

The goosebumps start to raise

“More,” he whimpered, arching his back against the wall. The soft gaze with which Lewis was watching him was more violent than any fistfight they've ever had.

And then I watch your face

Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah

It hurt— even with how tender Lewis was being. Maybe more so because of that. He harshened the pace at Nico's request, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Their hearts beat in sync, thudding against the ribcages pressed together.

These hearts adore, everyone the other beats hardest for

Strangling begins with holding. Cannibalism begins with a kiss. They both bring grief and hurt and madness; what is love if not just tender violence?

Inside this place is warm

Outside it starts to pour

He reached the peak of his pleasure first, spilling onto their abdomens. Lewis followed right after.

Coming down

One love, two mouths

They stayed like that for a while; chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, hearts broken like the promises they made at fourteen.

One love, one house

No shirt, no blouse

“Don't leave me, Nico.”

Just us, you find out

Why do you speak to me and why do I try to understand? he thought. We no longer speak the same language.

Not a word was uttered.

Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no

“We can fix this.” That damned hope.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

“Put me down,” was what Nico chose to say. Lewis did, searching his face desperately for an answer.

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

Nico picked his pants off the floor, pulling them on without another word. Lewis spared them both the pain and stayed silent as well.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

He was wiping his torso with a spare towel when Lewis finally spoke.

“You promised, Nico.”

Nico looked at him, no longer caring about the wet streaks on his cheeks. “We made a lot of stupid promises.”

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

“You said we'd race together. Forever. You said you wouldn't race without me. Then why should I?”

Wasn't forever such a sweet lie? It wasn't nearly as long as people thought it was.

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

“I'm leaving racing for good, Lewis.”

And it's too cold, it's too cold

Lewis was silent for what seemed like hours. “I love you.”

With a single whispered phrase, Nico shut the door behind him. “It'll pass.”

The holes of my sweater…

[the-altered-sequence]

If only the warfare that nearly wiped out humanity had actually finished the job. Then Dev and the other remaining genetically Altered supersoldiers wouldn't be facing what could be their final days scraping by. They went from science experiments to vermin and today is the last straw. Their plan to finally end the fighting backfires, and now they face an even more frightening reality. The new human leader, Alessandra, doesn't want them dead. She needs their help. Dev isn't sure if his decision to help her will save them... or get them all killed.

Bound to Ashes (originally released in 2014) is a fast-paced, character-driven post-apocalyptic sci-fi novel (~90k words) about learning to trust and doing what's right even though no right has ever been done to you.

Status: OPEN for Beta Reading and FREE. (Link goes to the Google Doc folder.) Check out the additional document for feedback guidelines.

Reviews and more under the cut.

Content warning for language and violence.

I love post-apocalyptic settings. The idea of humanity as it is now getting a "reset" is compelling. But I was disappointed by the vast majority of post-apoc media rife with misogyny, alpha male kitsch, and grimdark nihilism. I wanted characters that felt the hopelessness of the world but still chose to be better. I wrote BtA to be the change.

BtA was my first serious writing project when I was 21, back in '12. Since then it has gone through 10 drafts, a few serious beta readers, a self-publishing, an un-self-publishing, and a last polish this year (2024) to finalize series-wide changes.

Here's what readers have said about Bound to Ashes:

"Bound to Ashes is everything I wish Maze Runner was."

"It took me three sentences to fall in love with this book, and it kept me hooked until the very end. Amazing read that I will be passing along to my friends."

"The mental images projected were vibrant and intense, and had me in tears in a bath."

[gaysindistress]

Sad girl - sixteen

summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, Bucky’s smartass, mentions of sex, the feelings, Walker has decided that he wants to be Joe Goldberg

word count: 2.8k

part 15 | series masterlist

Taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @goldensunflowe-r   @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @reader-without-a-story @iateall-yourcookies  @littlelizardlizzie @alana4610 @kandis-mom @beware-my-thorns @ozwriterchick @unaxv @wh0reforbucknasty @cjand10​  @katymae12344  @vickie5446 @openup-yourmind

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Busting through the hospital’s front doors, she runs up to the front desk, out of breath and with Nat in tow. The nurse looks up a little scared to see someone so frantic and angry at the same time. 

Tears are brimming in her eyes as she finally finds the breath to speak, “Barnes what room?”

“I’m going to need…” the nurse is interrupted by Doll’s loud and demanding voice. 

“James Barnes, what room is he in?”

The nurse gives her a tight-lipped smile as she types away at her computer, “And who are you?”

“His wife, what fucking room is he in?”

“He’s in the ICU but she can’t go in,” the nurse points at Nat. 

“Yes she can,” she grabs Nat by the wrist and drags her towards the elevator. 

The nurse stands to stop the two women however Steve comes out of the open elevator and gives her a look that has her sitting back down and not saying a word. 

“You” she points at him angrily as she stalks towards him, “You absolute dick, why didn’t you answer your phone when I called you?”

“I was a little busy.”

“Too busy to give me any sort of fucking information about my husband?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve tries to calm her down but to no avail. 

“I don’t care what you meant, just start talking. How is he and what happened?”

He clenches his jaw before explaining, “He was shot but he’s fine.”

“Excuse me? He was shot? And you didn’t think that was an important detail to tell me?” her voice breaks as fear and anger collide. She all but collapses into Steve as anxiety throws her into an attack.  

He guides both women into the elevator and keeps an arm around her as he speaks, “I didn’t want to worry you until we knew more. He’s asleep now but Doc said he’d probably be awake in the next hour or so.”

She nods, trying to regulate her breathing, and blindly searches for Nat’s hand. Nat’s hand finds hers first and squeezes Doll’s. The tears fall silently down her face and she doesn’t bother wiping them away. Steve takes note of her frazzled state; hair impossibly messy, leggings, Bucky’s old army sweatshirt, an oversized raincoat, and vans so tattered they must be from her high school days. 

The hand around her shoulder goes to her hand to pull it against his chest so he can whisper into her hair, “He’s going to be okay.” 

The elevator bell dings as she nods again, pulling away from him to wipe at her face. Nat is the one to help her walk towards the room while Steve is in front. The ICU is silent aside from the occasional beep from the various machines. Nurses and Doctors mill around the unit, taking care of the gravely ill and injured. Loved ones of other ICU patients keep their heads tucked down as they shuffle past the trio, no doubt holding back their own tears and fears. They stop before they go into the room and Steve tells them to stay put for a moment. Sam appears from the room and pulls Steve aside to whisper something before hauling the two women into a hug. 

“He’s awake and asking for you,” Sam tells her, rubbing his hand up and down her arm with a compassionate look. 

He’s awake and coherent which is good. He’s asking for her which is also good but it does nothing to calm the storm inside of her. She still has no idea what happened to him or what damage his body endured. Of course, anxiety pictures the worst-case scenario of him laying there missing limbs or barely alive, but no matter what she does it won’t leave her. 

Nat lets go of her hand, offering her a sad smile as she takes a step away. Doll wipes her tears again before stepping into the sterile white room. Machines like the walls, monitoring every vital sign possible and keeping him alive. In the center of the room is the bed that he’s lying in with his left arm covered in bandages but his chest otherwise bare. The sight of his dog tags missing from their usual place brings around another round of tears. The symbol of his strength, power, and past is gone, leaving him vulnerable to the world. She stills in the door frame at the sight of him, trying not to choke on her sobs. He hears the shaky breath that leaves her and cracks open his stunning blue eyes to check for the source. The weight of her sadness bridges the gap between them as she slowly approaches his bedside and takes a seat in the chair next to him. 

“Hi Doll,” his voice is gruff and hoarse, no doubt from sleep and pain. 

She reaches a hand to touch his arm, hesitating at the thought she might hurt him. 

“It’s okay, you’re not going to hurt me.”

“I might hurt Steve though,” she says as her tears start to fall again and she grabs his right hand, pulling it to her forehead as she leans against the bed. His heart breaks watching this woman fall apart in front of him. His own tears start to form at the sound of her sobs. 

“Come here,” he whispers, gently pulling her into him and sitting up. She lets go but only wraps her arms around him. Cautious of his left arm, she hugs him tightly and sits beside him on the bed. 

“No told me anything,” her words are muffled against his skin now wet from her tears, “I was so fucking scared, Bucky.”

Not trusting his own words, he nods in response and lets her go so they can look at each other. Their hands rejoin on her lap as her eyes look over his body for any other signs of injury aside from the obvious one. 

“I tried to call you myself but they wouldn’t let me. Steve even took my phone away. Did no one tell what happened?” he asks. 

“No, he just said that you’d been injured and sent the address. The bastard wouldn’t say anything else and I about shot him when I saw him in the lobby.”

“Yeah, he’s not much of a talker sometimes,” his voice softens when he takes her in; her frazzled appearance and tear-stricken face do nothing to hide her beauty. The pure concern and worry she carries tugs at his heart, making him believe that he’s never loved her more than he does at this moment. 

“And I don’t take well to being left in the dark so he’s going to have to learn to be a talker real soon or so help me god.” 

“Even when you’re crying, you still find a way to threaten people and make me fall even harder for you,” The words slip out faster than he had intended, maybe due to the painkillers or the tension of the situation. 

She swallows at the words and her eyes snap up to his to see if there’s a hint of anything in them. He tries to backpedal out of it but her intense stare stops him.

“You love me?”

He continues to stumble over his words and thoughts, his brain unable to come up with a single word as she stares at him in confusion and hope. Hope is all she has anymore; hope that her mother is safe, hope that her father will raise Morgan better than he did her, hope that John Walker will walk right out of her life without a second thought, and hope that Bucky feels for her what she feels for him. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have but she has it. 

“I need you to answer me right now, do you love me?”

Between shaky breaths, he whispers out his response, “I do. I love you so much it hurts and it scares me. Every day I fall harder and harder for you and it’s torture not knowing if you feel the same. I lose my mind whenever you’re not around because you consume my every thought and all I can think about is you. And I know that you were forced into this so you don’t love me back and I’ve accepted that. I can live with that as long as I have you close and I know that’s selfish but I can’t help it.”

“What makes you think I don’t love you?”

“You’ve made it very clear that you will never be mine,” his brows knit together in confusion at her question. It’s so obvious to him that she’s only faking her feelings for him because of the arrangement.

“I love you, James Barnes, more than you’ll ever know and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how you can’t see that. I know what I said in the beginning and that was out of frustration with my father but I never let that change what I feel for you. At first I blamed you because I thought you wanted this but now I know you didn’t have a choice either. What I feel for you, the love I have for you, is 100% real and I’m not going anywhere,” she seals her confession with a kiss, one completely different than any they have shared before. 

This kiss is not a battle for power, it’s an admission of their love for each other. The need to show their love overcomes them as they kiss, lips lazily sliding against one other in an effort to map every centimeter of skin. 

Pulling away to rest her forehead on his, she speaks again, “I love you but do not ever scare me like that again or I will kill you myself.”

A hearty laugh rattles his body and those three words warm his hear, “I promise to be more careful from now on, my love.”

“You better be. I kind of like having you around.”

“Only kind of?’

“Okay, maybe a lot but that’s all you’re getting. I’m still mad at you for this,” she circles a lazy air around his left shoulder. 

“It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse,” he settles back into the bed as he teases her. 

“Well, I haven’t so keep yourself in one piece, please, and thank you.”

He fake salutes her with their joined hands earning a breathy laugh from her. Spotting his sweater under her coat, the love in his chest grows. 

“You’re wearing my clothes and you said I love you first. I think I should get an apology.”

“What?” she looks down at her torso, “Oh well I missed you and I haven’t seen you wear it so I figured it was fine. Wait, what do you mean by an apology?”

“Remember all of those times you fought with me about ‘how you were never going to be mine’? I think I deserve an apology for that because here we are.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she sighs, “I’m sorry your highness for hurting your ego. I’m still not property but yes, subjectively, I am yours but you are also mine.”

Raising their hands, he kisses the back of hers and says, “Yes I am yours, Doll.”

A week of sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden days is what it took for Bucky to come home. Since the bullet embedded into the side of his humerus, there wasn’t much that the doctors needed to monitor. The blood transfusion had been successful, there were no major arteries hit, and his humerus, while it needed surgery, wasn’t completely shattered. Steve and Sam teased him endlessly during that week that he was one lucky son of bitch and that if it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have survived. He claimed his lucky rabbit’s foot had been Doll and the thought of making it back safe to her which earned many eye rolls, chuckles, and a gentle slap to the uninjured arm from her. 

No one else had been in the room when they confessed their love for each other; however, it was evident in the way they looked at each other and how her hand always held his. It might have also been the fact that the dog tag chain was now around her neck rather than Bucky’s. Regardless no one mentioned it all agreed that they were happy for Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. 

On his discharge day, she’s a tad bit distraught, constantly asking him if he’s okay or in pain and never leaving his side. Doctors and nurses are giving each other side eyes as they watch the woman worry over the comically large man. 

“I promise I’m okay. I’ll tell you if something is wrong,” he says to her with one hand on her cheek so she has to look at him and acknowledge his words. 

“I know, it’s just…” she trails off as she looks at his arm bandaged and in a sling. 

“You worry, I know but I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” in classic Bucky fashion, his hand slides to the back of her neck to bring his lips to her forehead. 

Once the caravan of SUVs and men in black make it back to Barnes' home, the questions are boiling inside of her. She refrains from asking her million questions until he’s settled and comfortable. He, on the other hand, can feel her nervousness as she bounced her leg the entire ride home and her hands shake slightly on his bicep. The painkillers make it so he’s not bothered by it but he does make a mental note to ask her what’s going through her head later on. 

Making it up the stairs and into their shared bedroom that he hadn’t even seen yet, she leads him to the bed and leaves him to grab the rest of his stuff from Sam. 

“Here you go,” says Sam, handing her Bucky’s mission backpack and the hospital bag with his clothes from that day. 

“Thank you. Can you stay with him while I grab water and some other stuff?”

“How about I go and get it for you? What do you want?”

“Um sure. Just some water bottles and my computer from his office.”

Sam nods before heading downstairs and she returns to the bed, taking a seat next to Bucky. 

“What do you want to know first?” he speaks up, feeling her eyes on him while his eyes are closed as he reclines against the cushioned headboard. 

“What was the mission?”

“A senator was in over his head and lost some files he wasn’t supposed to. We were sent in to get them back but weren’t told that it was at the Wakandan’s headquarters.”

“The Wakandans were the ones who shot you?”

“I didn’t see who it was but I’m assuming so. We were on our way out when it happened so I had my back turned.”

He can hear her take a deep sigh before she continues, “You said this wasn’t the worst injury you’ve had.”

Slowly nodding his head, he opens his eyes to look at her, “During my deployment, I was shot in the same shoulder and shattered my clavicle. It caused some arterial blood to spill into the lung and my lung almost collapsed.”

“Jesus,” her eyes surveyed his arm and shoulder for any sign of scars. She spots several faded scars across his collarbone and his ribcage. Her fingers lightly brush over the scars as she studies them. 

“Nothing can beat the burn of your side eye though,” he chuckles as she continues to run her fingers over his torso. 

“You’re one to speak. Your side eye is worse than mine.”

“Agree to disagree.” 

She removes her hand and looks back up at him, “You promised me a date however I don’t know if you’re in any condition to go out.”

He tries to sit up a bit, causing his arm to move in an awkward position and him to wince. 

“Exactly, stay where you are,” she guides him to lean back again, “how about we have a stay-in date? I’ll make dinner.”

“That’s not a date. That’s an average night for a married couple.”

“Then we’ll wait until you’re fully healed,” she snips back playfully. 

The side eye comes out once again, “Fine but we’re not counting this as a first date.”

She suppresses a laugh as she pulls out her phone to plan their not date. Bucky’s right arm wraps around her and tugs her to lie down with him. Settling into the bed, he’s content to finally be home with his girl as she lays with her head on his chest.

[hear-that-music-in-the-air]

Helping Hand

My first RD fic! I haven't written proper fanfic in a hot minute but the little pixel people grabbed me by the throat and opened my google docs

Also shoutout to @nightmun for helping me visualize Ian's silly little mug

Summary: After seeing Ada struggle with the rhythm treatments, Ian comes up with a way to help her out.

Fic under the read-more :)

—

Dr. Edega loomed over her, his eyes boring into her back over the top of his clipboard.

"I expect better from you, Dr. Paige. Times are changing. If you can't keep up, then maybe you're not cut out for this job after all,” he said lowly.

Ada couldn't meet his gaze. Instead she stared down at her hands, balled into trembling fists, as her heart pounded in her ears. Burning tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she immediately felt ashamed, like a child being scolded.

She had messed up. She had been treating a patient with the rhythm defibrillator and started to panic as soon as she lost track of the tempo. Ian had frantically swooped in to take over and finished the treatment smoothly, while Ada had watched, feeling numb.

She was distantly aware of Ian pushing past her, positioning himself between her and Edega.

"D-Dr. Edega, sir—this is a very new, experimental treatment method. We're still working out the kinks and—and no one's going to be perfect at it right away."

"That's no excuse. There's no room for mistakes when lives are on the line. You both know that."

"N–Not every case we get is life-threatening," Ian said, and she was faintly surprised at the edge of anger creeping into his tone. "And she'll practice. She can—"

Edega pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I don't care what she does as long as her performance improves. See to it that she receives more training as soon as possible. And keep looking for any bugs in the program in the meantime."

Ian opened his mouth to say something else, but was silenced by a single look from Edega. He shrunk into himself.

"Y–Yes, sir. Of course."

Edega turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving a heavy silence behind him. Ada didn't realize that she was still shaking until Ian placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Ada?" His voice sounded so far away, as though he were speaking to her from underwater. She attempted to pull herself back, focusing on the warmth of his hand as a grounding point. She placed her own fingers unsteadily over his and gave him a tremulous smile.

“I’m…okay.”

Ian watched her face, brow furrowed in concern.

"He—he shouldn't speak to you like that. I—I hate it."

She sniffled and quickly swiped at the tears that were threatening to spill under her glasses. She took a deep breath and straightened, attempting to look professional instead of pathetic.

"No. He's right. We can't afford to make stupid mistakes in this line of work. And it’s not…it’s not just him.” She remembered the way the patient’s heart rate had spiked on the monitor when she missed a beat, and let out a shaky sigh. “I just...can't stop thinking about what might have happened if you weren't here."

Ian frowned.

"Ada. You can't go beating yourself up over what might have happened."

"Sure I can," she joked weakly. Ian didn't laugh.

"We're—we're all trying our best here," he continued. "And Edega doesn't see how much you do for the patients every day. He barely comes out of his office, and when he does it's only to—to reprimand us for something or other. Everyone else in this hospital loves you. You—you're a good doctor, Ada."

As she stared at him, all of the tears that she had swallowed came rising back up in her throat. She let her head fall against his shoulder with a soft thump, and a quiet sob escaped her. She felt Ian freeze for a moment, uncertain, before he awkwardly wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into the warmth.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Not really a hugger."

Ada let out a watery laugh.

"I know, doofus. Thank you."

She pulled back and tried in vain to wipe the tear stains from his coat.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m crying all over you. This is gross.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Ian said. “But that’s okay.”

Ada collapsed into a nearby chair, suddenly feeling indescribably exhausted. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes before letting out another long sigh. Ian sat down next to her, awkwardly rubbing the back of his hand.

"Personalized care, comforting patients, that's what I'm good at,” Ada said. “You're the one who’s amazing at all the technical stuff.” 

She stared up into the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents, letting her vision go blurry. 

“All Edega seems to care about is getting people in and out of treatment as quickly as possible. Seems like if he has his way, pretty soon everything will be done remotely. I guess I just feel kind of useless,” she muttered.

“You’re not useless,” Ian said quietly.

Ada made a noncommittal sound.

“Like you said, there’s so many other things you’re good at. Trust me, Ada, we—we’ll always need you. You’re everyone’s favorite doctor. Otherwise, they’d all be stuck with me,” he joked.

She attempted to muster a smile, but she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ian frowned again and fell silent for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then he stood abruptly, nearly startling her out of her seat.

“Oh! I—I might actually know a way to help you!” he cried, pacing excitedly. “M–Meet me in the basement when you come in tomorrow.”

Ada blinked up at him, baffled. “Oh…um…okay? What—?”

Ian was already gone, scurrying down the hallway towards the door that led to the basement. Ada shook her head bemusedly, before scooping up her clipboard from the nearby table to see which patient she needed to check on next. She took a moment and closed her eyes, mentally preparing for the rest of her shift. 

Deep breaths.

She heaved herself onto her feet, and set off in the other direction towards Cole’s room.

—

When she came down to the basement the next morning, Ian looked haggard, yawning and rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. When he saw her, however, he lit up in a smile and eagerly waved her over.

“Ada! Hey! C-Come here, I have something to show you.”

On his desk was the rhythm defibrillator device, and attached to it was a new button that she didn’t recognize.

“...What’s this?” she asked as she slowly descended the stairs.

Ian spun around in his chair to face her, gesturing enthusiastically.

“I was up all night testing this, but it—it works! Basically, it modulates the detected heartbeats to—to simplify them on our end, and then it translates the button input back to the original complexity to match the patient’s heart pattern. S-So you’ll still be administering the same treatment, but it should be easier to—”

Tears welled in her eyes all over again, and Ada practically fell forward to pull him into a hug, grinning from ear to ear. Ian stiffened uncomfortably, and she suddenly remembered herself.

She stepped back and laughed sheepishly as she wiped away the tears.

“Right. Not a hugger. Sorry, I really need to be better about that.”

Ian looked at her for a moment, sighed, and then smiled. He stood from his chair and wrapped her in another hug, tighter than before.

“I’m willing to make exceptions,” he mumbled into her shoulder. Ada’s heart swelled, and she squeezed him back just as tightly. Then Ian let out a yelp as she lifted him off his feet in her excitement, and she quickly set him back down. 

“Too much?”

Ian laughed weakly, smoothing down his rumpled coat.

“Too much.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She returned her attention to the new button, running her fingers over the smooth surface. It looked fairly similar to the standard one, though slightly bigger. She gently pressed it down and it made a satisfying click.

“Thank you, Ian, seriously. This is…incredible.”

Ian scratched the back of his neck bashfully.

“It’s the least I could do. You already work so hard. H–Hopefully, this’ll make your job a little easier.”

Ada suddenly remembered his words from yesterday. You’re everyone’s favorite doctor. Otherwise, they’d all be stuck with me.

“You’re doing a good job, too, by the way,” she said softly. “Edega’s an idiot if he doesn’t see that. I know that a lot of your work is behind the scenes, but it’s just as important.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Ian looked away, embarrassed. “Y-You don’t have to say that.”

Ada smiled fondly.

“Just want you to know that you’ll always be my favorite radiologist.”

“I’m quite literally th–the only radiologist that we have.”

“Still.”

Ian finally broke into a smile, too. “Okay, okay. H-How about we test this thing?”

—

A week later, Ada told him that she had a gift for him, and produced a small white coffee mug from her coat pocket. Ian burst out laughing when he saw it.

“Wait, d-does that say ‘number one radiologist?’”

It was a “Number One Dad” mug from the dollar store that Ada had drawn over with a permanent marker. She had added two lines under the first D to turn it into an R, and had scribbled “-iologist” underneath, along with a little smiley face at the end. The mug soon became a permanent fixture on Ian’s desk, and she grinned to herself every time she passed by it.

[lady-riel]

"Gwyn the Baby Whisperer" - Gwynriel one-shot

This scene has been sitting around in my google docs for a long time and I decided fuck it I'll post it.

Summary: Only Gwyn knows how to make Nyx stop crying.

Also some Elain/Lucien interaction. And Lucien is Gwyn's father. Yep.

Read on AO3

Gwyn the Baby Whisperer

Nyx’s wails could clearly be heard on the floor above where the court, plus Lucien, was gathered in the living room before their weekly dinner, which had started to become a tradition these days.

“Sorry for the noise,” Rhys muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes. “Elain’s with Nyx now; he just won’t settle down.”

“Is she…torturing him?” Gwyn asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

Rhys and Cassian both snorted, while Feyre shook her head exhaustedly. “He’s just been fussy the last couple days for no apparent reason. Rhys and I were up all night with him.”

“Why doesn’t she bring him down?” said Gwyn.

“Yes,” Mor interjected eagerly, “Bring him down. I want to hold him.”

Rhys shrugged. “Well, if you don’t mind the screaming…” His eyes turned glassy for a moment while he spoke to Elain in his mind. He nodded. “She’s coming.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as he spoke, Nyx’s wails growing louder. A moment later Elain entered the room with the bawling baby in her arms. Elain glanced around, studiously avoiding Lucien’s gaze.

Mor bounded up from her spot in the chair by the fire and took Nyx from Elain, who sat down as far from Lucien as she could get. As Mor rocked Nyx, she made cooing noises into his red face. He only cried harder, his little wings fluttering uncontrollably.

“You’ve got a real touch there,” joked Cassian. Mor made a face at him, shifting the baby to rock him on the other side.

“C’mon Nyxie,” she said into his screwed up face with a syrupy, sing-songy voice, “Be good for your Auntie Mor.”

Gwyn pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a headache coming on, and Azriel swept the curtain of her hair to the side and stroked his hand down the back of her neck soothingly. He glanced up to find Elain watching him. A dark look on her face.

On his other side, barely audible under Nyx’s wailing, Azriel could hear Nesta mutter under her breath to Cassian, “I don’t know that I’m ready to have children yet.”

Cassian smirked back at her. “Maybe ours won’t scream.” Nesta gave him a dubious look.

Abruptly, Gwyn stood, pulling out from under Azriel’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t take it any longer.” She moved swiftly toward Mor. “Give me the baby.”

Mor opened her mouth to protest, but Gwyn swooped in without waiting for an answer and took Nyx from her arms.

She cradled the baby against her chest expertly, one arm around his bottom and the other hand rapidly tapping against his back, just below the wings. “Shh,” she murmured to Nyx, bouncing him in her arms.

Almost immediately, his screaming ceased, although low whimpers still slipped from his spit-shiny lips. He looked up at Gwyn with wide eyes, fisting a handful of her bright copper hair.

Gwyn gave Mor a fleeting look, ever so slightly frosted, matching the blonde’s own face, before turning away. As Mor slunk back to her seat, Gwyn made gentle soothing noises into Nyx’s forehead as she continued to bounce him.

In the sudden ringing silence, Feyre burst into exhausted tears.

Gwyn whirled around at the sound. She snapped her fingers at Feyre to get her attention. “No crying,” ordered Gwyn. “Pull yourself together.”

Feyre stopped out of pure shock. Rhys opened his mouth, looking back and forth between the two of them as silent tears still dripped down Feyre’s face.

“I mean it,” Gwyn said firmly, “You have to keep it together. Babies take their cues from their parents. If you cry, he cries. If you’re unhappy, he’s unhappy. Do you understand?”

Feyre wiped the tears from her face, nodding jerkily.

More whimpering came from Nyx. “I know, I know, it hurts,” Gwyn murmured to him in a sympathetic voice, “Let’s see what’s going on in there.”

Still bouncing him rhythmically, she moved towards the lamp on the side table, turning so the light shined into Nyx’s open, dribbling mouth. She angled her head to look inside, one hand on his chubby chin.

Turning away from the light, Gwyn took a step towards Azriel and reached out her free hand towards him. “Whiskey,” she said. His brows went up, but he held out his glass toward her. She dipped her pointer finger into the amber liquid, tapping off the excess against the side of the glass, and then stuck her finger into Nyx’s mouth, moving it in circles to massage the whiskey into his gums.

“Are you…planning on getting him drunk?” Rhys asked uncertainly. Cassian sniggered.

Gwyn’s lips tightened with mirth. “A drop isn’t going to get him drunk. But it’ll ease the pain, and probably help him sleep.”

At Rhys’ startled look she said, “He’s teething, and at least one is about to breach. He’s probably been in pain for days. Rubbing some whiskey into it and letting him chew on your finger will help.”

Even as she spoke, Nyx was happily gnawing on her finger, one little hand holding onto the side of hers. His other fist still tightly gripped a lock of copper hair. He babbled excitedly, smiling at her around the finger.

“The other thing you can do,” Gwyn continued, smiling down at Nyx at the same time, “is dip a clean damp washcloth in a few drops of whiskey and let him chew on that.”

Feyre’s tired, lined face was painted in anguish. “How did you know he was in pain?”

Looking at her, Gwyn opened her mouth and then closed it. She glanced down at Nyx still chewing happily around her finger. “I know you’re new parents,” she said carefully, “but you need to learn to distinguish the cries. The cry of pain is different from the cry of hunger, which is different from the cry of being wet, which is different from the cry of being tired. You have to listen carefully and learn to differentiate between them.”

Feyre and Rhys both looked dumbfounded.

“I didn’t—I can’t—” Feyre stuttered. “They all sound the same to me.”

“Me too,” muttered Rhys.

“It’s your first kid.” Gwyn’s voice was gentle. “You’ll learn. But you have to listen.”

They both nodded, somewhat chastened.

“How do you know so much about children?” Rhys asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “A great deal of experience. There were many children at Sangravah.”

She kept up an easy rhythm bouncing Nyx in one hand, who had cuddled closer against her body, his miniature wings drooping. Azriel felt a chord plucked deep inside of him, watching Gwyn holding a child like that. Especially a winged child.

A movement in the corner of his eye had him briefly tearing his gaze away from the sight. Elain’s face, he saw, was now twisted up with rage, her usually pretty features clenched into ugliness, and for once she was looking directly at Lucien, who was staring at Gwyn with a soft look, the corners of his mouth turned up. For all Elain’s protesting that she had no interest in her mate, Azriel thought, Lucien’s attention on another female clearly angered her. Even if that female was his daughter. For the thousandth time, Azriel thanked the Mother that Rhys had stopped him from kissing Elain that Solstice night. From starting something he knew now that he’d deeply regret.

He looked back at his own mate, his heart swelling at the sight.

Gwyn pulled her finger out of Nyx’s mouth, who had fallen fast asleep against her chest. “He’s out. Do you want to hold him?” she said to Feyre, who nodded and held out her hands eagerly. Gwyn gently set the sleeping baby into his mother’s arms before sitting back down on the couch beside Azriel and curling beneath his arm, her long legs folded under her.

“Do you…”—Rhys glanced at Azriel before looking back at Gwyn—“...want children of your own?”

Gwyn’s copper brows raised. She pointed upwards and said, “You mean, in addition to the thousand we already have?” Humor coated her voice. Azriel snorted as the shadows swooped down to swirl around her excitedly. Thrilled with the designation she’d just given them. Gwyn tickled a few of them before waving them back to Az’s wings.

“Do you?” asked Lucien, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.

“Want children? Eventually, I suppose. I need a good long break before that.”

“I love children,” Elain said suddenly. “I would have them as soon as I could.”

Lucien’s gaze shot to his mate, but her eyes remained on Gwyn, shifting briefly to Azriel then back.

“And how many have you raised?” Gwyn asked dryly, not missing the way Elain’s eyes slid to the shadowsinger.

The look on Elain’s face faltered. “N-none,” she conceded.

Gwyn gave her a small smile. “I love children too, but it looks a whole lot different on the other side of fifty.”

“You’ve raised fifty kids?” Nesta exclaimed astonishedly, sitting up straighter.

Gwyn’s eyes flickered across the ceiling for a moment, like she was counting, before she looked back at Nesta. “At least. It might have been more.” Her mouth tightened. “A half-century of war made a lot of orphans. Many of them were sent to Sangravah.”

Nesta pouted at Gwyn. “I wanted us to have kids together.”

“Then you’re going to be waiting a while,” Gwyn replied with a grin.

“What’s a while?”

Gwyn sighed. “I want at least a year—”

“I can do that,” Nesta said immediately.

“—for every kid I’ve raised,” Gwyn finished.

Nesta groaned and slouched back on the cushions.

Cassian’s eyes were wide as he gaped at Nesta. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Nesta lifted her palms upwards before letting them drop back down to her lap. “Gwyn’s in charge,” she said matter-of-factly.

Leaning over Azriel, Cassian rounded on Gwyn. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “I’ve been raising children since I was seven and need a break. You can start any time you want.”

Cassian grumbled, “Nesta just said you’re in charge. You think I’m going to be able to argue with that?”

Gwyn smiled sweetly. “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

Cassian let out a huff of air, scrubbing his hands over his face and flopping back onto the couch. Azriel smirked at him. Cassian muttered, “Oh shut up.”

[fishylipsblubblub]

The Silent Observer, Chapter 1

When you get hired at El Michoacano, you quickly discover that not all is as it seems...

A/N: This one has been marinating in my google docs for a long ass time because i wasn’t really sure how i felt about the beginning, but i kinda just realized theres no point in writing fanfic if im not gonna post it, so here y’all go. btw i’m planning for this one to be long AF

Pulling out of the McDonalds drive through, I turned onto the road. I tried for a second to open the lid of my coffee, but decided it was a bad idea and set it in the cup holder. I exhaled and gripped the wheel until my knuckles were white. Rain drops pummeled the windshield as I drove onward. The weather was uncharacteristically rainy for New Mexico, but the rain was a welcome sight. The constant heat got on my nerves all the time since I’d came here.  

“Hi, my name is y/n l/n,” I practiced. “I’m here for the interview. Yes, I would like some water, thank you. My biggest weakness? I’m too hard working. No, wait, that’s cliche. And not even true. No, my biggest weakness is.. I usually wake up after 12, and employers don’t generally like that.” I heaved an exasperated sigh. “They’re never going to hire me.”

My intention was to collapse my head into the steering wheel dramatically, but instead I hit the horn with my forehead and scared myself. I sat up straight immediately, and timidly waved an apology at the driver next to me who was now giving me a dirty look. 

I reached over to the cup holder to grab my coffee without taking my eyes off the road. The rain was unceasing, and I didn’t want to run the risk. Instead of grabbing the coffee, I hit it with my hand and knocked the entire contents onto the back seat and all over my phone. I looked back just in time to see it light up one last time, the screen glitching and malfunctioning. Then, it turned to black, dead. 

“Oh, no! Come on, there’s no way.” My lip quivered threateningly, but I took a very deep breath, stopping any tears that might have come. Looking back to the road, I realized I was drifting into the other lane. Without a thought, I swerved, but lost control on the wet road and went straight into the ditch.

My chest slammed into the steering wheel. I sat in the car for a moment, just waiting. I knew there was nothing I could do, and that what’s done is done, but I still waited. Finally, I got out of the car. I was right in front of a small Mexican restaurant called El Michoacano. Maybe I can use their phone, I thought.

When I entered the restaurant, it was almost completely empty. There were three men sitting in the dining room, each at different tables. Two of them looked like gangster types, and one looked like he could possibly be a chef, with his apron. I walked past them and toward the counter. Another man was back in the kitchen, and it looked like he was cooking something but he had stopped when I came in.

The man was tall. His hair was black, with a single streak of silver. He was dressed in the least conspicuous clothing imaginable. A silk button down with some of those pointy leather shoes.

“Excuse me,” I choked, realizing that there were tears falling down my cheeks. He came over and leaned on the counter.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I just ran my car into the ditch outside. Do you think I could use your phone to call a mechanic or something?”

“It’s just back here, in the kitchen. Here, this way,” he said, leading me into the kitchen. When I got to the phone, it was one of those old fashioned wall-mounted things. As I dialed the number, I turned back to lean on the wall. With a full view of the dining room, I saw the gangster’s heads both whip around so that they weren’t looking at me.

With a tow truck on the way, I sighed and wiped the mascara off my cheeks.

“I’m sorry about your car,” the man said. 

“It’s okay. Nothing I can do now. Thanks for the phone.” 

“Hey, take a seat. I just finished some tacos, you want one?” He asked. 

“Yeah, thanks.” I sat down, and he followed with two plates and sat down across from me.

“Rough day? I get it. Eat your taco, it’s getting cold,” he said gesturing at the food in front of you.

“So much for my interview,” I said, swallowing a bite of the taco. “Sorry, ignore me. I haven’t had such a good couple of days. Oh, my name is y/n, by the way.”

“My name is Eduardo. Did you say you were looking for a job?”

“Yes, why?” I asked, looking up from my food.

“I’m looking for a server. You think you might be up for it?” He got up and went over to the kitchen, coming back with a paper.

“Fill this out, and bring it back to me,” he said, giving me the application.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Eduardo.”

“Please, call me Lalo.”

“Thank you, Lalo.”

The moment was almost shattered by a contemptuous gaze that one of the men in the dining room was giving Lalo. He pretended like he didn’t see, and continued.

“I think that’s your truck pulling up.”

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

It was sort of a plain dress. Black, short sleeved. The skirt went down maybe halfway to my knee. Of course, a small “El Michoacano” was printed over the breast. I flattened the front of my uniform and checked my bag. Yep, I have everything, I thought. Then, I was out the door, down the street, and at the bus stop. My car was taken to the junkyard when I couldn’t pay for the repairs.

“Hey, you made it,” shouted Lalo from the kitchen over the wafting sound of Mexican music. He tossed a towel over his shoulder on his way over to me and turned down the music slightly.

“You excited?”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and I grinned a smile in response.

“Of course I am.”

“Alright, let’s get to it. That guy over there,” he said, pointing at the middle-aged man sitting at a table in the corner. “He’s the chef around here, and honestly, should be training you. But, he doesn’t speak too much english. So, you’re stuck with me.”

“So what should I start with?” I asked, looking around the dining room. It was empty today, excluding the man in the corner.

“I was thinking we’d take a look in the kitchen, see where things are kept. Then, you and I will have a chat about the rules here. You know, it doesn’t usually get too busy around here, so there isn’t much for you to worry about.”

Lalo walked back into the kitchen and showed me the cupboards. He listed off what they contained, and opened some of them to show me.

“The plates and bowls go here,” he said, opening one of them. “Make sure you stack the little bowls on the little bowls and the big ones on the big ones. Don’t mix them.”

“Okay, got it. And the cups..?”

“-Go right here,” he finished swinging another cupboard open. “I don’t expect you to remember all of this. It’s gonna take some time. Don’t hesitate to ask me a question.” He started toward the door to the dining room, tapping my elbow as he passed to tell me to follow. I complied. On the way out, I looked back at the cupboards and silently quizzed myself. Bowls, plates, cups.

“Have a seat,” Lalo said, gesturing toward a chair. I sat down and looked up at him as he sat across from me. 

“So you really weren’t lying when you said that it doesn’t get busy in here,” I said looking around at the nearly empty dining room. The man in the corner seemed to be completely in his own world as he read a week-old Mexican newspaper.

“Nah, not really. The guys that were in here last week? They’ll be back in…” he checked his watch. “About an hour or so.”

“What, are they regulars or something?” I asked, remembering the odd way they seemed to be together but sat at different tables.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. So, you’ll notice people coming in and out of here a bit. You’ll know what I mean when you see it. There’s not many rules here, but the one you need to remember is this.” he leaned in closer as he continued. “Don’t worry about them. You don’t even need to take their order. Just stay back and leave them alone.”

He said it all in a calm, even tone. His eyes were fixed on mine the whole time, and they didn’t move.

“Who are they?”

“Friends.” The tension in the air as he said those words was so tight you could have cut it with a knife. His expression was so deadly serious, and he had this way of perfectly controlling the emotions of his words as he said them.

 “The tough looking guy sitting in the back yesterday? His name is Nacho. You’ll get to know him eventually, but he’s a little shy. The other one is Domingo. I’m sure he’ll introduce himself when he gets here.” 

Suddenly, Lalo leaned back and broke the tension in half with a smile.

“That’s my little lecture. Bored yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Really? You think I don’t talk much?” As I said that, I realized my mouth was sort of dry. “Usually people tell me I’m a chatterbox.”

“I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he laughed. “It’s about noon. You hungry? Another perk of this job. Free food.”

Without even waiting for my affirmation, he was back in the kitchen and the music was turned up again. Determined to make myself useful, I followed.

“Want help?” I called over the music.

He turned around from the tomatoes he was chopping, surprised.

“Yeah, you can do this,” he said, pointing to the chopping board. “There’s some lettuce over there, and the steak will need to be chopped too. I have to cook the meat first, so I’ll give it to you once I’m done.”

I got going, messily dicing the tomatoes. I tried my hardest to make them all at least even shapes and sizes, and I did decently okay for someone who has absolutely to idea what they’re doing. With the blade of the knife, I slid the tomatoes to the side of the board and took up the lettuce. 

Lalo was, to say the least, enthusiastic about his cooking. He was loudly singing along to the music on the radio, and his excitement was spreading to me. Even if I didn’t know the words, I was singing along with him. It was impossible not to.

As Lalo warmed the tortillas on the frying pan, he was passing them to me and I was building the tacos. 

“This is something I need to do again,” I said as we carried the plates out into the dining room.

“I can show you a thing or two about cooking, if you want. Like I said, there’s not a whole lot that needs to be done around here. You’re gonna have a lot of free time.”

The door to El Michoacano swung open, and in walked one of the men I saw yesterday. Lalo walked up to him and clapped him on the back.

“Ocho loco, you remember this girl from last week?” He looked at me and smiled slightly.

“Hi, I’m Domingo,” he said, shaking my hand.

“Y/n,” I responded. Lalo handed him the plate in his hand.

“Here, this is for you, made especially by y/n,” Lalo said with a cheeky smile in my direction.

“Oh come on, I barely helped.”

“Thanks, y/n,” said Domingo, walking over to the table he was sitting at the other day.

“Does he always sit there?” I whispered to Lalo as we sat down at the table closest to the counter.

“Yeah. Remember what I said earlier? About leaving them alone? That goes for Domingo too.”

“So, you want to me to like, ignore him when he comes in?”

He laughed and said “No, nothing like that. Just don’t go up and bother him while he’s working. And don’t eavesdrop. Especially don’t eavesdrop.”

I sat in silence and ate my taco, mulling over what he’d said. ‘Don’t eavesdrop’? What was that supposed to mean? What could Domingo and the other guy, Nacho, was it? What could they be doing that was so secretive?

I jolted my head up when I heard the door swing open again, this time with more force.

“What’s up Nacho,” Domingo greeted the man walking in.

He didn’t even look in my direction. He walked straight to the table he was at last time I saw him and sat down.

“He’s like that,” Lalo whispered to me. “Nachito, come say hi to the new waitress,” he said, raising his tone.

Nacho turned his head toward me and simply said “Hi.” I could tell he already didn’t like me, but I couldn’t tell why. Suddenly, I remembered the look he gave to Lalo when he offered me the application. 

“Why don’t you sweep the kitchen floor? The broom is back there,” he said, waving his hand toward the kitchen but not looking away from Nacho.

I followed his orders, but the strongest sense of suspicion guided me toward the kitchen.

This is when I broke my first rule. I stood as close as I could to the door so I could hear what they were saying. Lalo’s eyes followed me toward the kitchen and watched me carefully before he got up and sat directly next to Nacho and started speaking very quickly and quietly in Spanish.

I risked a look up at the pair, trying to figure out what they were saying from their expressions. Nacho was sitting cross-armed and looking up at Lalo with a quirked eyebrow. Words were exchanged, but the only ones I could pick out were “quieres” and “tienes”, “you want” and “you have” respectively. Unsurprisingly, these were some of the only Spanish words I knew. 

Lalo was leaned forward on the table, his gaze fixated on the man across from him. 

“Compredes?” He said at last. “Understand?”

“Sí, Lalo,” Nacho responded. I leaned my broom against the wall and came back into the dining room. Domingo was just sitting still, staring directly at the wall. He had the look of someone who had just sat through a very uncomfortable conversation. Lalo sighed and patted Nacho rather aggressively on the shoulder. Then I heard tires on the pavement outside, and a giant truck pulled up outside the restaurant.

“Y/N, you can do some stocking in the cupboards. There’s not much work for you out here.” 

I had the distinct impression that this was going to be one of those times in which I should not be eavesdropping. I disappeared into the pantry behind the kitchen and tried to ignore the man walking in as much as possible. 

That was the rest of the day. I hid in the back while men came in and out of the restaurant, from time to time Lalo would ask how I was or what I was getting up to. No customers came in. Not one. The bus ride home felt so much longer than the one there. My mind was racing with ideas as to what could be going on there.  

No matter what I thought of, the same thought kept returning to me. Something dark must be going on, and somehow I had gotten caught up in it. 

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

“Why don’t you sweep the kitchen floor? The broom is back there,” I said. I studied Nacho carefully. Out of my peripheral, I saw her hesitate and then turn around. I turned to watch her leave, double checking to see that she was out of earshot before snapping my head back toward Nacho.

“You know exactly why I hired her,” I hissed softly in Spanish.

“I meant you should hire someone connected, not an outsider! Someone’s daughter or niece. You don’t even know this girl, she could be an FBI agent,” Nacho retorted, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The corners of my lips twitched upward.

“I’ve been following her since she first stepped foot in this building. Believe me, she isn’t FBI. I didn’t choose her at random. The look of pure desperation on her face told me she needed money, fast. She’d do anything for it. She won’t tell, believe me.” Nacho raised an eyebrow at me, a frown forming on his face.

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t put your trust into someone who you don’t even know. She has no reason to be loyal to us. She could turn at any minute.”

“I have a plan,” I said simply, looking back at the girl. She was staring very decidedly at the floor where she was sweeping.

“What’s that, then?”

“All in good time, Nachito,” I smiled at him. “But now, you must be civil to her. I don’t care if you don’t like her, you must be polite, comprendes?”

Nacho sighed and responded “Sí, Lalo.”

[coffeebanana]

Apparently I'm raiding my google docs for snippets I wrote months ago and probably won't ever continue (I might as well share them though!). This is post-HM core four fluff. CW: mentions of depression

*** “Quit stealing all the pillows!” Alya yelled before playfully whacking Marinette with a giant teddy bear.

Marinette stuck out her tongue. “I’m not stealing them, I’m arranging them nicely for all of us.” 

“Uh-huh. And that’s why they’re all on your side of the blanket?”

“I mean, they are right now. It’s not like I’ve claimed the whole side to myself.”

“So you won’t mind if I go lay down on that pile?” She pointed to the highest stack of pillows.

“Of course not. I mean—wait, not yet! I still need to—Alya!”

Adrien smiled, resting his head against the back of the couch as he watched them bickering. Marinette caught his eye a few seconds later, grinning widely and making him feel warm all over. Nino sat beside him, unaware of the world as he stubbornly searched through his photos for a meme he apparently had to show Adrien (and no, apparently it couldn’t wait).

It baffled Adrien that they were doing all this for him.

He still felt sort of numb most days, his father’s crimes and the uncertainty of his own existence looming over him. But today…today was okay. Today his friends were building a blanket fort just because they wanted to make him smile.

Granted, there had been very little progress in the actual building process, but the smell of cookies baking and the sound of laughter made up for that.

Marinette soon gave up on hoarding pillows and crawled over to sit beside him. Adrien easily tossed an arm around her and pulled her in closer, his heart skipping a beat as she sighed contentedly.

“You okay?” She asked a few seconds later. “You’ve been quiet.”

Adrien squeezed her shoulder. “I’m good. Just taking it all in.”

She hummed in response and cuddled in closer. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I…” He’d meant to say he would, but there was maybe a fifty percent chance of that being true, and he didn’t feel like lying. “I’ll try.”

Panic coiled in his gut as Marinette pulled back a little, searching his expression. But she just smiled and kissed him lightly.

“I’m proud of you.” She whispered the words against his lips before pulling back with a smile.

Now, Adrien definitely felt like a fraud. Because he was certain he hadn’t done anything worthy of her pride lately. Some days it took him hours to even get out of bed. He barely went outside. He couldn’t even remember if he’d showered that morning.

“Why?” he asked.

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ears—it was getting long, but he kind of liked it that way—and regarded him steadily. “Why not?”

For some reason that sank in, even though barely anything did these days. He couldn’t understand why anyone would be proud of him, yet it hadn’t occurred to her not to be?

He didn’t realize his eyes felt wet until Marinette reached up to wipe a tear, her forehead pinched in concern. She opened her mouth—no doubt to ask him for the millionth time if he was okay—when Nino cut her off.

“Yes!” He pumped his fist in triumph, leaning forward and waving his phone. “Found it! You gotta—dude, what’s wrong?”

Adrien shook his head, because nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect, really.

He hadn’t felt so safe and loved and free in longer than he could remember.

Ironically, his words remained trapped in his throat. Instead of trying to explain, he just pulled Marinette back to his chest and buried his face in her hair when she squeezed back tightly. 

It didn’t take long for Nino and Alya to pile into the hug too, and for once, Adrien wasn’t ashamed to be a sobbing mess.

For once, he was certain he was happy.

[peakymelody]

Post the current first sentence(s) of your wips! 

tagged by the loveliest @7msc (tq) and yeah my list of wips is long. i have way too many open google docs so strap in 

1. my number one priority wip: carlando dirty dancing au

(btw this is the only wip on this list that WILL 100% be published. im currently writing it and having the most fun time of my life)

Through the window of the back seat, Lando watched the blur of crowded beaches pass by. The heat was so suffocating that he wondered whether it’d be better to put the roof up on their convertible and crank up the AC, but his parents would only do so if Oliver asked, and his older brother next to him looked much too happy in his Ray Bans for that. 

2. carlando religion fic (which is me putting very catholic carlos through very gay experiences)

When Carlos was little, his legs still prone to stumbling and his hands not big enough to catch him, he fell into a thick, bushy plant that littered the garden section of his family’s farm. Luckily, his mother had been watching him and was able to carefully lift him back onto his feet, even as tears stained Carlos’ cheeks. He immediately wrapped his arms around her and, in turn, felt her own hands cradle the back of his head.

3. would you look at that, since im the most basic person ever, ANOTHER carlando fic (this time centered around madrid culture basically and life in madrid esp as a uni student)

His grandfather’s hands were steady on the knife as it cut through the manchego cheese. Each time he sliced a new triangle of cheese he placed it on the white, ceramic plate beside him, arranging the pieces in a circular manner, so that they formed a perfectly layered circle. In the background was his grandmother, stirring a pot of her homemade estofado on the stove fire, her apron tied on her back in a loose bow. Beside her, above the sink, was his mother, straining a can of olives while she chatted to his grandmother about distant relatives he didn’t think he’d ever met.

4. my lestappen wip with top charles and bottom max <3 (very dear to me, which i started writing thanks to @yunoflove)

The night before the Monaco Grand Prix, Max found himself in a club bathroom wiping someone else’s vomit off his shirt.

It was all his fault, really. Usually, he had a routine, a night-before-a-Grand-Prix routine that hadn’t changed since it’d been established when he was eighteen. It consisted of sim work, a wank, and sleep. Simple enough, and usually easy to follow, but recently Max had started entering what he’d decided to call… uncharted territory.

And that’s it! Only number one will ever see the light of day but anyways!! there’s an insight to what goes on in my brain i suppose. i won’t tag anyone, you’re all more than welcome to do this if you have any wips!!!!

[jokerman9540]

Here it is! The first chapter of my Beholder 2 fanfic "The Replicated Pain"

“The Replicated Pain”

A Beholder 2 Fanfic

Chapter 1: “The Perfect Workforce”

After using all the Heimdall codes, Evan watched through the office windows as the Heimdall towers hummed to life, spreading his message of forced free will across the nation. Hemnitz watched on as well, cursing Evan and firing another shot at the forcefield in anger. Realising how fruitless the situation was, having only three shots left, he ran for the elevator. In response, Evan disabled the forcefield and charged towards him as the elevator disappeared with Hemnitz inside. He hammered the call button but realised that, with no guards at the scanner, he would be long gone by the time the elevator returned.

Once the elevator eventually did reach the top floor, it was empty. A disheartened Evan stepped inside, but as he did, a thought crossed his mind, one he hadn’t considered before. He slammed the button for the 25 floor and the doors closed, a determined look on his face. Once he arrived on the clone processing floor, he stepped out of the elevator and looked at the multitude of Carl clones, wandering around aimlessly, not making a sound. It seemed that, with his clone utopia in mind, Weinberg had made them immune to the Heimdall towers’ effects. Evan walked past them, entering Weinberg’s vacant office and opening the secret passage to the throne room. Once inside, he gazed at the statue of Weinberg, surprised to see that some of the former ministry employees were actually making an effort to tear it down, bringing a smile to his face.

His smile was short lived however, as he found the reason he was there. Carl Zero. With no one manning the clone assignment stations, and no method of assigning a clone for free will, there was nothing Evan could do. “But” he thought “They might listen to the first of their kind.” Evan deactivated the barrier holding Carl Zero in place, gracefully lowering him to the floor. As Evan searched around for a pair of clothes for him, Carl Zero stared onward, still coming to terms with the memories that Evan had unearthed for him. Evan noticed this and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder before embracing him in a hug. And in that moment, Carl Zero felt something that he hadn’t felt before, something he hadn’t been programmed to feel as he returned the hug, tears forming in his eyes. In the other room, the clones were having a similar experience, their eyes watering as they looked at one another, trying to understand this strange new feeling.

Finally, Carl broke the hug after a while, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Thank you…”

“You’re welcome my friend. Now, how about putting some clothes on?” Evan said as he handed Carl Zero a pair of clothes similar to the ones that the other clones wore. “Ah, of course.” replied Carl as he put them on, before heading out with Evan to hand clothes out to the others before sending them off to leave the ministry. “So,” said Evan “What will you do now?” Carl Zero hung his head slightly before replying.

“I don’t know Evan… I don’t know…”

[sarahjswift]

Well....🤭🤭

Twin Wounds Chapter 9 is here!!

Guess you inspired me! I can't say I'll be able to finish the series, but I have another chapter already written after this. I read through my huge Google Doc with all of Twin Wounds and got pretty inspired :) thanks to whoever asked this <333

if you need a refresher on what was happening in this story(as I did lol) my masterlist is below! :D

Word Count: 1.2k

Tag List <33: @backtobl4ck, @aelinchocolatelover, @renxzs, @blue-bird17, @autumnbabylon, and @throneofshadows

Warnings: Language & Triggering Topics

Enjoy!

__

Rowan was surprised but not stunned that he was about to have a conversation about his patient’s - and crush’s - progress to her cousin. Weirder things have happened, he thought to himself. 

Now, he was awkwardly shuffling through Aelin’s file, now updated with her progress over the weeks. He cleared his throat. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Just, like…,” Aedion trailed off, looking out the small window. “How is she doing? Sorry, that’s probably stupid.”

“No, it’s alright. Aelin is doing very well, and I can already see her progress, physically and mentally.” Aedion loosed a breath of relief, grinning. 

“Oh, thank the Gods. I don’t know what I’d do if this didn’t work…rehab was kind of a last resort.”  

“I understand. That’s how it is with a lot of our clients - but I assure you, there are hundreds of options for people struggling. People respond to different things differently. I’m happy to say that Aelin is doing well. She isn’t thriving, but she’s definitely shown improvement.”

“I can tell,” Aedion interrupted. “She was just this…shell before. Now I can see hints of who she was before Sam. That anger, for example…you know, it’s encouraging to see her feeling emotions again.”

“I definitely agree. I think what Aelin needed was a change of scenery. Some fresh faces, things like that,” Rowan replied. “She’s been attending group therapy and one-on-one sessions with me. She’s been doing well, but she still won’t open up.”

Aedion’s jaw clenched. “Yep, that sounds about right. She would never talk to me. It made things so hard, and it had an effect on our closeness.”

“Ah, so you two were always close?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been inseparable since we were born. We’ve been at each other’s sides through so many things. When my mom died, she was there for me…and then later, when hers passed, I was there.”

“When did her parents die?”

“She was twenty-two. It was really hard on her - she was close to both.” Aedion’s voice was ragged, and he took a deep breath. “It was rough on all of us. Evalin was kind of my mother as well, since she took me in after my mom went.” He wiped away a tear running down his cheek.

Rowan nodded, his respect for the man in front of him growing. “I appreciate you sharing this with me. I know you may not feel…the best about giving me all of Aelin’s personal details. But I promise, all this just helps me, help her.”

__

I promise, I’ll come visit soon. Call me tomorrow, okay? Love you, Ae.

Aelin stared up at her popcorn ceiling, replaying her final moments with her cousin over and over. She lay curled up, wrapped in…His…old hoodie. There was still a lingering scent on it, and she let her tears drip onto the fabric as she inhaled deeply. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. She sat up and wiped away her tears, standing and walking over. One of the nurses she was less familiar with stood there, a friendly smile on his face. “Ready for dinner, Aelin?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, and followed him down the hallway. 

“Don’t look so glum! Tonight is special,” he said cheerfully. “As well as an ice cream sundae for dessert, there will be a movie playing in the cafeteria for everyone to enjoy!”

Aelin raised her eyebrows, interest sparking. Ice cream and a movie? That used to be her definition of a perfect night. Walking into the cafeteria, she quickly picked up a bowl of rice and beans, cheese melted on top of it. She found her seat at the usual table, sipping some of her lemonade as she sat. It was refreshing. She liked it. 

“Excited for the movie?” Elide asked, a smile on the female’s face. 

Aelin nodded. “Do you know what it’ll be?” Tiela asked. 

“Pretty sure it’s an old Disney!” Lucas grinned excitedly, rubbing his palms together. The table quickly dissolved into an animated conversation, the patients discussing their favorite of Walt’s classics. Lysandra turned to Aelin and leaned in, green eyes sparking. 

“Did Aedion leave?” she asked quietly. 

Aelin raised her eyebrows. “I don’t even want to know why you are asking that question.” 

Lysandra winked, and Aelin sighed. “Yep, he left. He’ll be back soon, though.” 

“Thanks!” She turned back around and leapt into the conversation. 

Aelin blew out a breath and allowed herself a small, brief smile. Oddly enough, she could picture her cousin and her therapy friend together. If Aedion was brave enough to ask, she knew he’d get a yes. 

After their plates had been cleared and the patients were happily eating their chocolate-sauce drizzled sundaes, the nurses wheeled in a projector. Bambi came onto the screen, and the cafeteria settled peacefully. There was something innately comforting in the old cartoon style, even as some wiped away tears at Bambi’s tragedy. Aelin felt a sense of peace for the first time in…a while. 

She felt somebody’s eyes on her, and she turned to find Rowan looking at her. At her gaze, he started and whipped away. Aelin kept her eyes on him, though, and so she caught him when he - almost immediately - peeked back. He sheepishly smiled, and when Aelin’s lips tilted up to mirror it, the smile stretched into a breathtaking..beam. He looked absolutely devastating. 

Aelin let herself admire him for a couple seconds before turning back to the screen. Still, for the rest of the film she felt butterflies in her stomach, a flush in her cheeks. 

__

After the film wrapped up, everybody began heading back to their dorms. With a satisfied appetite, a mouth filled with the sweet taste of ice cream, and an almost…happy feeling from a boy’s smile, Aelin felt like she was in middle school again, drawing hearts on her math worksheets whenever her first boyfriend, Dorian, looked her way. She walked with Lysandra and Elide, listening to their pleasant chatter. 

“Oh, I love that movie,” Elide sniffled. “Always makes me cry, though.” 

“I think we should watch Sleeping Beauty next,” Lysandra said, playing with a strand of her hair. “That was always my favorite.” 

“That does not surprise me in the slightest,” Aelin said. With her cat-like eyes and prowling gait, Lysandra looked like Maleficent herself. 

The women turned to her, smiles on their faces. No matter how much Aelin had softened toward them since she’d arrived, it was still rare that she actually added to the conversation. “What was your favorite Disney movie growing up, Aelin?” Elide asked her, dark eyes soft and sweet. 

For the first time in a long time, Aelin thought back to the happiness of her childhood, before darkness had overtaken it. She avoided the memory of her parents, and instead brought to her mind images of her younger self coming home from school to pop a DVD into their TV. 

“Probably The Lion King,” she replied, and Lysandra and Elide nodded instantly, grinning. 

“Ugh, so good,” Lysandra said. 

“I loved the Just Can’t Wait to Be King scene,” Aelin said, smiling slightly. She ignored the happy shock on the women’s faces as they saw her expression. She was smiling so much today. “I’d always wondered what it would be like to be royalty.”

Do you plan to continue twin wounds?

Hello! I think this is the first message I’ve ever answered, and it’s so cool! Thank you for asking!

Unfortunately, I have hit a bit of a creative rut in terms of Throne of Glass fanfic, and I do not plan to write more of this series :( that answer could change, of course, and I still adore that story! If you ever have a prompt, I could try to type up a fluffy lil one shot! 😊❤️

Hope this helped :)

(And thanks for reading!!)

[tonberry-yoda]

You already know ima say kakyoin-♡

OMG YES! you dont understand how fast i marched over to google docs to get this done! i love this little cherry boy and i know you do too, so let's get this goin!

3am - Noriaki Kakyoin

Pairing - Noriaki Kakyoin x reader

Warnings - spoilers kinda?? for the end of part three??? i just thought i'd put it here it's a kakoin lives au

Word Count - 448

Notes - (image below not mine) omg you were the first one to do this little event and i am so glad you slid in here heart anon because this event is definitely helping with my motivation!!! thank you so so much and i hope you enjoy!!!

“Noriaki?” You ran your fingers through Kakyoin’s soft hair, breathing in his scent. Sweet. Just like always. You loved cuddling him. He was just so comforting.

“Yes, love?” He drew little circles on the skin that was exposed on your back with his thumb.

“What if you…” You teared up just thinking about it. “What if you didn't make it?”

“What?” Kakyoin pulled away from you, looking at you with concerned eyes.

“I just…” You ran your fingers over his clothed stomach, remembering the gaping hole that was once there and was now just a large scar. “I'm so glad you’re here right now.” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“I think about that a lot too. I'm glad I'm here too.” He leaned his chin on the top of your head, playing with your fingers.

You sat up, wiping some tears. “God, we’re such babies. Wanna go get some food?”

Kakyoin sat up, stretching. His tank top, clearly too big for him, showing off his ribcage and the side of his pec. “At three in the morning?”

“Why not?” You pulled on a nearby hoodie, ignoring that it smelled just like Kakyoin.

“Yeah, but I'm not exactly sure if anything good will be open at this hour.” He pulled on a coat and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

“Oh, I don't care if it's anything good, I just want something to eat.” You opened the door and gave your boyfriend a little smack on his butt as he walked out.

“Hey!” He giggled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Come on, Noriaki! Your little booty is irresistible!”

He just chuckled and shook his head, pulling you close. “You’re so funny, y/n.”

“You’re so funny, Noriaki.”

“You just wanna go to the nearest place for a snack?”

“I don't care. I just want food.” Your voice sounded company, but to be fair, you were really hungry.

“Sure! We’ll stop by a convenient store and grab some sushi or something.”

“Oh, yes please!” Your stomach was growling just thinking about it.

“Alright. It's right down the road, so not a long walk.”

You looked up at the starry sky, smiling.

“You look gorgeous in the moonlight, love.” Kakyoin’s voice was soft, sending a chill down your spine. I mean, you could blame the cold, but your boyfriend was much more enjoyable to think about.

“You look better.” You giggled, knowing exactly what he was going to say next.

“Don't compare us, we’re both-”

“We’re both beautiful, I know.” You smiled and pulled Kakyoin down to his level pulling him into a warm hug.

God, he was perfect.

---

jjba masterlist --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

current event

[the-winter-spider]

When | B. Barnes

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Another piece i found hanging around my google docs!

Masterlist

••

The Avengers—or more specifically, Tony—were throwing another benefit party to divert attention from the most recent incident, where they nearly destroyed a small town during a retraction mission. The keyword was “almost,” because while disaster was avoided, it came far too close for comfort.

You were supposed to be inside mingling, flirting with anyone who had salt-and-pepper hair, as Tony suggested, but after a while of listening to them talk about their families, their spouses, their kids’ basketball tournaments, and even their grandchildren, the overwhelming feelings of despair, sorrow, and jealousy became too much to bear.

Naturally, you excused yourself from the party, needing a moment to sort out your thoughts—or completely shut them off—until you heard the glass doors open behind you.

“There are way too many people in there,” Bucky groaned, loosening his tie as he joined you on the balcony.

You laughed “Definitely could be a hazard.”

“Probably breaking a few fire codes too,” he added, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe we should call the fire department, just to be safe.”

His head tilted back as he laughed, a sound you cherished more than anything. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you laughed along with him.

A comfortable silence settled between you. You and Bucky had always been close, ever since you joined the team just before he did. Natasha had recruited you straight out of the Red Room after she dismantled it, and Bucky joined after being cleared in Wakanda. Through everything you both endured, you found peace in each other—someone who could relate without judgement.

Late nights or early mornings, it was always just the two of you, talking about everything and anything. You had a crush on him from the start, but it wasn’t until the flirting, the laughs, the smiles, and the twinkle in his eyes started happening outside your private bubble that you realised you had fallen for him—hard.

Bucky reached over, placing his hand on yours, which was gripping the balcony railing. “Hey… are you okay?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off the treeline. “Yeah, it’s nothing…don’t worry about it.”

“I know it’s not nothing, I know you” He smiled softly “You can talk to me… I’m always here for you.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I just—when’s it our turn, Buck?” You kept your voice low, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the others might hear you.

He leaned against the railing, facing you, his gaze steady. “Whaddya mean, doll?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I mean, when do we get to stop? When do I get what they have—” You gestured toward the party inside, separated from you only by the glass doors. “When do I get a break? When do I get to be happy? When does the fighting stop? Do we ever get to stop, or is this all there is? When…” You paused to swallow, trying to ease the burning in your throat. “When do I get to have someone fall in love with me? I just—I don’t know, Buck. It’s stupid, im stupid”

You laughed, spinning around to head back to the party. “I just thought that maybe, when I finished righting all my wrongs, paying my dues, I could have more.” You wiped away a single fallen tear. “But I was dumb to think after everything, I deserved that—that anyone could even love someone like me” You fiddled with your empty champagne glass, staring directly into his eyes. You didn’t expect him to say anything.

Bucky was more of a listener, and you knew you’d regret saying anything to him by morning. He didn’t say anything back, just took a sharp breath and stood frozen, like a statue, at a loss for words.

You knew he would be—he was probably the worst person you could have opened up to, not because he wouldn’t offer some heartfelt response like Tony, or wise words like Steve, or empathise like Nat, or comfort you with humour like Sam—but because you were hopelessly, deeply, madly in love with him.

He was the one you wanted everything with.

So when you both just stood there, staring at each other in the silence, watching his jaw clench as his gaze dropped to the floor, you nodded to yourself, mumbling, “Sorry for the word vomit…I’m just drunk” You turned on your heel, leaving the balcony you had sought for solitude, now desperate to escape.

You found yourself at the bar on your third drink. You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but pouring your heart out to someone you loved who had no idea didn’t help with the room spinning.

“Would you look at that—Mr. Cold Arm and Even Colder Heart found someone to dance with”

You were dragged out of your self-pity by the booming voice of none other than Sam.

He leaned back against the bar, resting his elbows on the counter.

“What?” you asked.

He laughed, cocking an eyebrow “How drunk are you?”

You shrugged. “Y’know how it is,” you replied with a sluggish smile.

Sam took a sip of his drink “I was talking about Bucky” He pointed to the dance floor.

You turned around so fast you nearly toppled over, and if it weren’t for Sam, you probably would have.

And there, in the middle of the dance floor, was Bucky, spinning a beautiful girl in a beautiful dress. The room had been spinning before, but now it felt like the walls were crashing down.

“Are you okay?” Sam’s hands steadied your shoulders, his eyes filled with concern as they searched yours.

“I just…” Your voice trailed off, eyes drifting back to Bucky on the dance floor “I think I had a little too much to drink, that’s all” You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Sam studied your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t buy it”

You couldn’t help but glance at Bucky again, this time catching Sam’s softening expression as he followed your gaze. “Y/N…”

You hung your head, the weight of it all pressing down “It’s nothing, Sam. Please, can we just drop it?”

He let out a sigh, his voice gentle. “You’re one of my best friends. Whatever you need, whenever you need to talk about anything, I’m here. Rain or shine, day or night.”

You nodded, the gesture more for him than yourself. “Thanks, Sam”

He smiled, slinging an arm over your shoulder in a comforting squeeze “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“Yeah? Who told you that?” you asked, trying to mask the turmoil inside with light banter.

“A certain assassin who could definitely kick my ass if I don’t tell her to stop drinking her problems away and get some rest,” he teased, his smile warm.

You sighed, the exhaustion weighing heavy “She sounds very intelligent.”

“She is..Now, get your ass to bed. We’ve got training in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved him off. “You’re the best, Sam.”

He shrugged, walking away with your drink in his hand “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

The moment he left, your smile dropped. Your eyes scanned the room again, finding Bucky still on the dance floor. His gaze met yours, and your heart sank. You looked away quickly, spinning on your heel and pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape the tightening knot in your chest.

You didn’t stop until you reached the door leading towards the elevators, the world spinning too fast for you to keep up. You pressed your hand to the door handle, breathing heavily when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Doll, wait.”

Bucky’s voice, rough and desperate, cut through the haze in your mind. You froze, back turned to him, the ache in your chest intensifying.

“Buck, you don’t have to say anything. It’s fine.” You turned slowly, forcing a smile that felt like it might shatter.

“It’s not fine.” His voice was thick with frustration. He took a hesitant step toward you, his eyes searching for the right words. “I—I don’t know how to say this, but…dammit.”

You watched as he struggled, his usual composure crumbling. Bucky was never one to express his feelings easily, not since the 40s. But here he was, trying, and it nearly broke you.

He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans before reaching out, his hands trembling as they clasped yours. “I’m not great with words, but what I’m trying to say is…I want that too.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you almost couldn’t hear him. His grip tightened as he continued, voice soft and eyes full of something you hadn’t dared hope for.

“I want it all…but I want it with you.”

For a moment, time stood still. You could only stare at him, shocked into silence. When you finally found your voice, it was barely a whisper. “W-what about the woman at the party?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What woman?”

“The one you were dancing with,” you said, your voice faltering.

Realisation dawned on him, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “Were you jealous?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Buck, that doesn’t answer my question.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “And you’re avoiding mine.”

“I asked first,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defence.

“She was some random guest, doll. Tony’s friend’s daughter or something. She asked me to dance, so I danced. Doesn’t mean anything.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further. “And what if it did?”

His smile softened as he cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. “It wouldn’t matter, because I only want you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “You mean that?”

“Every word.”

Without another word, you closed the distance between you, pulling him into a desperate kiss that tasted like every broken dream you’d ever had. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone.

As you leaned into Bucky’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The world outside, the chaos and the uncertainty, it all faded for a moment. This, right here, was all that mattered.

From further down the hallway, two familiar figures stood watching.

“About damn time,” Sam muttered, a wide grin spreading across his face as he crossed his arms.

Steve, standing beside him, chuckled. “Yeah, about damn time.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot an irritated glance down the hall. “You guys seriously just gonna stand there and watch?”

Steve raised his hands in mock surrender, smiling that classic, boyish grin. “Hey, I’ve been rooting for you two since day one. Don’t let me interrupt.”

Sam nodded, nudging Steve with his elbow. “And I did all the heavy lifting,” he added. “Been giving Y/N pep talks for months.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. “Really, Sam?”

He smirked, winking at you. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”

Bucky groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Nope.”

Steve stepped forward, arms crossed and his face serious—at least, for a moment. “Just take care of each other, okay?”

Bucky straightened up, his hand still firmly holding yours. “Always,” he replied, his voice full of certainty.

Steve smiled at the both of you, his eyes twinkling with approval before glancing over at Sam. “Think we should leave them to it?”

Sam shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I think our work here is done. Besides, I’ve got a whole list of ‘I told you so’s’ to throw at Buck.”

Bucky groaned again, shooting Sam a death glare. “If you say ‘I told you so’ even once…”

Sam held his hands up, backing away. “Okay, okay. I’ll save it for later.” He winked at you. “Congrats, though. Seriously.”

Steve gave a small wave before turning to follow Sam down the hallway. “See you both at training tomorrow.”

Once they were out of sight, Bucky let out a heavy sigh, a sheepish smile playing on his lips “They’re never gonna let us live this down, are they?”

You chuckled, resting your forehead against his. “Nope, but it’s worth it.”

He pulled you closer, his voice low as he whispered, “Yeah…it really is.”

For a moment, you both stood there in the quiet, holding on to each other, neither of you willing to let go. The noise of the party in the background, the laughter, and the music—it all seemed so far away. All that mattered was the two of you, here, finally together.

Bucky brushed a strand of hair from your face, his expression serious. “I meant what I said earlier. I want this…with you. I want a future, darling. Not just missions, not just fighting. I want something real, i just want you and anything you’ll give me”

You swallowed, your heart swelling in your chest. “I want that too, Buck…More than anything”

His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, full of promises and unspoken words.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem so uncertain—it seemed possible.

“I guess we better head back to the party before Sam starts spreading rumours,” you teased lightly, though part of you wanted to stay right here, in this bubble of warmth and safety.

Bucky laughed softly. “Yeah, I can hear him already..Probably telling everyone we eloped”

You grinned “Well…we do make a pretty good team.”

He squeezed your hand, his blue eyes shining with affection. “The best”

[maximwtf]

“My little Versailles.”

                                         Viktor x reader

words: 1982

google docs pages: 5

warnings: Watching someone pass away, sadness

opening: You’re at Viktor’s death bed, saying last goodbyes to your partner.

                                 “My little Versailles.”

You were walking towards Viktor’s room, where he was settled in. You had been informed that it wasn’t sure how long he had left. This information had completely paused your day, and before even being able to go and see him you had been panicking in your room.  Never when you had met him, would have you guessed that this day would come. Why did he have to go before you? He had taught you so much over the years, and you still thought that he was way smarter than you. Piltover needed him, not you. So why did things end up like this?

Your gaze was dragging on the floors, looking at your shoes as you walked forward. You didn’t know if he even wanted to see you, but to you it was important to see him. No matter what condition he was in. You wanted him to know how much you truly cared about him, before it was his time to go. Then your mind would be at least somehow in peace. 

Your hand reached the door knob, hesitating to push it down at first. After a slight moment of silence, the door made a smooth click sound as you opened it. You peeked inside the room, and then stepped in, closing the door after you. Your back pressed against the cool door, as you saw Viktor. His head was laying against a couple pillows, so that his neck was supported nicely, and there was a blanket on him. Viktor’s eyes were closed, but it felt like he was awake. Even though you wanted to say something, you didn’t dare to. Just in case he was actually asleep, you didn’t want to wake him up.

“Y/n?” Viktor’s cracked voice asked, now starting to open his eyes. Your heart melted when you heard his voice, now taking a step closer to his bed. “They told me you-” You started, but he talked over you. “That I was taking my least breaths-” He coughed, but soon continued, not wanting for you to get worried over him like everyone who visited him did. “Or..something along the lines like that?” You did smile a little at his comment, but still staying serious. “Yes, but..I’m really worried…” You tried to tell him, walking over the bed and sitting down on the chair that was next to it. Viktor’s gaze followed you, and he frowned a little at your state. He felt bad for being the reason you were feeling like this. “Hey…We still have time..” He said, his faded brown eyes looking at you. 

“Sitting at the bed with a halo at your head.”

You tried to look at him, but seeing his tired eyes and how sick he looked hurt too much. Why did he have to be the one laying there, having no choice but to wait for the end. How was that fair, for someone as amazing as Viktor? He seemed to have noticed how you were spaced out, and reached his hand out for you. “Are you able to listen for a second?” His now a little more clearer voice asked you. Not looking at him, and just listening to his calm voice like this calmed you. it felt like everything was okay again. “Y..yeah..” You wiped your eyes, finding out that they were dry. You just felt like crying, but there were no tears coming out. Viktor’s hand came up to your cheek, as he caressed your face. That was all it took, for tears to start rolling down on your cheeks, heading towards your chin. “I’m sorry for causing this…” Viktor spoke up again, wiping some of the tears away with his thumb. 

“Was it all a disguise, like junior high?”

“I feel like I didn’t spend enough time with you, before you got to this point.” You sobbed out, leaning your head to his hand without even realising you did. Viktor bit his lip, as he felt his heart ache from hearing that. He had felt the exact same way, but because he had been working so much. He felt like the whole thing you two had going on would fall apart, because he was always glued to his projects. But to his surprise, you always came right back to him. The unconditional care and love you seemed to have for him, was something he was never able to understand. How were you able to stick by him, when he never seemed to have time… 

“No. You did everything you could…” Viktor finally replied, coughing weakly after that. You raised your hands up to his, taking a gentle hold of his wrist. His skin felt cold, but your warm palms started to quickly warm him up. 

“Where everything was fiction, future and prediction.”

Hearing his words did calm your nerves. It only seemed to be you that hoped you two would have spent more time together. Or maybe it was just your mind longing to grasp back at the times, where you could just walk to the lab and find him working on something, and just talk to him. “My fate was predicted a long time ago. You did everything you could, dear.” Viktor told you. The more he spoke, the more his words hurt you. But it was a nice kind of pain. Every word he spoke was something you had been longing to hear, since you had been told how much time he had left. You wanted to say something too, but every time you opened your mouth, the words were held back and only sobs came out. 

“Now, where am I? My fading supply.”

You soon pressed your head against the mattress, pressing your hand on your forehead as you did. You scrunched your hair up in your palms, crying against the covers of the bed. “What will I do when you leave? Whe-Where will I go?” You sobbed against the mattress, hoping that Viktor didn’t mind. You felt his hand gently separate your hands from your hair, and caress the tops of your hands. “You’ll find your place. I know how genius you are.” Viktor spoke, giving a kiss on top of your head. Feeling him do that made it feel like he was fading away from your touch. Because of that you looked up from the covers, eyes now puffy and red. You just wanted to make sure that he was still there. For the first time while your stay at his room, you were looking straight at him. He looked so pained, when he saw how horrible you were feeling. His hand wandered up to your cheek yet again, gently pushing the back of your neck to get you closer to him. 

“Did you get enough love, my little dove?”

You obeyed him, coming closer to him. His face was close to yours, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes were wandering on your face, saving every small detail to his mind. “Did you get enough love?” Viktor asked as he was wiping the salty tears from your cheeks. His question sounded silly to you. Why would he ever even ask something like that..but at the same time, it was just like him to wonder things like that. “I did. I-I did…” You sobbed out once again, pressing your forehead against his. You felt how your heart hurt, feeling how sweet he was even now. It felt like your roles should be switched. Was he used to the fact that he was going to die soon? 

“Why do you cry?”

You reached out to wrap your hands around his neck, longing for his embrace. You wanted to feel the same warmth you always felt when you hugged him. Just like the late nights at the lab, when you’d come up to him and hug him. Viktor placed his head on your shoulder, hugging you back. “Don’t cry, please…love…” He spoke against you, while drawing circles on your back.  You didn’t say anything back, only buried your head against him, as if hoping to somehow feel his old warmth again. 

All this time you had wanted to stop crying, and try to support him. Not to cry straight away when you came here. It felt bad to know that the last moments with him, you had been bawling your eyes out. You just wanted to let him know that you loved him. Sometimes you wondered if you had told him that enough in the past. Did he live every day of his life, knowing how much you loved him? How much you adored everything he did, even the smallest of things? 

“And I’m sorry I left, but it was for the best.”

You pulled back a little, to look at his eyes. He looked sad, but not because of his condition, no. Because he didn’t want you to be sad. He had always done everything in his power to keep you out of harm's way and to keep you happy. He was always there for you when you were feeling down, but after this he wouldn’t be there physically. He wouldn’t be there to hug you, or to tell you how amazing you were to him when you were feeling down. That hurt him more than anything. 

You stared at him for a moment, neither of you saying anything. The moment didn’t need any words. You sobbed one last time, before you inched yet a little closer to him. You pulled a slight sad smile on your face, before you kissed him. It didn’t take him long to respond to the kiss, as he weakly pulled you down with him onto the bed. With that you placed your head back on his shoulder, trying to calm your breathing. 

“Though it never felt right.”

You stayed there for a moment, before either of you said a word. Viktor took a deep breath first, his voice weaker now than before. “I love you, dear.” His accent still clear in his voice. You tried to sigh, but your breathing quivered as you did. You were going to miss him saying that, when he was gone. “I love you too, my Viktor.” You whispered against him, trying not to start crying again. 

He wasn’t breathing much anymore, and his heartbeat sounded slower. You could  hear the weak and tired beat from his neck. With the last bits of strength he had in him, he placed his hand on your head, and pulled a small smile on his face. He was able to pass away with the person he cared so much about next to him. “My little Versailles…” Viktor’s voice said quietly, before you could feel his hand slip off of you. You knew exactly what that meant, and it broke your heart. He was truly gone now, and there was no getting him back.  

You didn’t know how much time passed, or what even exactly happened. After some time you heard a knock on the door, and then a couple louder knocks before the door was opened. You didn’t dare to look who it was, but they seemed to hurry to your side. It was only then when you realised how hard you had been crying. you were all out of energy, eyes burning red and voice sore from asking him to come back. This person put their hand on your back, and said something.

The person who had come in appeared to be Jayce. You heard him say a few things, before he tried to get you up from the bed. It was all useless, you didn’t feel like going onward anymore. 

Viktor wasn’t coming back, or was he?

[anaiswriterr]

The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part seven, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW. Todays chapter does include gore, death, killing, hunting, sickness, etc.

<masterlist>

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter seven: fevers and night terrors -

•

•

•

•

Your memory is clouded from the prior events you participated in that afternoon. But the foul taste of blood and uncooked heart follow up your throat and out into a toilet bowl mock you as handmaidens rub your back in comfort. Melody soothes your nausea with warm tea meanwhile the rest pat wet cloths to your burning skin.

How did you get back to the castle? You have no idea. Absolutely no recollection of the journey back.

But you are happy they bathed and dressed you in a comfortable nightgown, tending to your ever needs and healing the scraps and wounds on your skin. Picking and pulling the splinters from your palms, scrubbing the blood, grime, and dirt off your chest.

Your eyes narrow attempting to fight off sleep.

Four girls gently escort you back to bed, tucking you into the sheets, folding a small cool rag and placing it on your forehead. A gold bell sits beside you, placed on a nightstand where you could easily reach out for. A bin is on the floor beside you as well, you thank them knowing there was something you could easily turn to.

The night was rough.

And your fever rose. 

Your body trembles in the sheets, your achy muscles pester your sore lower portion of the small of your back, you lean over, hunched over the mattress. Your body violently lurches forwards, with you stomach clenching, tears prick out from the corners of your eyes.

It hurts so much.

Melody rubs small circles on the small of your back; humming to herself soothing you. "I should get the King, he's been wanting to see you-"

"No." You cough, sternly your eyes narrow at the young girl. "He shouldn't see me in this state, I'm weak, tired, and sick. His presence wouldn't help." You swallow dryly. Eyeing the dagger resting neatly on your nightstand, you feel a hand reach out to rub small circle around your wrist.

Nodding in understanding Melody wipes your forehead, "Will you be alright?"

You give her a quick smile, just wanting to be alone, "Yes, go rest. I'll be fine." Melody pushes herself off the mattress, checking a final time your temperature. "I'll be back in the morning with tea and light crackers, sleep well your majesty."

As the door closes shut you lay down slowly into the pillows, careful of your sore belly, and attempt to drift off into sleep. The window blows cool air into your room, the lace curtains dance throughout the night as the moonlight shines on your face. You eventually drift feeling a lot more better then you were previously. Your stomach howls, growling at the emptiness it pained. Your head still felt dizzy - lightheaded and fuzzy -, even with your stomach empty you could still feel the linger of nausea, the sour taste on your taste buds. It's nearly bearable.

Nearly.

Surely not as terrible as an hour ago.

***

You are running through the woods, heavy footsteps follow closely behind you. You are screaming, well, you think you are. Your mouth opens in a large 'O' but no sound escapes. Just the sound of the deep huffs and grunts of the creature behind you chasing you. You scream out for Bakugou, you don't know why.

You have no idea why you'd scream out for his help, but it wasn't like he was any help. You are running circles, the same three berry bushes pop up ever forty-five seconds on your right.

Every corner you turn you see Bakugou, cheering and laughing.

It's all just a game. Some sick kill the queen culture.

You keep screaming.

Until a hand covers your mouth, silencing you. Your eyes shoot wide open, staring into a pair ruby red eyes, you subconsciously reach out for your dagger and press it to his throat.

"Don't do something you'll regret,"

"How do you know I won't regret it?"

He remains quiet, for the first time in forever it seems. Your grip on the blades handle loosens, his gaze moves to your lips. Only for a second. Then back up to your E/C eyes, "You were screaming."

You arch a brow, "Nightmare."

You realize the dagger is still pressing on his neck, pulling away you drop it to your side. Your eyes wondering to the ceiling above you in attempts to run away from his wandering gaze. The silence is awkward between the two of you, his forearms cage you in.

"Why are you here?"

"I said you were screaming - I wanted to check up on you."

"I-I'm fine,"

His arms are strong. Firm and deadly. They cage you in like a wingless bird, what do you say now. Your stomach clenches again, but not because you were nauseous - the feel had already subdued with sleep. It's the fact that you husband, who also happened to be very handsome was hovering over you. "You should leave." You state firmly, unable to look at him.

He's quite.

The only sound you can hear is the howling wind from outside as it hits the curtains of your balconies window.

"How are you feeling?"

It's an odd question coming from him, "I'm fine. I- feel better."

"I don't believe you."

You're taken aback left babbling between words, "I feel better, no thanks to you and this kingdom's parliament. You entered my cambers without my consent and I'd like you to leave - immediately."

His hands press harder onto the mattress before shifting his weight onto the headboard above you, "You're a feisty little one, even when you're burning with fever though I suppose it is going down. You fell into my arms, remember?"

You laugh with delight, "It was either you or the gravel beneath me. And I will not fall onto the ground below you at your feet. If you're here to pick a fight then you are mistaken. I do not have the strength nor patience to deal with you." The words came spitefully out of your mouth, trailing away from your lips. He smirks above you, eyeing you from below.

"Lets get things straight here, I came to check on my wife-"

"Spare me your savior complexities for a later dat-"

You feel his hand move down to your cheek, his knuckles just barely grazing over the soft skin and relaxing at your throat; "Your skin is so soft." His palm gently tightens, "I didn't want this. This marriage was a truce, a trade. To stop the war on the northern fronts we needed each other - our kingdoms." He let's go of your throat, your heart is beating so fast you can barley catch up.

"Tomorrow you will see your people, they want to spare a glance at their new rightful Queen. The real party is tomorrow, you'll meet your soldiers the day after on the outskirts." He says fixing his hair, you push yourself up from the mattress, "We're going to the outskirts?"

"Yes, I have people, things you need to meet."

"What things?" You ask, watching as he turns his back to you ready to leave your room. He looks back at you through your mirror, smiling hiding the glint of mischief behind his smirk, "You're the Queen of dragons now,"

You nod slowly at his inclination. Wondering where the conversation would lead to.

"You have to meet your children."

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