#Would tear off the jaw of any man who looks at her funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queers-gambit · 8 months ago

Text

Alpine

prompt: in an effort to help your boyfriend with his trauma, you rescue a furry feline together - a white cat named, Alpine - who rescues you both in return.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 6.9k+

note: been seeing a lot of Alpine recently and got inspired.

second note: no, it's not comic / canon compliant so just have fun. author did some research but there's not a LOT written / known about Alpine, so, again, just have fun!

warnings: post Endgame, pre tfaws; cursing, Lord's name in vain, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Nick Fury calling reader a bitch playfully, Bucky's trauma responses, small spoilers, Dr. Raynor / therapy.

other works with Widow!reader and Bucky NOT necessary to read

read here: Damage Done

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Disappointed? Annoyed? Frustrated?"

"No, doll."

"Then why won't you talk to me!?"

"Nothing to say."

You wiped a hand down your face, lifting it only to pinch the bridge of your nose. Your head shook to shake away your thoughts, sniffling emotion, sighing when you dropped your hand to slap against your thigh. "I'm really trying here, Bucky, I swear to you, I am. But I can't help if you don't talk to me," you softened your voice, beginning to understand this was a losing battle.

"I never said I needed help."

"You never have to ask me for help, Bucky, I just give it because I want to! Because I love you! That's part of being in a relationship!"

"Maybe I don't want it!" Your boyfriend snapped, rounding on you with unfiltered emotion in his eyes. The horrors swam in his baby blues, vivid memories he was unable to escape haunting him, terrorizing him; creating a shell of a man who could no longer hide his avid pain. "Did you ever think about that? Ever consider that I don't want your help because I don't need it?"

"Everyone needs help sometimes, Buck."

"No, not everyone - I'm not one of your pet projects, you don't get to treat me like a broken thing that needs fixed! I certainly don't need your pity - not yours."

"I don't pity you! Fuck's sake, Bucky, I love you and want to see you heal. I know you better than anyone - "

"You don't," he sneered, cutting you off. "You don't know me, not really, not as well as Steve - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Steve isn't here! He's not coming back!" You snapped, instantly regretting it when Bucky's eyes coated with glassy emotion he fought vehemently to keep down. "I-I'm sorry, that was - that was really mean of me and totally out of line," you apologized, both sighing deeply. "All right, look, let's just talk this out, please."

"There's nothing to say."

Your hip cocked, arms crossing, "She called me, you know."

"Who?"

"Dr. Raynor."

"Fuck's sake," he growled. "Why would she do that?"

"Maybe because today's session was, apparently, supposed to be a couples session. She thought I was refusing, called to say I was impeding on your progress and if I want to help you, I'd have to show up to your appointments. Which is really funny because you never told me about today, so I had no idea what the hell she was talking about - but that didn't stop her from tearing me a new asshole!"

He frowned, avoiding your eyes. "I didn't need a couples session. Not today, I just - I wanted today to focus on other shit."

"And I can respect that, but you're not doing yourself any favors by hiding shit from me. To get the best results from therapy, you have to actually do the work, and not just do what Dr. Raynor says, but actually listen to her advice - "

"I don't need you on my back about this, Raynor does that enough for you both," Bucky growled. "I do the fucking work - I'm the one in that room, I'm the one applying silly little rules to my life - "

"Obviously not if you didn't even tell me Raynor requested my attendance! You should've told me, and then you should've said you weren't ready! I would've respected that, but I can't do a Goddamn thing if you don't talk to me!"

His jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, skin twitching and distinct muscles tightening. "Like I said, there's nothing to talk about," he practically spat, shaking his head at you before grabbing his sneakers from the closet.

You didn't mean to sound harsh, but demanded, "Where are you going? We're in the middle of a conversation."

"No, we're not, 'cause I'm ending it," he scoffed, sitting on the corner of your shared mattress, exchanged his shoes. "And I'm going for a run, need to clear my head."

You shook your head before leaving the bedroom, "Absolutely unbelievable."

Bucky left your shared apartment a few minutes later, somewhere you've only lived five months - the time it's been since Tony Stark, Iron Man, snapped the other half of living beings back into existence. He lost his life in return, the ultimate sacrifice, but he managed to reverse the damage Thanos created five years prior. Five months of living in this apartment without a lick of warmth, personal touch, or real sentiment; it being dreary, dark, and mostly empty. Hell, Bucky didn't even feel comfortable in bed, so he camped in the barren living room, giving visual to the way your relationship was beginning to fray, unravel, crack.

He didn't want anything personal in your apartment - thinking it was ridiculous to settle down after all you two have endured, witnessed, and fought for. You agreed to keep things at the bare minimum, only stocking what was necessary, knowing this was part of his healing process and didn't want to drum-up further anxiety. It made everything impersonal, boring, bland, and down right depressing - but it was a small accommodation you could provide your lover.

You hated the distance. Hated how alone Bucky felt after Steve. Hated how reclusive he became, the anger he projected. Hated how no matter what you did, you weren't enough - not this time. For years, you've loved him despite his flaws, his brainwashing, his trauma responses, but whatever he was enduring now was something you weren't equipped to handle. Didn't mean you weren't willing to try, but Bucky was the one pushing you away; thinking his demons were his sole responsibility, never letting you be the pillar that helped support him. God, you hated the distance.

You left the apartment, too. Nick Fury had employed you for creative, solo, high profile missions; wanting to utilize your Widow training, especially now that Natasha Romanoff was deceased. And you wanna know what? Bucky hadn't even asked about her, never tried to offer comfort, only quietly attending the funeral service you hosted with the remaining Avengers to give her a proper sendoff - despite there being no body. Bucky knew you and Nat were as thick as thieves, family without blood, two lost souls who leaned on each other in trying times; bonded by trauma, encouraged by resounding bravery, disciplined by strength. The fact that your boyfriend never even checked in with you after Nat's passing obviously hurt your feelings but you remained silent.

Again, to avoid generating more anxiety for Bucky.

You met the one-eyed man at a local, bustling coffee shop, finding the sight of the hardened, burly man eating a scone amusing. "Got you one of these," he nudged a dessert plate to your side of the table when you sat down with your desired coffee, "know you like 'em."

"Blueberries are my favorite," you half-smirked, regarding the moist muffin and sighing sadly. "All right, sir, what's on the docket?"

He stared at you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before leaning back in his chair. "The fuck's going on with you?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You look different today."

"Mh," you nodded, joking, "got a hair cut."

"No, it's your aura. Something bothering you, kid?"

"You do realize I'm a fully grown adult, right?"

Nick shrugged, "I don't see age."

"You don't - nobody sees age, Nick, Jesus."

He took a sip of his green tea. "There's still something bothering you. Not sure if you should go on this mission if you're wound tight."

"I'm just dealing with shit at home."

"Oh, right, the cyborg. How is the hundred year old psycho?"

"You you want me to stab out your other eye? 'Cause I fucking will," you threatened with a fork clenched in your grasp, perking your brows up your forehead. "Say that shit again, see what the fuck I do, Nick, I absolutely dare you."

He chuckled, hands held in defense, "Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for. What's wrong with Sergeant Barnes?"

You shrugged, "It's complicated."

"Bitch, aliens opening a wormhole in space and time to invade Earth is complicated - relationships aren't. Try me."

After an amused chuckle, you told him, "He's struggling right now. You know? After everything, it's been a lot for him and now that things are relatively back to normal, he's having a hard time trying to assimilate himself back into the populace. You know, learning to live in this day and age - a man out of time, outside his comfort zone, forced to adjust himself after living as a weapon of mass destruction for so long. Add in the fact that his best friend passed, marking another forceful adjustment he's unprepared for..."

"Hm," Nick nodded, "heard he's got a full pardon."

"He does."

"Which has a contingency he's gotta go to therapy, right? Part of rejoining society?"

You nodded, "Right, again."

"So he's in therapy and still struggling?"

"It's not like there's an on-off switch, Nick, therapy takes time and dedication. I just don't think he feels at peace, calm, in control - like he deserves any of this; the pardon especially. Think the stress, fear, and confusion is eating at him."

"Well, he's got you."

"I'm not his mother."

"No, you're his girlfriend, and it's a girlfriend's responsibility to support him, ain't it? Help him through this?"

"I can only do so much, Nick," you scoffed, "I'm just one person and he's a stubborn jackass - he just pushes me away. I'm sure I don't help the situation by accepting your contracts."

Fury considered your words for a long moment, then asked, "You said he's lonely?"

"Wouldn't you? Given his situation? He won't say, but I know losing Steve caused a part of him die."

Nick shrugged, "So get him a dog."

You never wouldn't guessed those words could ever pass Nick Fury's lips, head cocking, eyes narrowing, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm sorry, do what now?"

"It's obvious, ain't it? Dude needs company when you're gone, a sense of purpose, to feel like there was something - or someone - depending on him. Might help whatever limbo he's lingering in."

"A dog?"

"A dog. He can take it for walks or whatever."

You considered his recommendation, asking again, "A dog?"

"Do we need to get your hearing checked again? You lose the last functionality of your ears? Yes, a dog."

"I don't know..."

"It's just a suggestion, might promote his peace, help him process grief and guilt. Telling you, a dog would do him good. Now," he took another sip of tea, "onto business."

"You give me whiplash," you chuckled. "What's this job?"

"Simple and easy," he pulled up a tablet from the chair beside him, tapping it three times and handing it to you.

"None of your jobs are simple or easy, Nicky-Nick."

"I told you, don't call me that. Look, I just need you in London to investigate a string of potential terrorist activity. Just some recon, you won't be gone more than a few days - if you behave and stay on task."

You scanned the document, "When do I ever do that?" He chuckled briefly, you wondering, "Flagsmashers? Jesus, what a name. C'mon, you can't be serious. These guys are just radicals - you know, trying to vouch for those displaced after the Blip. It's actually kinda endearing, I mean, they're trying to give a microphone to those without a voice."

"They're escalating - too quickly," Fury informed. "They haven't raised any international flags yet, but something ain't right about them. I just need you as eyes and ears, maybe report if you think they're worth the worry."

Little did you know, in only about a month, you would join forces with Bucky and Sam Wilson - The Falcon - to dismantle the organization.

"When do I leave?"

"Tuesday would be ideal. But I can push it to Friday if you wanna go get that dog."

Your laughter was endearing, handing the tablet back over.

Bucky liked holding hands, though, he often wouldn't ever voice it. It made him feel tethered, anchored to reality; instilling a sense of pride to have such a gorgeous lady - such as yourself - at his side. However, the part he liked most, was being reminded he wasn't alone; even when on crowded, overpopulated streets, he didn't have to be afraid because with his hand in yours, he looked just like everyone else. You protected him even without intending to or without even knowing what you were doing.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he sighed, people on the street sidestepping and avoiding running into you two. "I was upset, stressed out, you know how I get after seeing Raynor."

"It's okay, baby," you assured, ever the patient, loyal, and supportive girlfriend he needed. "I'm not holding it against you, but just promise me, when you're ready, you'll tell me."

He nodded, "I will - I mean, I promise." You hummed and pet his bicep with your other hand, giving his arm a hug. "Now are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"I told you, it's a surprise."

He was ready to reply when a small commotion echoed from the alley you were passing, Bucky coming to a jarring halt that yanked on your arm, swinging you around. You were ready to ask what was happening when you clocked one of Bucky's "friends", an older man named Yori Nakajima, arguing with one of his neighbors.

"Hey, hey, Yori," Bucky intervened, you watching from the mouth of the alley, "woah, hey, what's going on?"

You couldn't hear whatever Yori was saying, but Bucky turned to the other man and growled something at him that made the neighbor scurry off. He glared at you, lip curled in a sneer, disappearing amongst patrons of the crowded sidewalk. You frowned and approached Yori and Bucky, your boyfriend still trying to calm his friend - well, 'friend' was a very generous term. See, Yori was the father of a young man that died by the hand of the Winter Soldier, being a name on Bucky's list he needed to make amends with.

However, when you took your place beside Bucky, Yori was waving you both off and shuffling down the alley, towards one of his apartment building's doors. "What was that all about?" You asked softly, taking note of the disgruntled expression your boyfriend usually wore these days.

"Just," he sighed, shaking his head, "Yori's upset with some of his neighbors - thinks they're encroaching on being disrespectful."

"When doesn't he?" Bucky sighed, you wondering softly, "You think you're ever gonna feel ready to tell him?"

"I'm working on it," he sighed sadly. "All right, c'mon - "

You both paused with furrowed brows when there came a series of shrill meows from under a couple of soggy, cardboard boxes beside a dumpster. "Did you hear that?" You asked.

"Uh-huh."

Another elongated meow was heard, Bucky curiously approach the discarded trash coated in sewage sludge. He slowly squatted, you approaching his shoulder when another meow cried out. Now, normally, you'd never investigate animal noises out of fear they were feral and carrying disease, but something just felt sad about what you heard - apparently, to Bucky, too. Gingerly, he reached out and lifted a piece of dripping cardboard, seeing a bundle moving under the next piece. He moved that one, too.

"Oh, my God!" You cooed when a tiny kitten was revealed. White fur was stained with dirt, sludge, and other nasty juices; nose pink, eyes a piercing, clear blue with brownish tear stains rimming them. The kitten mewed in greeting, pacing a tight circle before trying to back up in the brick wall; hunching its back and hissing slightly when you lowered yourself into a squat beside Bucky. "Baby, it's all alone, should we help?" You pouted.

"I don't think it wants our help, doll," he sighed. "It looks scared of us. Bet the mother's around somewhere, be a shame to move it if she's coming back."

"It looks too skinny, maybe it's alone?"

"Or maybe it's not," Buck countered. "C'mon, sugar, we can't take it."

After a bit of back and forth, you finally relented and had to walk away. You frowned for at least two blocks, but upon your halt at a crosswalk, you were greeted by another shrieking meow. Whipping around, you and Buck both looked down to discover the wee little kitten had followed you and was practically yelling for your attention. You grinned.

"Well, now we really have to help it," you told Bucky.

"How?"

"We take it to a shelter," you answered, shrugging, "good thing I know where one is."

"What's it doing?" Bucky asked nervously, the kitten dancing around your legs; brushing up against you both, meowing the whole time.

"I think she wants you to pick her up," you smirked.

He sighed and stooped to scoop the little creature in hand, regarding it carefully; weighing it, checking paws and other vulnerable spots. Bucky muttered, "All right, yeah, fine, let's take him to a shelter. Little beast needs some food it feels like, definitely a flea bath and some fresh water."

"You big softie."

"Lead the way to the shelter, princess, c'mon," he ignored your jab, tucking the kitten into his chest protectively. "He feels fragile," Bucky worried, "maybe you should carry him, I might crush him."

"You've got the little babe, Buck," you assured, "you're not gonna hurt him - I mean, if it's even a him."

"By the attitude, could be a girl," he joked, making your heart lighten. He'd been in such a funk that you missed his teasing, soft words; the little jokes he cracked, his smile - God, you missed seeing his smile. During your time on the run after DC, while seeking refuge in Bucharest for a couple years, you grew accustomed to seeing his radiant smile; remembering how easily he offered it when just the two of you. For a moment, you considered how your relationship was no longer just you and Bucky - but his trauma, too.

Arriving at the shelter, it was like an assault on the senses. Dogs were heard barking from the kennels, the pungent smell of urine and wood chips smacking you in the face, and a sort of humidity lingering in the air - a sharp contrast to the crisp outside.

"Hi," you greeted the receptionist, offering a kind smile.

"Hi, there. How can I help you two?" The man with long hair asked.

"Well, uh, two things," you explained, "one: we'd like to tour your kennels, we're interested in adopting a dog - "

"We are?" Bucky gaped.

" - and two: we found this little fella in an alley," you pointed to the kitten curled protectively against Bucky's warmth. "We wanted to make sure he was okay, maybe leave him here for adoption?"

"Oh," Man Bun blinked, regarding both Bucky and the kitten, "wow, uh, yeah, that's really nice of you guys, rescuing the little guy. You know, since everyone came back few months ago, there's be an influx of strays. A lot of people gave up their animals when their loved ones came back."

"Well, that's super fucked up," your eyes rolled.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "Look, I'd love to help you guys out, so, tell you what. I can let you back in the kennels - no problem! Help match you to your new companion, but, uh... I don't think I can help you with the cat. You see, we, uh, we've had to start euthanizing the overflow animals or the ones who don't get adopted in a timeframe. We're at our max capacity, so... If you wanna leave him here, uh, I can't promise he'll have a place."

"You'd put him down?" Bucky growled.

"It's not what we want to do," Man Bun swiftly explained, "but it's just necessary - we don't have the room or resources to take him."

"Do you know of any no-kill shelters? Maybe one that has room?" You asked, feeling Bucky's disgust rolling off him in waves.

"Not in the area," Man Bun frowned. "Honestly? I think the closest no-kill shelter's in Maryland. Maybe Virginia?"

"Jesus," you frowned, looking at Bucky.

"Look, my best advice?" Man Bun offered, "Take the little tike home, clean him up, and call around to other shelters to see if they have space. But if you intend to adopt a dog, maybe bringing back a kitten isn't the best timing. If you give him up to us, he'll probably be sent directly to overflow..."

"We'll take him home," Bucky instantly decided, shocking you.

"We will?" You asked softly, lips curling in a small smile.

"Why not?" He sighed.

"I would've thought you'd be more of a dog person..."

"I'm not an animal person, but we're not leaving this little guy here just for him to be euthanized. We can handle him for a few days, you know, until we find a shelter with room."

"I think that's a great idea," you grinned.

"But was this your plan? For us to adopt a dog?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Why?"

You shrugged, "Just thought a dog would be nice company when I'm outta town for work. You know, could go on walks or runs together, you'd have someone looking out for you, maybe a dog would help with your stress levels?"

He eyed you for a moment, sighing, "I appreciate that, doll. Maybe another time, though? At least let us find somewhere or someone to take this guy."

The kitten gave a prolonged squeak - seemingly agreeing. "All right, noisy, we hear you," you chuckled, giving the kitten's head a scratch. You asked Man Bun, "Do you guys have the means to check him over, you know, before we go home? Make sure he's not injured or something?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "let me go get one of the technicians."

After the tech's exam, you were given the paperwork from that day's visit, the name, number, and address of a recommended vet, and before you knew it, found yourselves at the local pet store. You would've been ashamed by the absurd amount of money you spent, but Bucky rationalized the need because you weren't sure how long your new companion would stay with you. So, you ransacked the store, buying a sizable litter box, 50 pounds of actual litter, a bag of kibble, case of wet food, several different treats, a balm for the baby's feet, too many toys and stimulation activities, a carrying case in the event of transporting the kitten, and a tiny collar - if you decided to keep the little noise machine.

The sight of Bucky with the little fuzz ball warmed your heart. He still seemed hesitant and stiff, as if afraid to hurt the kitten, but he wasn't so tense anymore. However, he handed the pet over for you to hold while he carried the supplies back home; biceps bulging to support the weight. In that moment, walking familiar streets with his arms full of cat supplies, he questioned how he got here - to feel all domestic and out-of-place. He was Bucky Barnes - a Sargent in the Army, prolific hitman, something of an Avenger now. He didn't adopt cats and buy toys!

However, watching you talk to the kitten softly, he smiled - something small at first that grew like a germinating seed to split his face. You seemed so... Bright, excited, rejuvenated, even. He knew the past five months since the Blip had been rough on you, what with losing Natasha, fighting Thanos and his army of aliens, then ricocheting into 'normal life' only to deal with his emotional baggage. Watching you walk down the street with a fuzzy white ball of energy, pointing out different things, cooing and narrating the city to the kitten as if he could understand was refreshing after seemingly seeing nothing but a frown on your lips recently.

To Bucky, as long as you were happy, he was happy - and it seemed you were very content with your new little buddy. So, he was happy with your new little buddy and figured a dose of domestic life wasn't the end of the world. In fact, he actually felt... Intrigued by the newest addition to your little family.

When you returned home, it was to an empty apartment. Bucky dropped the supplies in the living room, hands to his hips, looking around, "Well, uh... At least there's room to run around, right?"

You nodded, "And no risk of ruined furniture."

"Yeah," he sighed, watching you set the kitten down. "All right, pip squeak. C'mon, lemme give you the tour - pay attention. So, in here," he moved around the wall, kitten following and listening intently, labeling, "this is the kitchen, this is where you'll get your meals - and no, you're not allowed on the counters." He pointed a warning finger, "Don't let me catch you up there or there's gonna be hell to pay. I don't wanna find your hair in my morning bagel."

"Buck, you don't eat breakfast."

"Fine, then I don't wanna hear my girl found hair in her bagel."

The kitten mewed loudly, trotting to keep up as Bucky walked around the barren apartment - giving a literal tour. You unpacked the supplies, setting up a raised food bowl beside a full water bowl. You left the treats in an empty cupboard, the litter box ready to use in the bathroom, and tossed some toys around the open, empty living room floor. You meandered, stashing other supplies, hearing the scampering thuds of excited little feet.

When your head popped out of the kitchen, you grinned at what you saw. Bucky was sat on the floor, flicking a feathered stick over the hardwood floors for the kitten to race around and try to catch. The longer you watched, the more defenseless Bucky seemed, and dare you say it, he looked calm - maybe even happy. His eyes were locked on the animal's antics as if he didn't want to miss a single movement he made; small smile making him look younger and brighter.

You made a mental note to thank Nick Fury for his suggestion. Sure, he actually said to get a dog, but this kitten seemed to have the same effect.

"Hey, baby?" You called, hanging up your phone after calling the recommended vet. "So, uh... Listen, you know how I have to go outta town on Friday?"

"Yeah?" He glanced up, letting the kitten wrestle his booted foot.

"So, I managed to get a vet appointment but it's for Friday. Is that okay? Or do you want me to reschedule for when I'm back so we can go together?"

"Oh, uh, no, that's all right, sugar, keep the Friday slot. I can take him, it's not a big deal."

"You sure? I hate having to saddle you with this responsibility."

"I'm sure," he nodded, "I can take him, it's okay."

For the rest of the week, you had a front row viewing of an incredible bond being formed. The kitten liked you, you two had many moments together, but it was obvious the little guy adored Bucky. He was stuck to your boyfriend like Velcro, following him everywhere, shrieking for attention when Bucky was preoccupied, liked being held when he cooked, even tried to get in the shower with Bucky. They played together, Bucky's laugh warming the entire apartment; positively obsessed with one another, the little guy even sleeping between you and Bucky.

It was as if you both forgot to look for the kitten a permanent home, the lack of furniture providing wide space for play and entertainment. Bucky even got one of those cat trees, couple individual scratching posts, and a laser pointer that drove your furry friend up the wall. There was some unspoken rule about naming animals - where if you named them, they were yours officially. So, one evening over dinner, you proposed a few names, Bucky giving his opinion; but then you began to consider "theme" names. Because your little buddy was white, you mused over names like Noelle or Snow, but finally settled on Alpine after narrowly beating out Aspen.

The day you flew to London, you warned both Bucky and kitten to behave themselves. Later that night, while you were sat in a tinted SUV for surveillance, your phone rang with Bucky's contact. "Hey, baby, how's it going?" You answered, refocusing through your advanced camera lens to snap necessary photos.

"Good, yeah. Uh, how's London?"

"Pretty dreary, it's been raining all day. Hey, how was the vet appointment?"

'Oh, yeah, no, it was, uh, yeah, it was good. Gave Alpine a buncha shots, microchipped her, started her on antibiotics - "

"Did you say, 'her'?"

"Yeah, that was the other thing - turns out, Alpine's a girl."

You chuckled, "Well, I'll be damned. How're you feelin', Buck?"

"I'm... Okay."

"I'm sorry I'm not there," you sighed. "Nightmares again?"

"Yeah."

"Sleeping in the living room?"

"You know it."

"TV on?"

"Reminds me I'm not where I dreamt I am."

"Well, I'll be home in a few days."

"What's this mission?"

"Just a little recon, I'm only to observe. Nicky told me to keep an eye on some suspicious activity."

"Don't tell me you're sitting in a white van?"

"No, sir, it's a Rolls Royce this time," you chuckled.

True to your word, you were home by Tuesday night. The transatlantic flight was long and tedious; a storm creating steady turbulence, making it absolutely impossible to get any shut eye. When you landed, you made a beeline to the Starbucks and got the largest coffee possible with an added 2 shots of espresso before exiting the bustling airport. Outside, waiting at the curb, Nick Fury himself stood before a sleek and shiny car that probably cost more than a 4-year education at an American university.

He smirked, "Welcome back, kid."

"Nice of you to pick me up, Nicky-Nick."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me 'kid'."

"Get in the Goddamn car, I'm not having this argument again."

After storing your luggage, Nick drove you back home while listening to your mission report. You didn't think the Flagsmashers were extreme enough to warrant intervention, but all Nick heard was that now was the time to strike before there came the need, before a chance for escalation could occur. You left the tablet full of notes, observations, photos, and data with the one-eyed man, and before you fully departed the car, paused to lean in the open window.

"Hey, uh, I've been meaning to thank you."

"What for?" Nick asked, face hardened in a permanent look of disagreement. You never took it personally - Nick Fury having professional Resting Bitch Face (RBF).

"Your advice about getting Bucky a dog."

"No shit," he chuckled, "you actually got him a dog?"

"Uh, well, no..."

"What'd you get?" Nick asked in suspicion, watching your lips roll between your teeth to restrain your smile. "Ah, hell no! You didn't! A cat? A fucking cat?"

"I know you don't like them - "

"Bitch! One scratched out my eye!"

"But our cat didn't."

"Doesn't matter - fuck all them felines."

You laughed and slapped the metal door, "Well, thank you anyway for the idea of a companion animal. Bucky's a lot calmer it seems."

Nick Fury sighed, waving you off like a pesky insect. "I'll call you when I got another job. Have fun with the little demon."

"You talkin' about Bucky or Alpine?"

"The cat - wait, Alpine? The fuck kinda name is that?"

"You know, Alpine... Like the Alps?"

His head shook, "I know what fuckin' alpine is."

"Why don't you head off - looks like you're gonna give yourself a stroke. Didn't realize getting a kitten would stress you out this bad."

"Get out my Goddamn window and I can leave."

You grinned and dropped a wink, again, patting the car and stepping back onto the sidewalk. Nick peeled off, leaving you alone to shoulder your duffel bag and head inside your apartment building. When you got to your desired location, the door opened without the usual creak, Bucky obviously WD-40'ing the hinges. "Hello?" You called softly, hanging your keys on the little peg in the foyer, toeing out of your shoes, glancing around the empty apartment.

Ready to call out again, you actually almost choked on air when you inhaled but stopped abruptly. You pouted your bottom lip at the sight of Bucky sound asleep in his nest on the floor, TV's lighting flashing and creating shadows, giving clear sight of Alpine curled in a tight ball on Buck's chest. His flesh hand was raised to rest on his chest, keeping Alpine cuddled to his warmth.

Quickly, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, snapping an adorable picture of your boyfriend before silently tiptoeing away to dispose of your duffel and purse. You sent the photo to Bucky's phone, positive you were keeping the kitten. After a long, hot shower that washed the travel from your body, you changed into loungewear, pulled your hair back, then reentered the living room where you knelt at Bucky's side. In-sync, your presence made both Alpine and Bucky flinch awake - your boyfriend jerking away from your warmth as the kitten hopped off his chest.

You winced, "Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you."

His head shook, "No, it's all right, doll, I wasn't sleeping."

"You were, don't deny it," you grinned, settling on the mound of blankets.

Bucky chuckled gently, "I tried to stay up for you. C'mere," his arm opened in invitation, smirking gently. You settled down and turned into his side, his arm now coiled around your form, constricting to pull you closer so his lips could plant on your forehead. "How was London? Your mission?"

"Easy peasy," you sighed, "nothing too strenuous or stressful. The most 'complicated' part of the whole thing was using a different car each day to avoid suspicion."

"Hmm... Who was the target?"

"Some radical group," you sighed, head resting on his pectoral. "How was it? Just you and Alpine?"

"It was pretty good, nothing to complain about. She's nice company."

As if understanding she was the topic of conversation, Alpine mewed several times in a row as she walked up the seam of your body pressed to Bucky's. She turned in two circles before settling down between you; your grin authentic as a manicured fingernail extended to scratch her head.

"Actually, sweetheart, I've been thinking..."

"Hmm? About what?" You mumbled, eyes drooping with each passing second.

"About how we should keep her - Alpine, we should keep Alpine."

"You're just figuring that out now?" You teased, sluggishly lifting your head to smirk at him. "I knew she was ours the moment you picked her up. It'll be nice having her around, don't you think? I know she's not a dog you can take on walks but with Alpine, you don't have to be alone."

He nodded, "I like that idea. She's a good cat."

"Check your phone in the morning."

"Why?"

"Mmmh, I sent you a picture, you'll see - but it's just confirmation that Alpines part of us now, part of our crew."

"Our family," Bucky agreed softly. He watched you resettle on his chest, spending the following couple hours in the glow of the TV, watching you and Alpine. Bucky's heart warmed to a degree he's never known, making the comparison of himself to Jim Carrey's, the Grinch - a movie you made him watch. Eventually, exhaustion outweighed his domestic thoughts; falling asleep with you safe in his arms and Alpine curled up between you.

"Well, this certainly is a surprise... I was beginning to think James made you up."

"Oh, please, nobody could make me up - I'm too complex, nobody's got that kinda imagination," you smirked, legs crossed, seated beside Bucky on a sofa; both facing his therapist.

"I'm glad you could finally join us - I've been asking James to bring you for a while now," Dr. Raynor's eyes darted between you and Bucky, making you feel as if she was seeing right into your soul. However, her tone was accusatory, as if scolding Bucky.

So, you swiftly defended, "Well, I'm happy to be here. Bucky's one of my top priorities, I'd do anything for him - including attending any of these silly mandated sessions. Which are bullshit, by the way, because he's not the Winter Soldier anymore so why is Bucky being crucified? Why is this being pinned on him when he technically didn't do anything? The Winter Soldier did."

"Well, healing often takes time and dedication, and must be done in a series of steps. That's how you see real progress. These sessions are a condition of his pardon - "

"I can't believe your government would even enforce these silly little rules considering Bucky's assistance. He fought against Thanos, he fought on our side, and by all means, helped restore what was lost. I just find it pretty dehumanizing to force him to jump through hoops. I mean, for Christ's sake, half the universe was snapped away, you'd think after that, there wouldn't be need for pardons or contingencies - or for holding onto grudges."

"This is simply how we keep order in a post-Blip society. Everything changed in those five years, it's necessary to keep balance amongst all worldly citizens."

You scoffed lightly, "Ever consider these sessions might be doing more harm than good?"

Raynor frowned, "Despite the Winter Soldier being decommissioned, James still has trauma to process and skeletons to clear out of the closet. Yes, the Winter Soldier is gone, but the man remains - and James needs to focus on healing that part of himself. Whatever he did as the Winter Soldier wasn't Bucky's doing, but he still remembers all he did, which creates a heavy toll on the mind. That's part of the reason these sessions are mandated - because the assassin might be gone, but the residual effects still linger."

You hummed, "Well, let's get into it, Doc."

"You know... I've heard a lot about you. James paints you in a very bright light, says your bark and bite are equally as vicious."

"Hm," you nodded, brows perked, "yet I don't know shit about you."

"Perfectly natural. Typically, most people don't gossip about their therapists. It's nice that you could join us for this session."

"Nice to be invited."

She clicked her pen and settled her pad securely on her lap, just staring at you and Bucky for a long moment. You were ready to snap at her when she opened her mouth, "So, I hear you adopted a cat?"

"We did," you confirmed.

"Alpine," Bucky supplied, body rigid with tension and nerves.

"Right... Alpine," Raynor nodded, leaning her elbow to an arm of her padded chair. "How did this cat come into your possession?"

"We rescued her from a dumpster," Bucky answered stiffly.

"Really?" Raynor perked both brows.

"She was under some pieces of cardboard, screamin' her li'l head off," You chuckled. "Though, I think it's safe to say she chose us, adopted us as caregivers."

"How's that?"

"She wouldn't let us pick her up and we were afraid to take her in case her mama was lingering around. Turns out, she followed us. We were at a crosswalk when she caught up, demanding we pick her up and take her home."

"Is that so?"

"I'd like to think so," you nodded. "We were already on our way to the shelter, so, we took her with us, got her checked out."

"Why were you heading to the shelter to begin with?"

"Oh, uh, to adopt a dog. I had a colleague recommend an emotional support animal - or a companionship animal - to help Bucky feel less alone."

Raynor made a note of something. "You work often?" She asked.

"Often enough that I feel guilty for leaving. Figured getting a dog would instill a sense of dependence, you know, help Bucky feel like there was someone depending on him. Help usher in comfort and stability, help keep him calm, focused, distracted. But Alpine does the same thing - no dog necessary, apparently."

Raynor nodded, her wrinkles dimpling as she frowned and wrote down another note. When her eyes lifted, so did her lips; a smirk on display as she praised, "I actually think that's a wonderful idea. You know, there's been a lot of research about soldiers with PTSD benefitting from an emotional support animal. You're right, they promote peace, stability, distraction - gives patrons a tangible purpose, taking care of another life not their own."

"For sure, again, anything to help," you agreed, holding Bucky's gloved hand he kept covered by leather - only worn in public.

"Although, I wonder, why get a pet? I ask because James speaks highly of you, credits you for keeping him stable and on-track. Do you feel as if she's not enough, James? Is that why you kept Alpine?"

"No," he answered instantly, "she's my best girl and will always be enough. Watch your mouth, Doc."

"But sometimes extra help is nice," you tacked on, tightening your hand in Bucky's. "But for what it's worth, Dr. Raynor, Bucky keeps me sane. I keep him balanced. We keep each other safe. Alpine's just an added bonus, a quiet menace to help quell the business of our brains."

Raynor smirked, "I must say, you surprise me, Miss."

"I'm no stranger to mental health. But as I said before, I just want to help." You looked up at Bucky, finsihing softly, "He deserves peace in this lifetime - and if a little ball of fur can help, sign me up..."

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

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lfghughes · 1 year ago

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Can you write a best friend piece with Trevor & Jack after a breakup where they joke around with you and try to cheer you up? I recently saw a funny tiktok edit using the start of Paris by Taylor Swift with them going back and forth saying the lines and I feel like I can totally see those 2 getting together and gossiping 😂

Link for reference: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM25pQAvg/

a/n: this tiktok has had me laughing the whole time

Music filled your bedroom suddenly making you lift your head up from your bed to look at your two best friends. You had so many questions for them. For starters why did they raid your closet for clothing items and your second question was out of all the songs why ‘Good 4 U’ by Olivia Rodrigo. Sitting up on your bed your jaw dropped slightly as both of them started lip syncing to the song. Or well Trevor was lip syncing and Jack was trying his best but it was showing that he never actually sat and listened to it.

A laugh left your lips as you watched them and as the song kept going, the funnier it got until it ended. “It was either that or Taylor Swift. Either way Jack is helpless.” Trevor laughed as he playfully pushed Jack, taking off all the items he had put on from your closet. Jack hopped up onto your bed. “I think I made her laugh more so clearly I helped in some way.” He did make a good point there. “Why exactly did you guys just put on a whole show for me?”

“To help with the whole break up thing, duh.” Trevor pointed out to you. “Oh so I’m not just allowed to sit here and wallow in misery?” You asked and they both shook their heads. This time Trevor jumped up on the bed too. “Not on our watch. Me and Jack are here for your entertainment all night long.” Trevor pointed between him and Jack. “No tears allowed over some loser.” Jack confirmed as he threw a sock at you.

“But guys, just let me be sad about it, it’s healthy to be sad about a break up.” You appreciated them and of course they were able to make you laugh but you knew it would only be a matter of time before your mind went back to the inevitable. “Oh come on, all his outfits were terrible, right Z?” Jack asked Trevor and he of course immediately agreed. “So 2003 unbearable.” Trevors comment made you laugh probably harder than you ever had before.

“I mean did you see his photos on instagram?” Jack asked again and you rolled your eyes at him even though everything he was saying was making you feel better. “You deserve so much better than that guy.” At his words you opened up your arms so both boys could give you a hug. “Thank you both for being the best friends I could ever ask for.” You told them as you gave them a tight hug or as good of a hug as you could with both of them in your arms. “If you want we can go out to a club, get you a new man.”

At Trevors words you just shook your head and laughed, you knew better than to bring these two boys around to be your wingmen. “Why so you could scare off any boy who did try and talk to me? I think I’ll save that for another day when I’m having a girls night.” You told them and both of them looked at you with a horrified look on their faces. “If me and Trevor approve of them then you know they’re the perfect guy.” At this you just rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say Jack, alright I want to see you guys do another song. Taylor Swift this time please.”

#jack hughes blurb #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras

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warm-concrete · 1 year ago

Text

Weapon & Wound.

Chapter 2

Astarion x Fem!Reader + Gale x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tav is a druid drow called Fawn.

Fawn gains attention wherever she goes. She's more than used to men that are troublesomely complimentary at best, wishing to revel in her death at worst.

So she's exasperated when she can't divert her attention from Astarion, who acts as though he'd like to do both and more.

Word Count: 6.7k

Ao3 Links: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Tags on Ao3. NSFW Snippet Below.

What a show.

Astarion had been awake all night, still not used to sleeping through it, despite all the battles he’d been dragged into that day.

It had been an incredibly dull evening, trapped with his thoughts by the rain. Usually he’d go find something to hunt and drink but, he wasn’t going to get drenched for animal blood, his hair would be ruined.

Instead he focused on the one thing that didn’t involve the tadpole or Cazador. He thought about her. If he was honest, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Like the evening they’d spent gossiping, when she’d excitedly indulged his musings on their companions’ blood. It was a strange feeling, chatting casually, she almost seemed more comfortable than he was with his undead status.

Whenever she was close, which was constantly since he had apparently been included in her favoured group to go off exploring, he couldn’t help but become acutely aware of her smell. Her blood pumping, hidden by skin. It was becoming irksome, to know how she felt inside him, the effect her blood had in him. He desperately wanted more, but it wasn’t like he could just ask.

He was growing better at hunting animals with each passing day. It was almost funny, how he was so practised in the art of luring people but, against the wilderness he was out of his element. Like he was just another predator on the food-chain. But he had to do it, their blood was the only thing stopping him from tearing Fawn apart. Gods! Even her stupid name temped him, teased him.

After being starved for so long, he found that he didn’t like the feeling of being full. It was strange, unnatural, uncomfortable. It felt worse than the infinite hunger he’d been forced to nurture. Except that one night. Her blood was the exquisite exception.

For the second time in this century, his dick twitched on its own accord. This time, in the privacy of his tent, covered with the sound of the storm he grew curious. Besides he didn’t have any better plans and abstinence was unhealthy for a man of his condition, probably.

Astarion pulled his semi out from his leathers. He spat in his palm and reached for himself. Anything to have her in my mouth again. Her flesh; skin not so tough when warred with his jaw. He pumped slowly, with a strong grip. She’d nursed him drooling and panting and messy, dosing him, nourishing him. His breath hitched. He tried to picture spreading her open, instead he saw another’s legs. This was torture.

But, he continued, fangs bared as he looked down as himself. His dick was pulsing, straining, dripping. His fist was hammering down, desperate for distraction, to loosen some tension. He was well versed in finding what made another tick, and yet.

He tried closing his eyes, brow crumpled. A thought flashed; the drow climbing onto him. Yes. Grabbing his neck, tipping his head back. Gods, yes. An unexpected heat spread through him, he was leaking over his fingers. She drew a stake from where one arm had stayed behind her back, plunging it through ribs.

“Ueh.” He whipped his hand away from himself, shakily wiping his hand off over his chest, bare from where his shirt had ridden up. “Mood killer.” He announced to his messy confines. His dick still stood straight, aching for attention but, he was disinterested in what his body wanted. Blood, touch, heat, softness; always so needy, it was tiresome.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he lay still. He thought of thumbing through a book he’d picked up but remembered how incredibly dull its contents had been: ‘Thyme heals all wounds’. The spelling had been covered with a dark smudge when he grabbed it. He wasn’t amused when he’d sat expecting some hilariously awful publication, only to find infographics and illustrations about planting a garden of useful herbs. The rain had slowed from a pour, but was still constant, relentless. Although the thunder had grown sparse.

Thats when he’d heard her.

#bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #bg3 gale #gale x tav

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thorns-and-rosewings · 8 months ago

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I'm feeling like putting out some more stuff for the Home Sweet Bar AU 🍻 right now. Can't help it, it's funny and cute with angst yet to come along with... A few other surprises 😈

Now there's all sorts of hijinks that can happen in a bar...

And at this bar they have some very good bartenders, with Eclipse being the best and head bartender. There are several others including Frank, all of whom are good at their jobs. But they do have a few that are new... Particularly one young woman named Sally who is new to the job, but a hard worker.

(Ruin does the hiring, even if they lack experience he can determine who would be a good hire. He is the more approachable of the two bosses and handles scheduling and any problems or issues the employees have.)

However, on this one night Sally's inexperience shows when a particularly abrasive customer starts to belittle her and starts make a scene... The poor girl is on the verge of tears when Eclipse steps in, tells her it's fine, and makes the drink himself.

This doesn't appease the customer, who continues to berate the girl until she leaves his sight. Then proceeds to chastise Eclipse. Commenting how a 'Frickin Robot' shouldn't be making drinks.

...Eclipse shows growth by not ripping the man's jaw off...

Instead he just expels him from the bar after making him pay. He even has some mild kindness to tell the upset bartender she did fine, the customer was just an asshole.

However, Ruin heard this whole exchange and he was feeling annoyed someone had the nerve to make one of his bartenders cry, but moreso mouth off to his... his partner... So Ruin walks over and takes a look at the information on the man's card that he paid with and informs Eclipse and Sally to enjoy the performance he's about to give. He says this with a sly grin.

He calls the number on the card, apparently the card belongs to his wife and Ruins smile grows larger as she picks up.

Ruin: (Sounding particularly chipper) Good evening madam, I am so sorry to disturb you and your husband. But I just wanted to make you aware that when you and your husband left our establishment this evening, he left his credit card behind.

(Confused talking on the wife's end)

Ruin: Why yes he was here, you both were ma'am. Your husband (Describes husband) and you (Describes a fictional character with a prostitute-esqe design) you just left a little bit ago. I hope I am catching you quick enough so the trip back won't be too inconvenient.

(Angry screaming on the phone and Ruin looking very smug... He paused for a minute before talking once more)

Ruin: Oh dear nevermind, your husband just walked back in and took his card. Jolly good, have a wonderful evening! (Hangs up)

Eclipse: (Laughing his ass off)

Sally: (Laughing as well) Oh my God... That was so bad. 🤣 I think you just destroyed his marriage!

Ruin: (Takes a bow for his performance)

Eclipse: Pffft, let's do that to a few others. This is fun!

Ruin: No no my friend, I only use my acting powers for good these days. :3

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year ago

Text

5. a ticket to anywhere

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, depictions of bar fights, winter holidays (Christmas), call outs to It’s A Wonderful Life, two idiots making bad decisions in spite of their feelings, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Ohmygod, sorry for falling off the face of the earth! Had a bit a writer’s block with this bad boy, but hopefully that’s rectified now. Here’s 5K of idiots being bad at feelings; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

series masterlist | playlist

previous || next

Then - Winter break, December

Going to The Hideout the last day of term was tradition. A celebratory drink to kick off the festivities of winter break (mostly sleeping in, if you were being honest) and relax a bit. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards tonight. As Steve quickly found out at the bar.

“Funny seeing you here Harrington,” he says, sipping from his pint glass. “Would’ve throught the two of you’d be cozied up by now.”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble,” Steve says, signaling for the bartender, “Just ordering drinks and I’ll be on my way.”

He pauses, considering Steve’s words. A scoff as he shakes his head, “Course she didn’t tell you, figures.”

Steve ticks his jaw, fuse growing shorter and shorter the longer he stands here with him. He should’ve just sent Robin to get the drinks.

“Not at all curious why we broke up?”

That about tears it.

He turns to your ex, appraising him in his drunken stupor. “No offense,” he spits, “But I could give a fuck about your excuse for putting her through all that.”

“Mm, I see.” He signals for another drink, “Guess it doesn’t matter the reason, as long as you get yours, eh?”

“Excuse me?”

Kyle sets the drinks down in front of Steve, staying close to keep an eye on the situation. Steve nods in thanks.

“Well,” he sighs, grabbing the drinks in both hands, “I would say it was nice talkin’ to ya, but we both know that’s a lie.”

He’s halfway back to the table when he hears it, a snide voice ringing out from the bar: “Told her it’s ‘cause I didn’t want your sloppy seconds.”

Steve stops short, beer sloshing over the glasses where they’re balanced between his hands. Robin sees as he girts his teeth, jaw strained. She hops up from the booth and takes the drinks from him, nods when he says, “Keep her distracted or get her out of here.”

The bar isn’t silent by any means, but the regulars know enough to be wary as Steve turns on his heel and slowly walks toward the man in question. “What was that now?”

His voice is soft, just loud enough for it to pique your ex’s interest. He turns toward Steve, smirk fixed on his face. “Too many knocks to the head Harrington? I said—“

Thumb tucked over his fingers and knees slightly bent, like your dad taught him, Steve’s fist collides with the man’s jaw before he can finish the sentence, liquor and spit spilling from his mouth. He stumbles back against the barstools, attempting to stand back up.

“Think that’s last call for you,” Kyle says, sliding the bill toward him, voice gruff. “Close out and leave.”

His eyes narrow as he wipes his mouth, hand coming away bloody. “Considering the circumstances,” he spits on the floor, saliva tinted red, “I think you’ll find my tab comped for the trouble.”

Steve remains where he is, both stunned by his own actions and terrified for any retaliation. Kyle looks from the man in front of him to Steve and back to the booth where Robin is struggling to restrain you.

“Considering the circumstances, I think you’ll find yourself banned from The Hideout.” He sighs, exasperated, “Come back to fuck around and find out,” he warns eyeing you as you make your way toward them, “And I’ll let Trouble finish the job.”

He takes the hint, shrugging into his jacket as he walks toward the door. “Sorry sweetheart,” he calls out mockingly, “I tried. Seems like Harrington just can’t take a hint!”

“Hey, fucko!”

You’re in the middle of it before Robin or Steve and wrangle you back - one hand fisting his jacket, knuckles turning white as the shirt beneath, teeth bared and glinting in the light. Your nose is pressed up against his, voice biting and acidic when you hiss, “You feeling brave today?”

Steve is suddenly reminded of that fact that you played roller derby in college. And you were scary good. Not just the skating and endurance, but the shit-talking and intimidation tactics, too. The occasional brawl. He swallows audibly, earning a look from Robin.

Shocked silent, your ex shakes his head furiously and you exhale, satisfied with the response.

Slowly, your fist uncurls, leaving a wrinkled shape of your fingers and thumb in a vengeful imprint. With a calm smoothing of your palm, you press the jacket flat and leave the bar without another word.

Eddie finds you in the parking lot as he’s walking in to The Hideout. Shivering in the cold as the adrenaline leaves your body. Coat left behind in the booth, your wrap your arms around yourself for warmth.

He drops his jacket around your shoulders and turns you around. “Hey killer,” he greets with a soft smile. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You nod as he leads you to his car, opening the door for you to slip in. You’re reeling from the confrontation with your drunk ex-fiancé and the fact that Steve punched him–holyshit–and then bartender Kyle banned him.

What the actual fuck.

Eddie is quiet as he pulls onto the main drag, fingers tapping along with the beat of the music. You’d wager Metallica or Dio, but it sounds an awful lot like—

“Jeremy spoke in class today,” Eddie warbles out in his best Eddie Vedder impression.

It’s enough for you to crack a smile at the ridiculousness of it all. To be fair, it was a truly terrible impression, a disservice to both Eddie as a singer and the frontman of Pearl Jam.

“There it is,” he says, noticing your smile, “Knew you didn’t stand a chance against 90s grunge.”

He turns on a county road just outside of town, ignoring the notifications piling up on his phone. Eddie has half a mind to ask you to text Rob for him, but thinks better of it.

You’re still quiet, taking in the frosted scene outside of Hawkins. He still finds it odd that you can be this quiet, much more accustomed to your general vibe of chaos and a complete lack of impulse control.

“Steve punched him,” you say, seemingly out of the blue, as Eddie comes to a stop by the lake. “My ex, I mean. Just popped him on the jaw after he started talking shit.”

“Huh.”

The car still thrums with heat, as you sink down into the seat closing your eyes. “I wasn’t close enough to really hear what he was saying,” you continue, “Rob was basically yelling in the booth and showing me these dumb TikToks at like, the loudest her volume could go.”

Eddie nods, knowing she was doing her best to distract you, probably at Steve’s request.

“Then, the next thing I know, he’s back against the barstools and Steve’s winding up for another shot.”

“And you tried to stop it?”

“Yeah,” you open your eyes tiredly. “I hadn’t seen him since…” you trail off and look out the window again, “I don’t know why I did that, confronted him, I mean.”

“Did it help?”

Eddie watches as you pause, searching for the words that will somehow have this all make sense.

A slow shake of your head, “No, not really. I just wanted it to stop.”

He hums in agreement, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“Why do you think he did it?”

Your voice is soft, you look so small tucked against the seat, his jacket nearly swallowing you. Eddie sighs for lack of a response, and shrugs.

“Dunno, sweetheart,” he reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze because he knows why Steve did it, he’s always known. But he can’t say shit to you about it.

He starts the car up once more, suggests something like Dairy Queen, which you readily take him up on (“Ice cream in December, fuck me up, man.”).

You’re quiet once more which allows him to ponder exactly why Steve decided to deck your asshole ex-fiancé.

And all he can circle back to is that god damn lab project he and Steve had back in high school, when Steve was with Nancy but, hand to god, would not look at, talk to, or breathe in Eddie’s general direction for a month after he’d learned you’d lost your virginity to him.

Poor Robin had to mediate the entire thing.

So, yeah. Eddie knows why Steve is the way he is about you. He’s known before Steve could figure it out for himself.

The stubborn idiot was in love with you, had been half in love with you since god knew when, and had realized it, too little, too late.

Over the next few days, random thoughts and memories are fleeting through your mind and come seemingly without prompting. Just little things, you’re not sure why you’ve fixated on them.

The conversation you had with Eddie as he painted your nails at the cabin, for example. Talking about high school and the stupid shit you’d gotten up to. Specifically, the pact: you and Eds, your parents away on business, and an empty house.

“Yeah, but I gave my v-card to you Eds,” you say, the scent of nail polish invading your nostrils.

“Pfft, on a technicality.”

You sputter indignantly, “Whaddya mean by that?” Shooing him away from your nails to blow them dry, “I give you the greatest gift I have to give and you swoop in and take a dump on me like that?!”

He laughs, moving onto your next hand, brush dipping back into the bottle of polish. “Yeah, such a travesty,” he teases you, “Everyone else has to get a sweater, huh?”

“Fuck off for real chump,” you grouse, “You should be so lucky.”

“I know babe, you’re always a delight.”

It was nice, all things considered; you wouldn’t change a thing. Steve was weird for a bit afterwards, but other than that no notes.

Eddie was good like that, your resident fuckbuddy and “safe dick” during the lulls in your respective romantic lives.

Or when Nancy, slightly sloshed after dinner, pointed out something during the bonfire later that same trip.

“C’mon babe,” Nancy tuts, sipping from her glass of wine, “You and Steve have been orbiting each other for years.”

“We’re friends!” you defend, voice a scoff, “Just friends.”

Nancy laughs, sets her glass down on the table. “Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself, Trouble,” she stands and stretches, blanket falling from her shoulders. She sets you with a look, a fond one tinged with concern. “But friends don’t look at each other like that.” Nods to where Steve and Eddie sit across the firepit from you.

It’s there and gone in a split second; for a fleeting moment, Steve looks at you hung the moon or something. The next, his eyes shift back to Eddie, nodding along with whatever he’d said.

Huh, you think, that’s … different.

Nancy throws the blanket over her arm and grabs her glass, ready to head in for the night. Crouches beside you, hand settling against your shoulder, head bent close to yours, “He’s never stopped that,” her breath brushes against your heated skin.

“Stopped what?”

She smiles, firelight illuminating the fond pull of her lips, “Looking at you like you’re the only star in the sky.”

These are the thoughts that torment you and bring up other instances you hadn’t considered as significant before: Steve designating you as his plus one for nearly every family function he’d been drug to, your parents looking at the pair of you with knowing smiles despite your insistence of “just friends,” Mrs. Harrington knowing you by name and Nancy as “the Wheeler girl,” your exes being perpetually possessive over you and jealous of Steve.

The list goes on and on.

It’s as if everyone was privy to knowledge that you didn’t have.

God. Had you really been so blind?

Curled up on the night before Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve-Eve as Robin insisted, sweater paws and blankets abound. Eddie and Robin were visiting their families, and Nancy had the usual Wheeler festivities. Leaving you and Steve alone at the loft, Steve’s parents opting to vacation somewhere warm while yours visit your brother in New Mexico. Cookies had been baked, flour and frosting still dusting the counters; a panoply of colors and sprinkles.

It’s a Wonderful Life played softly in the background, black and white images flitting across the screen. Somewhat a secret tradition between the two of you, watching the holiday classic without the usual obnoxious running commentary.

Your hand finds his chest in excitement, “This parts my–”

“Favorite,” he drawls, “I know, honey.”

Steve’s hand drops from your shoulder to nudge your face back to the screen, fingers caressing your jaw, the high point of your cheek, “If you don’t look now, you’re gonna miss it.”

His eyes flit back up to the film, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

Lips moving along and whispering George Bailey’s lines: “What is it that you want Mary? Whaddya want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

Your hand reaches up and presses against his stubble, scratching your palm. Its familiar scrape has rested upon your head countless times. You could cry as you push back the errant hair that’s fallen across his face, returning the gestures he’s always done for you.

And in that moment, it all falls into place.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good idea,” you rasp, picking up where he left off. “I’ll give you the moon, Stevie.”

Your bare legs peak out from underneath the blanket, one hand on your thigh, the sleeves of his stolen sweatshirt loose and engulfing your fingers. The hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath – it makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He is so, so fucked.

“What...” he trails off, thought gone before he’d even begun.

He feels split open, like the sky after a storm. Torn up completely, unable to grasp anything in his own turbulence. All because you’re looking at him like you’ve realized something.

Fuck.

You’ve always been an oblivious idiot, too stubborn for your own good, a dumbass with no survival instincts, heart on your sleeve. He’s counted on that to conceal his big, fat, stupid crush on you. And it had worked, all throughout high school, college, and the devastating news of your engagement.

Worked like a charm, up until it didn’t. And now he’s caught out, your scope trained on him like he’s a lone stag in an open field. You’ve lined up the shot, all that’s left is to pull the trigger.

Steve doesn’t think he can bear it.

“Don’t,” he pleads into the silence, head tipped up to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut in pre-emptive heartbreak. “Don’t say it–”

“Then I won’t,” you say before miming locking your lips and throwing away the key. Calm and patient as you settle your way into his lap again.

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million different outcomes and failing each time. Relationships have never quite worked out for him; too stupid, too jealous, too little, too late.

Steve had gotten better; dated a few girls, and liked them a lot too, but they never worked out how he’d planned. And this one–this one, he really can’t fuck up.

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The curve of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your chin and the way your hair shifts— wavy strands framing your face.

Steve’s mind blessedly stills as your lips brush his — warm and eager, coaxing his own to move at your touch, “Stop thinking Steve,” your breath fans across his lips, “And just kiss me.”

It’s surreal. He’s there, in one sense, with you curled up in his lap, watching as you press against him—palms to his chest, hips slotting against his own.

But Steve is also recalling nights at the cabin, back in November. You, idiot that you are, without pajamas and wearing one of his shirts instead, legs bare underneath the covers. He’d woken up every day of that god forsaken trip pressed against you, sleeping better than he had in months, and painfully aware of his hard on against the perfect curve of your ass.

And you, thankfully, had never said a thing about it. And he’d never brought it up; he was mindful to give you space and extricate himself as quietly as possible before an icy cold shower.

Steve feels like he’s in two places at once, the same inscrutable emotion suspended across space and time.

“It’s just me.” You say, comfortable and lighthearted. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer, a familiar color and gaze calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do, honey.”

He’s scared to death, terrified and dizzy. Because Steve’s known for a while now, this is it for him. You are it, alpha and omega, beginning and end, as above so below. And it’s not at all how he thought it would be.

It’s quiet and hesitant, the seconds stretching into horrible eons of passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes tracing his face.

The knowing is what gets him. He’s never been one for genre conventions, more comfortable with the reliability of indisputable fact. And he’s flummoxed to learn that two things can be true at the same time.

It’s everything and nothing like the writers, artists, and visionaries say. Steve is in love with you: fact. Some part of him has known this since you scaled his fence, mistaking it for yours, as you tried to sneak back in your house after missing your curfew all those summers ago: fact.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s fleeting glances across crowded hallways, laughs echoing from classrooms, waking up in a daze having dreamt of you, last minute road trips and running through terminals to catch flights; but it’s also the melancholy as you leave for yet another date, lingering touches when you round the desk of his classroom, soft smiles meant just for him.

He really can’t fuck this up. A chance with you and your chaos, your kindness, and quick wit. It’s overwhelming, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore during a storm. Insurmountable, the pressure dissipating in his chest as he realizes it.

Steve flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself, do it, you coward, just fucking do it— and, god help him, he does.

Then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorched trails everywhere they touch, and Steve thrums like a strike of lightning trying to catch his breath.

Steve watches the way you pull him toward you, glowing and euphoric with kiss-swollen lips, and fucking Christ, he knows.

The next morning brings a swell of guilt rising in your chest, and you know that the events of last night cannot happen again.

Kissing Steve, your best friend, like it wasn’t some cataclysmic thing– you were such a fucking idiot. It was too much and too soon, and you’d somehow already fucked it up before it could begin.

You’d never been so grateful for Robin’s shitty timing, but her drunkenly stumbling in the loft with Vickie in tow had been enough for you to disentangle yourself from Steve and hightail it to the opposite end of the couch.

His eyes were wide, lips pink and cheeks fevered— he wouldn’t stop looking at you.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

You exchanged greetings with Robin and Vickie before excusing yourself and heading to bed. Nancy said you could use her room for the night, so you quietly shut the door and failed to will yourself to sleep.

Now, it’s the morning of Christams Eve and you’re cleaning up the kitchen. Steve wandered in earlier, and methodically gathered the glasses and plates from the haphazard dinner you’d shared last night, only to deposit them in the sink next to you.

His fingers trailed against your forearm, sleeve rucked up as you sprayed and wiped the countertops ridding them of flour and cookie dough.

You fail to suppress your surprised gasp at the sensation, soft and warm, with enough latent promise to give you goosebumps allover.

He lingers, fingers grasped around your elbow now. Three successive taps to ask are you okay?

Robin and Vickie’s voices trail down the hall, letting you know they’re up even if the door hasn’t opened just yet.

You swallow, finding that you’re unable to respond verbally, throat dry and tight. Nor are you able to tap back, as per your code, hands busy with cleaning. Instead, you rock back into his frame with a sigh and allow his arm to wrap around your hips.

Content with a job well done, you leave the spray and cloth on the counter and turn to face him. And, confirming Nancy’s observation, Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at; his hazel eyes soft, the green giving way to flecks of gold around his pupil, but tinged with apprehension.

And damn, if it doesn’t make you want to kiss him again.

But you can’t and you need to stop this before it goes any further.

While there are feelings there, for the both of you (you hope), you are nowhere near ready to have that discussion with Steve. Nor do you want to unnecessarily complicate matters. You’d only just began casually dating again, for fuck’s sake.

“Steve I–,” you croak out before he stops you with his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. He’s somehow backed you against the countertop, effectively caging you in.

And you know if you asked or signaled that you were uncomfortable in any way, he’d let you go. But you find that you aren’t, in fact, you feel the opposite, Steve’s weight against you is soothing in a way; as if he’s a perfect blend of a man too attractive for his own good and a weighted blanket.

Odd metaphor, but your addled brain allows it.

He doesn’t try to kiss you again, though the weaker part of you wouldn’t be opposed, but simply takes you in, his eyes roving across your face and body. As if he could discern your emotion or anticipate what you’d been trying to say.

His thumb settles along the notch of bone at your hip, tracing circles through the fabric of his your hoodie. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he swallows, your eyes following the movement of his throat and the constellation of freckles there.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says eventually, voice soft but resigned.

You stare up at him, eyes wide and can feel the heat creeping up your body in embarrassment. Your hand finds purchase against his shoulder, settling there while your thumb traces the line of his collarbone.

“I mean, I’d like to,” he clears his throat, “Eventually. But I know you’re going through a lot and I’d hate to add to that, so.” His glances down at his feet, a lovely flush on his cheeks matching the ruddy tone of his lips.

Shit, you really need to stop staring at his lips.

“Okay.”

He gives your hips a reassuring squeeze and pushes himself upright. Steve turns to check the clock on the microwave, eyes catching the time.

“Ready for your present?”

He’s all smiles now, eyes glinting with mischief as you let out an exasperated pfft and roll your eyes. Steve treated gift-giving like it was a competition to be won, and Steve always won, without fail from year to year.

With a nod from you, he drags you over to the chaotically decorated Christmas tree in the living room and sits down in front of it while you plop down on the ottoman. Another thing he insists on, Steve always plays Santa and hands out gifts to everyone, the one’s he’d purchased them go first, without saying.

Neither of you can remember when it started, but the pair of you always exchanged one gift on Christmas Eve. And you worked for years to get the gifts down to a certain budget and number, but somehow Steve “forgot” that agreement more and more as each year passed on.

Despite growing up in the Harrington household, which abided by strict holiday themes and color schemes under his mother’s guiding hand, Steve could not be fucked to 1) wrap a gift with any sense of order or presentation and 2) have thematic wrapping paper or accoutrements.

Which is how an impossibly wrapped gift proclaiming ‘Merry Rexmas!’ from shiny green T-Rexes with far too much tape and not enough wrapping paper ended up in your hand. It was also, based on its lack of weight, something that definitely should have gone in a gift bag.

He sets you with a smirk, “Go on then, open it,” your gift for him in his hand. The lights from the tree twinkle behind him, casting Steve in a warm glow and you look to the task at hand to avoid doing something stupid.

Again.

You peel back the paper and tape to reveal a soft gray leather stamped with your initials. “It’s beautiful,” you say, as you continue to unwrap it, thumb skimming over smooth surface.

Steve watches as you do so. “There’s uh,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper, “More on the inside.”

You quirk a brow in interest and pull the zip to open it up. Inexplicably, he’s moved all the contents of your previous wallet to this new one, you can’t help but laugh. Fingers tripping along the contents, you pull the flap at the back of the wallet to reveal not cash, but plane tickets.

“What?”

He moves from his position in front of the tree closer to you, hand settling along the ottoman. “I figured you could use a break.”

“Steve, this is too much. I–,” you stop before you give away how overcome you are. You blink back the tears threatening to fall and swallow in an effort to soothe your rapidly closing throat.

He’s quiet, contemplating whether you’re really upset with him over the extravagance of his gift. When your hand finds his, he’s reassured. He watches as you pull the tickets from the wallet and eye them warily.

You clear your throat, thumb skimming across the back of his hand, and say far too calmly, “These are for this afternoon. And there’s a ticket here with your name on it, oddly enough.”

“Huh,” he smirks, “How about that.”

“What are you playing at Harrington?”

Steve stands up, stretching casually before making his way to the hallway. You trail after him with furtive whispers of his name, needling him for some semblance of a response. He disappears into his room for a moment and returns with a backpack slung over his shoulder and not one but two rolling bags, one in white and the other in black.

“That’s not my luggage,” you say when he stops in front of you.

It’s decidedly not your luggage because you’ve been meaning to replace it for years since it’s falling apart at the seams. Too many excursions where it had taken a beating, whether thrown into the cargo hold of a plane or strapped to the top of a rickshaw or bus, clinging on for dear life. No tag or branding in sight, but you notice the two TSA locks and leather luggage tag and file it away for further investigation.

“It is now,” is his reply as he walks you back to the living room. He places your Christmas present to him in his backpack and zips it back up before turning to you. “As much as I love the look Trouble,” he smirks, eyes working you up and down, “I think the TSA are going to insist on pants, of some kind.”

Your face colors remembering your current state. Overheated as you baked cookies the night prior, you shucked your yoga leggings and threw them on a sofa somewhere before promptly forgetting about them as the night carried on.

Locating them, you pull them hastily back on. “But I’m not packed,” you point out. Rightfully so, since the majority of your wardrobe still resides in your former home with your ex-fiancé. “And I don’t even know where we’re going. Plus,” you continue walking toward him, “I haven’t even agreed to this ridiculous idea of yours.”

Steve grins at your petulance, he’d anticipated it in fact. “Nancy helped me out, no need to worry,” he taps the white suitcase at his feet. He steps closer to you, thumb landing at the center of your chin while his other fingers fall into place curled underneath your chin and prompts you to look up at him.

“Now,” he begins, voice soft and steady, “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. But you’d mentioned wanting to get away and it was either this or spring break.” His breath fans along your cheeks, and you can pick up the scent of his coffee from earlier. “The choice is yours.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

With a sigh, you grab your new wallet and check for your phone in your leggings. Determining that as sufficient, you run a hand through your hair and say, “Did you bring my—”

“Your ridiculous pillow that makes you look like a hostage when you sleep?” He smiles and does nothing to prevent his laughter at your extravagant sleep routine. “Why yes, in fact,” he takes your hand and leads you to the door to grab your coat, purse, and shoes, “I got you the travel size so you can horrify all the passengers on the plane.”

“Lucky me,” you grouse, toeing on your boots in a huff.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a smile, “Something like that.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #fanfiction #teacher!steve #stranger things #reader insert #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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cavinginhisfvce · 2 years ago

Text

'I can explain, please...'

part two!!

Pairing: Harringrove.

Angst. Hurt/comfort. Not Nancy Wheeler friendly.

(Disclaimer: I don't really care or not care for her, but it's just a fic so it's not that deep. I am not trying to stir any pots, she was just a small pawn in a big game.)

While Steve spoke, it felt like Billy's world was crashing in ways it hadn't all those days ago when the students of Hawkins High were all too eager to tell the universe Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were an item again.

Steve, who had basically been Billy's boyfriend for months.

Steve, who told him he was beautiful, who told him he was something to be cherished, and loved.

Steve, who was unknowingly the balm that soothed all of Billy burns, both literal and figurative.

In truth, the blond wasn't listening. He couldn't get himself to. He could hear Steve pleading with him to understand that he cared about Billy. Was begging for him to understand that he never meant to hurt him.

It didn't matter because; none of what left his mouth told Billy why Steve had done this.

Billy couldn't listen to his mindless ramblings, not how he did when he and Steve were something. Regularly, he could listen to Steve rant about nearly anything, just glad to hear the elder's soothing voice. Glad to be someone Steve had felt comfortable with to talk about all the things he thought nobody but himself found interesting.

Steve seemed to realize that eventually. Billy's lack of response could attest to that.

The brunet had fallen shut after a failed attempt at eye contact with the boy.

It felt like hours before Billy broke the tense silence, his voice steady despite the shaking of his body and the tears gathering at his lower lash line.

"I don't care about excuses. Don't sugarcoat this shit, Harrington!"

Billy pauses, attempting to compose himself.

Steve didn't deserve Billy's anger, or his hurt. He didn't deserve shit.

"You ditched me for that bitch Wheeler, and couldn't even be man enough to tell me about it prior!"

The elder immediately stood up straighter, his jaw tightening, "don't call her that! Be mad at me, but don't call her that. She is one, and you have every right to be pissed, but I left you. Not her, take your anger out on me." Steve's own anger didn't feel right. To Steve himself it felt more like a reflex than it did genuine anger. He shouldn't care about Billy calling her a bitch, because everyone knew she was one. His anger felt forced at best, a reaction from a lifetime ago. Before a catastrophe and a half ago.

Something close to a hysterical laugh bubbled from Billy's chest, his head thrown back as his eyes pinched shut.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Harrington?! You stroll in here to basically rub in my face that you didn't want me, then you have the fucking nerve to get upset because I called your bitch, a bitch? Then you try to what? Plead your shitty ass case in the meanwhile?

You're a real funny guy, y'know that?"

Steve's facial expression almost immediately morphed into something less angry, and more hurt. For what? Billy didn't fucking know.

"Billy...you really think I didn't...don't want you?" He sounded small, like whatever Billy had said somehow caused him pain. As if Billy wasn't the one barely fucking keeping it together.

"Is that a rhetorical question or a joke?"

Billy, despite himself, lets out the laugh he could feel bubbling in his throat, his eyes tearing up.

"I want you. I really fucking do, Billy. Please…"

The blond can't handle the earnest expression on Steve's face. Can't stomach how gutted he looks.

"Then, why would you—" He trails off, his fingers curling into fists, undoubtedly leaving marks in the wake of his nails.

The elder reaches out for Billy, uncurling one of his fists to take his hand in his. "Just listen to me, please, Sunshine…"

If Billy wanted to argue, the name Steve called him had washed it away, and the boy found himself shakily nodding.

Steve took a deep breath, his grip on Billy's hand tightening just a bit. "She told me she was pregnant...said it was mine. And I stupidly believed her." He pauses, scoffing as he shakes his head. Billy feels a ringing building up in his ears, but he lets the boy finish. Doesn't want to jump to conclusions. It wouldn't help. He knows it'd only hurt him and the situation.

Instead, he squeezes Steve's hand, his jaw clenching.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. The honorable thing. I finally sat down and really thought of it all, and I realized there was no way her child could be mine."

Billy, despite how angry and hurt he still feels, looks at Steve. His doe eyes always gave away if he was lying. Billy learned that early on, but he'd never told Steve as much, in hindsight he supposes it was a good thing.

It's relieving when there's not even the slightest trace of a lie in those brown eyes.

"Robin also overheard Nancy telling one of her stupid fucking friends that she'd only told me it was mine because Jonathan has a future and I don't…" He sounds like it pains him to share that part, which Billy is sure it does. His path, so to speak, had always been a sore spot for Steve. He was always just barely scraping by in classes up until Billy strolled into his life and started helping him.

It makes Billy irrationally angry. For so many reasons. But the main ones being, Steve had essentially dropped him. He dropped him to be a halfway decent man. Only to find out it was a lie and just another way for Nancy fucking Wheeler to mess with Steve.

In truth, knowing why didn't make Billy feel any better, because there was still this overpowering blanket of hurt, hurt, hurt. Steve abandoned him. Couldn't even be bothered to tell Billy.

He probably knew any attempts would be met with anger.

Which, fair.

But, still shitty and painful as fuck.

However, if there was one thing that could easily overpower Billy's hurt, it was the broken look on Harrington's face. The look that told him a few things.

Like, this situation had been less about Wheeler specifically, and more about Steve's insistent need to do the right thing.

It told him that in spite of Steve's decision, it was never the one he wanted to make.

It also gave away the fact that Steve so desperately longed to wrap Billy up in his arms.

And Billy? Well, he's always been a fucking fool for Steve Harrington.

So, with that in mind, he steps closer to Steve, who almost immediately sees the offer for what it is, and pulls Billy into his arms.

It feels like home, like safety and solace. Which frightens Billy to a degree, because just minutes before he was worried he'd never feel this safe again.

No room, or place could ever give him the same security as being tucked against Steve's chest, his face pressed into the fabric of the elder's preppy ass shirt.

If the way Steve melts with the boy in his arms is anything to go off of, Billy thinks Steve may feel similarly.

He really hopes so.

It's silent for a while, both of them just taking the moment for what it is. What it could be.

Steve's voice is soft, but leaking with vulnerability, "I'm so goddamn sorry, babyboy. You deserve so much better. You deserve better than what I did. But, please…" he tightens his hold on Billy, "please let me make it right. Let me be the person you deserve, because I know I can be. I know I can be, Billy." He pulls back just enough to glance down at piercing blue eyes, "I want to make this right. I should've never done this to you…" his voice breaks, and all Billy wants to do is kiss him until they're both struggling to breathe, and are giggling like fucking schoolgirls.

Billy, ever the impatient one, leans up and presses his lips to Steve's, effectively silencing the brunet's unnecessary pleading.

Not that Steve's knows it's unnecessary, because Billy had yet to tell him.

But, Steve seems to get it for the time being, easily melting into the kiss, his hands gripping Billy's waist, tugging him closer. Billy catches the moment Steve's eyes flutter shut, before his own are following suit.

He finds it's a sight he wants to see for as long as he can.

It could be minutes or hours before Billy is pulling away, a hand cupping Steve's cheek. "You can make this right. On the condition that you understand if you ever pull some shit like this on me ever again, me and Max have an aunt in California whose wife, who will castrate a man with little to no questions asked." His words are accompanied by a smile, but Steve isn't stupid enough to think he's joking. Max has told him about said aunt in the past.

He visibly shutters, but is met by sweet, sweet laughter. Billy's nose scrunches in that way. The way that makes Steve want to keep Billy wrapped up in a blanket, away from the harms of the world.

Harms, like whoever put those nasty bruises on his boy's body.

There's questions dying in his throat. He wants to ask. Has to ask, but he knows this moment is too fragile to taint. There will be stronger, safer times to ask. And Steve will.

But for now, he settles on nodding, "I hear you, Little Boy Blue." There's a sly smirk on his lips, like he knows there's a smack in his future. And he's right, because Billy is letting out a squawk and slapping his arm twice. Not hard, never hard. But, not feathery either. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

Steve, once again nods, before he's claiming Billy's lips with his, mumbling against them, "I'm your asshole though, right?" It's posed as a question, but there's an almost hidden layer of vulnerability there. Like he needs to be assured.

Billy finds himself needing it too, and this time it's his turn to nod, a small smile playing on his features, "yeah, you are. You're my preppy asshole."

He doesn't give him a chance to answer before he's kissing him again, his arms wrapping around Steve's neck as the pair folds into said kiss.

There's an affronted noise when Billy pulls away, his face is serious, as he looks up at the taller, "Oh, and fuck Nancy Wheeler."

This time it's Steve who smiles, his grip on the smaller tightening in a securing hold, "fuck Nancy Wheeler. You were right, she is a bitch."

That seems to be enough for Billy who immediately dips in and kisses Steve again, his fingers gripping the tips of the hairs gracing the back of Steve's neck.

Yeah, okay. Maybe Steve could explain.

#billy hargrove #billy antis dni #billy hargrove deserved better #billy hargrove protection squad #harringrove #steve harrington #harringrove angst #harringrove angst/comfort #billy gets the love he deserves #steve fucked up #but hes gonna make things right #harringrove fanfiction #billy is angry and he has every right to be #steve isnt sure why he defended Nancy but he probably never will again #she fucked him over #tw implied child abuse #harringrove drabble #i can explain please

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sunshinemoonlightandstarbright · 2 years ago

Text

The Mirror of Desire

focus on the marauders

approx. 1100 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oi, you two. Shut it, else Filch will hear.”

A mumbled reply of “Sorry, Prongs” and “Yeah yeah whatever” float from beneath the shimmering fabric of the invisibility cloak.

“Seriously lads, sometimes it’s like you hate each other or something.” Peter joins.

“Nah. Moony and I just like a good argument sometimes,” Sirius grins into the dark,“Isn’t that right Remus?”

Remus hums noncommittally and swats Sirius’ hand when he jabs him in the ribs, teasing.

James pauses and points down the hall, “Alright, I think it’s that way.” He pauses to look down at the map in his hands and leads them further into the pitch black.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Remus asks.

"You'll see." James replies mysteriously.

They turn at the end of the corridor and enter a seemingly empty room. At the back stands a tall object covered by a cloth. Once they are all inside and the door is closed, James throws the invisibility cloak off of them and marches straight at the mysterious object. He rips the cloth off with a flourish and gestures dramatically at what is uncovered.

“A mirror?” Pete seems confused.

“Not just any old mirror. The mirror of Erised,” James explains.

“Erised?” Remus questions. “Let me guess, it shows our deepest desires? Someone was being a funny bugger.”

James squints his eyes at Remus, “How did you know?”

“Prongs.. Erised is desire spelt backwards.”

James’ eyes widen behind his glasses and he smacks himself on the forehead. “Merlin, how did I not see that?”

“Not many people are as clever as our Moony. Don’t compare yourself to him James.” Sirius says earnestly and smiles when he sees the flush that has risen to Remus’ face at the compliment.

James clears his throat. “Alright who’s first?”

Pete steps forwards towards the mirror and squeaks at what he sees.

“What do you see Wormy?” Sirius asks.

Pete stares at the scene in the glass, him being lifted up onto the shoulders of his friends and paraded around the common room, everyone chanting his name.

“Oh, I see myself going to collect a trophy. I think it’s the international wizards chess championships.”

“Wicked” Sirius responds.

“I’d say that’s an achievable goal Pete. No one plays chess like you.” James encourages Peter. “Okay it’s my turn now.” James steps in front of the mirror, smiling in anticipation. His smiles fades and he swallows harshly as his deepest desire takes shape. He sees himself crouching down next to a toddler that resembles him almost perfectly; brown skin and unruly black hair coupled with warm brown eyes. Almost perfectly, save for the finer bone structure and delicate features. No, those come from the man standing behind him, hand on his shoulder. Regulus smiles down at their child and squeezes James’ shoulder lovingly. He joins him on the floor and leans in to kiss his jaw. James watches on longingly in a trance. He can almost feels the ghost of a kiss on his skin.

“Hello? Prongs, are you in there?”

James is snapped out of his trance and turns to face Remus. He looks at him kindly and asks what he saw.

James forces a sheepish grin onto his face and lies, “Evans and I have a kid. He’s got my eyes and her hair.”

Sirius groans good-naturedly and shoves James out of the way “Such a family man, you are.” He watches the mirror expectantly and flinches when an image forms. It’s him and his family. Regulus is there, arm around his big brothers shoulders, smiling. Sirius has never seen Regulus this happy. Their parents stand behind them, except something is different. They seem softer. Kind. They don’t look so harsh, as if they would never even consider hurting their children. Like they would do anything to stop that from happening. Tears spring to Sirius’ eyes and he swipes at them angrily. He takes a moment to compose himself and turns to face the group.

“I saw my family. My real family. Effie and Monte, and you Prongs.” Sirius ruffles James’ hair and gestures for Remus to take his place in front of the mirror.

Remus tentatively walks towards the glass and pauses. He watches as a full moon begins to peak out from behind clouds. He braces himself for the transformation but it never comes. He waits, but all he sees is a boy, unencumbered by the harsh realities of the world they live in. His face is free of scars and his eyes are bright.

Remus continues watching himself and says, “I see me. But I’m not a werewolf.” I look happy, he thinks.

Silence follows and Pete breaks it with an idea. “Do you think it would work if we all stood in front of it? Like would it show our collective group desire?” They all pause to think and James shrugs and says, “Well it couldn’t hurt to try.”

They all shuffle in front of the mirror and wait.

“Nothing’s changing,” Pete says.

“Patience, Wormy.” Sirius scolds.

They all stare, entranced, as the image in front of them begins to change. They watch themselves age. They grow taller, their faces mature, and they stand straighter.

“We’re getting old! Look! Sirius, you’re starting to get wrinkles!” Peter starts excitedly.

Normally, Sirius would bite back, but he was too busy watching as his older versions hand drifts closer to Remus’. He flicks his eyes to Remus to see that his gaze is fixated on that same region. Their hands meet in the middle, and young Remus looks up at Sirius to see that he is already watching him. Sirius blushes and looks away, going back to seeing himself age.

Remus stares at their hands joined in the mirror. He knows Sirius sees it too. The way his cheeks turned red when Remus caught him staring confirmed it. Remus’ heart begins beating harder as he flexes his fingers and slowly moves them across the space between him and Sirius.

James and Peter are still engrossed by their ageing selves and don’t notice when Sirius flinches and then slides his fingers between Remus’.

“I can’t believe our deepest desire is just to be old. That’s so boring.” Peter complains.

“Come on Petey, don’t be like that. We’re going to grow old together, isn’t that nice?” James argues.

“Yeah, I guess. But I still wish we saw something that would never happen, like us all being world famous quidditch players on the same team or something. That would be more exciting. Because we already know this is going to happen.”

“Yeah.” Remus says softly.

“I can’t wait to grow old with you,” Sirius speaks to them all, but his eyes are on Remus.

#i hurt myself writing this #just really twisted the dagger #obviously im aware that james and regulus cant have a biological kid but just let me dream #also everyone lying about their desires except for remus #and james saying that the kid had the opposite festures to what harry cannonically does #crying at sirius just wanting a happy family #and peter being embarassed about wanting to be appreciated #my poor babies #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #wolfstar #jegulus #marauders #marauders fandom #marauders era #oneshot #that last line is the best thing ive ever written

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hopelessromantic5 · 8 months ago

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That scene from Peaky Blinders with the nuns but it’s Merlin and Arthur and they DO NOT PLAY ABOUT THE CHILDREN

TW!!! Check the tags!!!!

“Arthur if you don’t do something about it then I will.”

It was the first thing out of Merlin’s mouth when he charged into the King’s chambers that morning, the sun not yet peeking above the horizon.

Arthur didn’t bother looking up from his desk just yet.

“Gods above, what is it now, Merlin?” There was no bite or malice in his tone, any longer. Long chased away by fond exasperation.

“Arthur.”

His head snapped up, to meet his magical manservant’s gaze head on.

It must be severe, whatever the case. Arthur hadn’t heard that tone of voice from Merlin in some years.

The moment the King’s eyes fell on the other man’s face, his whole demeanor changed. Merlin had been crying. His cheeks and eyes were red and swollen but the emotion that resided there was not sorrow.

It was pure rage.

“What is it?” It was quiet and almost soft in comparison to his previous question.

Arthur’s instincts told him to go to Merlin, to comfort him and dry the last of his tears. (The Almighty Emrys hardly ever allows Arthur to witness them. Choosing to suffer alone than trust Arthur not to chastise him. The King knows he was an arrogant fool in his youth, but he thought they’d moved past hiding long ago.) The look on Merlin’s face told him to listen first.

“Do you remember the nuns?” He asked between clenched teeth, jaw flexing.

“The nuns that run the orphanage?”

Merlin nodded once. “A child, who was previously in their care, hung herself last night just outside the gates.”

All the air left the King’s chest. He was on his feet without the thought of doing so.

“What?! How could they have allowed such a thing to happen? Where were they wh- wait, why did she…” he trailed off, as the realization finally landed, and the endless list of unimaginable things that could’ve happened to that child ran through his head, circumstances Arthur couldn’t have dreamed in his worst night terror, things he’d heard coming out of other Kingdoms, acts that when they were relayed to him through word of mouth his blood ran ice cold. (He had a list of names in the locked drawer of his desk, kings and lords and blacksmiths and ladies maids, mothers, fathers, anyone he had ever heard was harming children in their care or even in their vicinity. Their time left on this Earth would not be pleasant, if Arthur had anything to say about it.)

“How old was she?” He whispered, stricken and stumbling back into his chair.

“She was nine summers old. She was funny and outgoing and, as one of the oldest, she made it her mission to make the others feel cared for and seen. And normal.” The raven boy’s stark blue eyes were gazing out the window, looking at nothing at all, eyebrows still furrowed in frustration. He took a big deep breath. “Teresa. Her name was Teresa.” Arthur nodded and channeled as much sympathy as he possibly could into a single look.

“The nuns made her wash with a different soap than everyone else. They would lock her away on sunny days when the others got to play. When she spoke out against this abuse, she got lashes. On her back, on her thighs-“ Merlin was crying again, and Arthur’s vision was blurring, blinking them back. “Arthur, there must’ve been twenty different sets of scars. Wounds healing just long enough to be able to survive when the next ones came…and every time I visited, she told me everything was fine. I never even suspected that she wasn’t being truthful, I was a willfully blind idiot. That brings me back to my initial statement. If you don’t do something about it, I will.”

“Of course we’re going to do something about it. And we’re going to do it now, but we need the round table as guards and also to escort the children to the keep when it’s over.” Arthur was up again, but remained at the desk, making a list and talking at the same time. “We may be forced to have a trial just for appearances, but-“ he stopped, having a thought. “How did you find this out Merlin? You said you never knew…before.”

“Initially, it was Gwen. After Gaius told me she was gone, Gwen came to me and told me that she couldn’t in good conscience keep her suspicions to herself. Gwen and Teresa had been much closer, for obvious reasons-“

“Wait, what obvious reasons? They’re both women?”

Merlin looked confused for the first time in the conversation.

“No, w-“ He searched Arthur’s face and when he only saw more confusion, he said,

“Teresa had dark skin, Arthur, like Gwen and Elyan, I thought you knew-“

“Hold on! Is that why the nuns…” Merlin could only nod, morosely.

Merlin and Arthur were mirroring each other’s untamable rage.

Without another word, the King led them out of the room, in search of Leon.

They sat across a dark wooden table, three nuns on the other side.

“You wanted to speak with us, your majesty?”

“Yes.” Arthur nodded once, hands gripped white on the arm of his chair. Yet his face remained unaffected, the perfect picture of regal grace. Perhaps it was muscle memory to him, Merlin was not blessed with ability to keep his emotions from his sleeve.

“All of us, sire? At 6:30 in the morning?”

“Yes.” The King replied, cool. Merlin began to wonder the room, looking in cupboards and checking drawers. Some of which were locked.

The head nun hissed at him.

“Get away from there, fool, have you lost your mind?”

“I’ll do as I damn well please.” Merlin tosses over his shoulder, yet even Arthur can feel the venom laced into the words.

“We do not use language in the house of the lord.” She appeared to be scandalized.

This halted Merlin’s pilfering, he began to approach her.

“Nor do we ‘find fault in the innocent.’ Yet, you do.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You fucking do.”

Beside Arthur, Leon looked somewhat worried about his manservant’s intentions. Leon was the last of his knights to be made aware of Merlin’s ‘gifts’, while he was mostly accepting and curious, there was also something else. Arthur couldn’t tell if Leon began to protect he and his men from Merlin, or if he was protecting Merlin from everyone else.

The nun looked from Merlin to Arthur as if waiting for him to be reprimanded by his master.

When there was no sign of it, she sighed and crossed her hands in front of her body.

“May I ask what this meeting is about?”

“The Crown of Camelot is the only reason your orphanage was able to open its doors and feed these children that would’ve otherwise starved. Giving them a place to live when they would’ve otherwise been homeless. You are aware of this, yes, sister?”

“For which we give thanks.” Her eyes were downcast but Merlin saw the hint of panic there.

He stepped in.

“Reports of a most alarming nature have been reaching the King’s ear, Sister Mary.” He circled the three of them like a hawk circling prey. “It seems you and I have similar tempers, yet unlike you, I wait until I’m matched in size.” He practically spit at her as he spoke.

“And whom, may I ask, reported this to the king?”

“No need to worry about that, Sister. I have all the evidence I need. Children, when kept safe and comfortable, will actually say quite a bit.” The King had spoken to a few of the children before arriving here, he sent them to the keep immediately after.

“Who have they spoken to?”

“You’d have them only speak to God?” Merlin offered.

She sent daggers at him with her eyes.

“God be their witness.”

“There is God and then there is the Crown. This is Camelot, we are in Albion. I am much much closer at hand than God.” Arthur smiled but it was villainous, sinister in a way that sends one of the nuns running out of the room.

“We have in this place, children of the worst sort. They lie as easily as breathe.”

“You had a darker skinned child in your care. You made her wash with a different soap.” Merlin was not allowing her to blame those poor children.

“Sire, your own knights’ sins are legend.”

“Our sins?” Leon spoke for the first time. “Our sins, against the beating of children with whips and tree branches? Our sins…our sins against the child who hanged herself for fear of your temper?”

“I do not see how-“

“Oh, you do not see…” Merlin reached over the table and ripped the glasses off her face, slammed them back down on the table, crushing them.

He held her eye.

“Now put them on.” His breathing was heavy. “Put them on your face, or it will be your eyes that are broken.”

After another beat of silence, his voice, quiet yet slicing,

“Please don’t imagine that I won’t use this minute to do it, or that I am afraid of your prayers, or your crosses.”

After a hesitant look around the room, she slowly picked up the crushed frames and placed them back on her face.

“You see the world broken. Like those beaten children will.” Merlin finally backed away from the table and resumed his search of the premises.

“Now look at me.” The King commanded. She did not obey.

“Look at me!” His voice boomed and echoed through the room. She flinched and did as she was told.

“Funding withdrawn. You will leave Camelot, and Albion, if you are smart and I will never see your faces in my kingdom again. Unless you wish to see the full extent of my wrath.” He stood, as did Leon. Looks of absolute disgust on their faces.

“All children will be taken into the care of the crown.”

“You have no say in where the children-“ she was interrupted by the sound of a small, sharp knife its sheath. The point of Merlin’s blade was aimed at her throat.

“If I come for you, and I still might yet decide to come for you, I will bring an army so that you may hear our approach, and have time to repent.”

With that, he left. Following his King right out the door. Never to step foot in that establishment again.

The ‘orphanage’ was permanently moved into the castle, and every child made a ward of a the King. It made the castle alive with youth and laughter.

Merlin and Arthur realized after a few years, that they were practically married, and parents to a hoard of wonderful children. So they were married and the entire kingdom rejoiced.

#merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin and arthur #merthur fic #merthur #Peaky blinders rewrite #tw: child abuse #tw: child suicide

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troublcmakcrs · 1 year ago

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▸ @mysqueerion ⟶ ❛ (( @ craig )): “Pizza will never cheat on you.” ❜ ╱ ( about pizza , accepting . )

Craig did not know if he had ever been cheated on before, and if he had, he didn’t care about it. The most serious relationship he’d ever had had been with Tweek, and he thought it would have been a mercy to have Tweek cheat on him. It would have meant that he was not completely alone in dealing with the other’s bullshit, that somebody else was taking care of him, just more quietly and behind the scenes. Maybe Craig wouldn’t have stayed with him until things literally blew up if he hadn’t felt so much like Tweek’s one connection to the outside world.

Maybe Craig had even done what some people considered ‘emotional cheating’ on Tweek, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t immediately nullify his crush on Heidi Turner or his desire for a girlfriend just because he felt like he had to be with Tweek, and maybe some of that spilled over and got noticed by someone who privately thought him terrible for it.

Since Tweek, he had tried to date casually, to middling success. Nothing ever got serious or ever lasted long enough to be considered a real partnership. It was mostly just him hanging out with people—like Clara behind the funnel cake stand, whose brown eyes caught dazzling topaz at sunset. That had just been one of those summer things, spurned on by the warm evening air and the brilliance of the world around them, and it lasted three weeks. She found him disagreeable outside of work, boring against the monochromatic backdrop of reality, and she told him so one night. He hadn’t said much back to her and certainly didn’t stop her when she turned on her heel and left in a huff, and he ate far fewer funnel cakes. He didn’t miss her. Had she been seeing other guys during that time, it would not have gutted him.

He sighed, which was supposed to be an attempt at a laugh, but Kenny’s words were not especially funny, and he could not gather up the will to pretend like they were. “That’s some Facebook mom humor if I ever heard any,” he said, which was the subtlest way he had of conveying that it sounded like something his own mom would say.

Craig’s bitterest experience with cheating had not been experienced firsthand but instead came from his father, what he did to Craig’s mother, the subsequent messy divorce, the ruination of what had been one of South Park’s more stable families up to that point. His mother hadn’t even told them when she first found out, trying to quietly plan an escape, wanting to take her time to get things in order. Craig had thrown a wrench in those plans by catching his father in the act and needing to be pulled off the other woman he was with. Thomas shoved Craig in the car with profuse apologies to his date at the time, and he shut down the tirade that followed by saying, You’ll understand when you’re a little older, with such an anguished look, half on the boy in the passenger seat and half on the road in front of him, that it sapped Craig of most of his will to fight. He had stared out the window the rest of the way home and daydreamed about the future, when he would be old enough to understand why his father had done what he did. His jaw was set hard, and he quickly blinked away every rush of tears that came upon him in the fifteen minute drive back to the Tucker residence, determined to be more composed and dutiful and loyal, more of a man than his father was presently acting.

Well, he was a little older now, and he still didn’t really get it. Part of him did, and part of him didn’t. He had been tempted to cheat on Tweek, so he sympathized with that part of it, the tantalization of achieving happiness in a miserable situation by any means necessary. But he also hadn’t cheated on Tweek, though the desire had been there, and if any situation warranted cheating, it would have been that one. As far as he knew, neither of his parents were hitting each other or hearing voices or on drugs. They weren’t forced into it by someone else; they had chosen to get married. It had been more or less easy for Craig to resist cheating on Tweek—by the end, he was far too preoccupied to think much about entertaining any other flirtation—so he still didn’t know why his father did it when his mother was, by all accounts, fine. But he was trying, still working on conjuring up some empathy for his father’s side, never really getting there.

He looked over at Kenny, who had been stuffing himself and probably had not noticed Craig slipped off into thought. He had no idea what the dude had been on about, whether he was venting or trying to comfort Craig somehow or simply offering up one of his quintessentially Kenneth McCormick colloquialisms. “I mean, yeah, it sure won’t,” he said, certain his mystification was evident in the stitch of his eyebrows. “Are you good, dude? Did you break up with someone recently or something?”

#ic :: ( craig )#int :: ( answered )#ver :: college ( craig )#mysqueerion #//there was no reason for this to get so LONG jesus CHRIST #//anyway. here's your crenny. finally #//all 800+ words of it #//with a grand total of [counting on fingers] 4 sentences of respondable dialogue #//LMFAO

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fandommissingmoments · 2 years ago

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Physics Lessons (Dylan Lenivy)

Back home, Dylan had always found it easy to fall into the role of nerd. Sure, there had been times at school when he’d rather have figured out that he was good at anything else. Times when he hated that it was the frequency of radio transmission that stuck in his head, and not things that had larger followings to talk about. But summer camp changed all that. At Hackett’s Quarry he could be anyone he wanted to be. Nobody knew him, so if he decided he was going to be the funny man, he could take that plunge. If it failed, who cared? He’d never see those people again, and those that might have stayed in contact would be the good ones who wouldn’t care that he was a fulltime nerd as well as a funny man.

A week into camp, and Dylan thought he was doing well. Not once had somebody called him a nerd - at the very least, not in a malicious way. He laughed with Jacob even though back home he was the sort of jock he’d have avoided. He’d learnt to take the brashness of Kaitlyn on the chin because she was like that with everybody and not singling him out specifically. He’d even managed to speak to Ryan about a love of radio without coming on too strongly about the science behind it all, and the history that had been his obsession since childhood.

A young girl sat on the log near the fire pit. None of them were meant to be out, but he’d been tasked with the job of tracking down any wayward kids to make sure they were back in time for dinner. Emma had jumped at the chance to check the island with the treehouse, and that left him with the coast.

‘Hey,’ he said softly, hoping not to make the girl jump. She gave a start, but forced a small smile onto her face. The kind of smile he recognised as somebody trying to hide that they’d been upset. He tried desperately to remember her name. ‘You OK, Georgie?’

The girl nodded, the gesture slightly too much to be sincere, as she stood up.

Dylan shook his head and dropped to sit on the log beside her.

For a moment, he wondered if she might dash off back to the canteen herself. But, with a sigh far deeper than should have been possible for her, she dropped back to sit.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Prince was teasing me,’ she said, her attention on the toes of her shoes as she scuffed them in the dirt. ‘Said only nerds like physics.’

‘And there’s a problem with nerds?’ Dylan asked softly.

‘The way he said it there is,’ she grumbled, but he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I thought it’d be different here. But no. There’s…’ She looked at him quickly, a kid trying to find a word mean enough without swearing because she worried she’d get scolded for it.

‘Jerks?’ Dylan offered, before mentally berating himself. Mr. H had told them to be role models, that probably wasn’t the best way of doing that.

A small smile curled onto her face, and it made the comment worth it.

‘You know, cool people like physics too,’ he assured her.

‘Like who?’

Dylan took a breath, tried to school his features into something sincere enough that she’d understand he wasn’t just saying things to make her feel better. ‘I do.’

Georgie’s eyes widened dramatically. ‘You do?’

Dylan nodded, shifting on the log so that he was looking at her face on; she shifted to match him. ‘It’s how I got into the radio,’ he admitted. ‘But I wanted to be an astronaut when I was kid. So I tried to learn everything.’ He absently rubbed his jaw. ‘Radio kind of distracted me, though.’

‘Woah,’ she breathed, before her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

‘The only reason,’ he said, sensing where her thoughts had strayed to, ‘I’ve not done anything about it here, is because I thought people’d hate to think about school.’ He pulled a face, if only to gain a giggle from her.

‘But you would?’ Her eyes were bright, and Dylan wondered how anybody could have thought teasing her was a good thing to do. He made a note to tell Nick about it, to suggest that maybe Prince did some more sprints or something if his team lost. That was assuming Prince even liked the sports practice and wasn’t doing something else with his time.

‘If people want to learn, yeah. Now,’ he said, resting his hands on his knees and making a show of how difficult it was for him to stand, ‘I’m starving. Dinner?’

Georgie jumped up, the sadness of earlier seemed to have completely disappeared from her. Pride swelled in Dylan’s chest; perhaps if she could be brave enough to be herself at camp, he might find the courage to do the same eventually. But for now, having helped her with that was enough for him.

#Dylan Lenivy Fanfiction #The Quarry Fanfiction #Dylan Lenivy Missing Moments #The Quarry Missing Moments #Dylan Lenivy Headcanons #The Quarry Headcanons #Dylan Lenivy #The Quarry #Additional Character: Georgie

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sinvyrin · 2 years ago

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of shame and sin

Sinvyrin’s knees hit the cold floor and the sound of his laughter echoed flatly against the stone walls. He lifted his dead eyes, looking up and up at the venthyr whose feet didn't even dare touch the ground; there in his arms rested the blood elf’s sinstone, almost comically large. It only made Sin’s grin grow cheshire, stretching wide across his cheeks.

“You know,” he said, unable to help the mirthful tone despite how hoarse his voice was. “You'd think there was a better way than stones. I mean, the metaphor is very pretty and all, but then you poor bastards are stuck carrying them around and-- you know, you don't have a lot of muscle tone for someone who carries large rocks all d--”

A strangled cry was caught in Sin’s throat as the venthyr lifted a hand and began draining the anima from his body; the man’s expression was one of pure disgust. “And you would think,” he replied, the Harvester’s tone prim and tight, “that a man in a compromised position would learn to keep his mouth shut.”

The blood elf’s body sagged further onto the floor and left him on his hands and knees. It was painful and it was dizzying, but more than anything else it was so fucking funny and Sin couldn't stop laughing. It was a barely-there wheezing sound that the venthyr at first mistook as pain and seemed satisfied, but when Sinvyrin began to struggle to his feet again his expression rapidly fell to one of contempt and confusion.

“You know,” Sin started again, swaying as he stood up once more. “How long has it been-- months? Longer? Longer. And here's the thing about redemption.” Sin grinned wide as he stepped forward, lifting his chin to peer up at the venthyr. “Redemption requires shame. And, my dear man, I am not ashamed. Of any of this--” He reached with one finger and trailed the tip against the outer edge of the sinstone as the venthyr watched him warily. “--or anything that's to come. Shame is a weakness. So why don't we skip past the preaching and we can get to the real reason why you walk--.. floated all the way over here with that hunk of stone.”

Sin did what he did best: he played a bet. His hand lifted from the sinstone, up and up to dark gray skin that felt cool to the touch under his palm as he traced the venthyr’s jaw. The touch was slow but his smile was sly at the edges as his thumb eased across the Harvester’s thin lips.

It was of no surprise to Sin when he felt the barest tilt of the other man’s face toward his palm. Sin never lost a bet.

Sin stood by the crumbling cliffside, watching the trio of dogs tear through the snow and mud as they snapped at each other's heels. The stick he'd thrown out there an hour ago was long since forgotten, replaced by the manic energy of animals in their element: playing, hunting, howling. It brought Sin some pleasure to watch as he smoked his cigarette and carefully placed a knife against the center of his palm.

He'd only done the ritual a handful of times since leaving Revendreth, but there was nothing that would make him forget it. He pricked his own pale skin, inscribing the rune in his hand as a thick layer of blood began to pool in his palm. He reached into his belt pouch, trading the knife for a tarnished piece of silver; his cigarette hanging perilously low off of his lips as curls of smoke ascended up to the air. Down below in the field, Sable paused at the smell of blood, but the other two still ran through the snow.

He smeared his blood against the old shard of the mirror as he held it aloft, wrinkling his nose. "Come on now," he muttered. "Hasn't been that long for you to forget about me."

Only a moment passed before the shard lifted from his hand, drawing his blood away as it did: a payment for the price of the spell. Sin shook out of palm, only glancing aside once as Sable loped through the snow and towards him, her white ears pricked forward and her yellow eyes all too watchful.

The face that appeared in the mirror looked identical to the one he saw years ago: gray-skinned and narrow, his hair quaffed with gold and silver that did nothing to hide the ugly slits of his red eyes. Sin smiled at him, but the venthyr only met the expression with disgust -- and, perhaps, a touch of curiosity. "I was hoping you had died and fell to the Maw," he drawled. "How unfortunate."

Sin laughed, lowering his hand as Sable licked the blood away with concern. "Don't talk like you don't miss me," the sinner crooned, delighting in the way the harvester visibly recoiled on the other side of the blood-stained silver. "I've come to collect on my half of the deal -- and then you can be done with me. Won't that be nice?"

The venthyr's disgust tempered into something more critical, mingled with suspicion. "It will be a delight," he replied. "As much as I am loathe to do it. What do you require, sinner?"

"Nothing much. Just one spirit." In the half-light of the wilderness, surrounded by snow and dogs and little else, Sin's smile stretched cheshire.

#wow: sinvyrin #world of warcraft rp #moon guard

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

Note

Is this seat empty? " Yes and this one will be too if you sit down" , "Don't be like that my love."

For MLB!Harry first stupid fight in a relationship 😂

Okay this turned into something entirely different then the prompt. Sorry anon 😂

—

Peace & Quiet (Please)

If you enjoy please like, reblog, comment, or come talk to me!

I write for free so if you enjoy my work please consider donating to my kofi page.

“Where d’you put m’protein mix?” Harry asks, padding into the kitchen and opening every single fucking cabinet.

“It’s in the same place it’s been for the past five years,” YN bites out with a slight irritation, mixing the pancake batter a little rougher.

She’s been up since three in the morning and Harry sauntered in around six-thirty after coming home late from a baseball game last night.

All the babies still asleep.

“Ah - fuck,” Her husband huffs when he spills the powder all over the countertop and floor she had just swiffered ten minutes ago.

When he goes to open the other cabinet and grab for a shaker bottle - they all come tumbling out onto the floor in a loud clash.

“Could you be any louder? You going to wake up the kids!” YN scolds harshly, pointing to the closet, “Go get the swiffer.”

He obliges - surprised by her attitude, grabbing it and slapping it (by accident) on the ground like a fucking baseball bat, the head of the mop snapping off and breaking.

“S’broken,” Harry states the obvious, shrugging and going about peeling a banana before leaving the peel near the sink.

YN turns to face him, voice irritated, “I’m about to break you, just like you broke the swiffer.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” He asks cheekily but her glare tells him there is no amusement to be had this morning.

“I just spent all morning cleaning and you’ve made this place a disaster already!” His wife bites before flipping one of the pancakes.

Harry dejectedly cleans up his protein mix mess, neatly places the shake bottles into the right place, throws away the peel, and closes all the cabinets.

“M’sorry,” He murmurs, coming up behind her and kisses the nape of her neck, “Y’seem a bit cranky this mornin’.”

And man. He should have not said that.

“Do you have a baby who needs to fucking feed from your body every hour even during the night? I don’t think so,” She mutters, shaking him off of her.

“Hey, mama. M’bein’ an ass, what can I do to help?” He changes gears, choosing to stand next to her since she didn’t seem to want to be touch.

“Breastfeed - let your nipples feel like their constantly on fire and about to fall off. Make all this post-partum bleeding stop. Let me sleep for a day straight. I don’t know,” YN begins to sniffles, plating a few mini pancakes.

He’s taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in concern, and he leans forward to flip off the stovetop, “Can I touch you?”

She nods, wiping her eyes, and allows him to haul her up into their marble countertop, “Mama, y’need to tell me when y’feeling overwhelmed? Please baby. I’ve asked you a million times to wake me up and I can bottle feed her.”

“No, she…I have to feed her. It helps bonding and it-“

Harry interrupts firmly, “She will be perfectly fine being fed by a bottle a few times a day. You’re putting too much stress on yourself.”

Her head falls on his shoulder and she mumbles, “I just feel so…gross, not attractive at all.”

He pulls her back, searching her face in confusion, “Baby, why would you ever say somethin’ like that?”

YN let’s out a quiet sob, “My nipples are chafed and sore, I’m constantly bleeding, my belly hasn’t deflated -“

Harry can’t help but lean in and connect their lips harshly, he’s pulling her loose shirt up and over her head.

“Harry, what-“

“Listen t’me,” Harry rasps seriously, his hands are tender and careful as they cup her swollen breasts - thumbing at her painful nubs.

“I’m literally obsessed w’your tits, baby. They’ll go back to normal after y’done feeding and even if they don’t - I love them just as fucking much. You fed our three healthy strong boys and now you’re makin’ sure our chunky little girl is eating good.”

Then he hands move to cup her belly, large hands splayed over the still softening, firm bump from where Briar had been housed for nine months.

“Y’gave me four, four fuckin’ babies from this belly. I’m fucking in love with your body. God, y’thighs, y’tummy, the stretchmarks - fuck, getting me hard just lookin’ at you.��

It was true, he was stiffening up in his shorts but neither of them acknowledged it - it was a love boner more than anything else.

He literally got hard from how much he loved her.

“I’m tired,” She sighs softly, letting Harry tug her shirt back on as the children would be waking up soon to eat breakfast.

“I know, mama,” Harry acknowledges softly, giving her another kiss before taking over the pancake station.

When all the boys are downstairs and chomping away on their food, Cash, who is just about four decides it’ll be funny to squirt the sticky syrup all over their expensive stool cushions and the floor.

When YN turns from the sink to see the mess, she admits she snaps a little bit, “Really Harry? You’re supposed to be watching them, not checking the sports news on your phone!”

Harry is about to defend himself but his wife is stomping over to where Cash has emptied the bottle and gives him a firm look, “Cash Edward Styles, get your bum upstairs, right now.”

Cash’s eyes widen, his mother rarely needed to use a harsh tone with them, “Mama, I’m so-“

“If you are not upstairs, by the bathtub this instant, you get no outside time today. Do you understand me?” YN tells him, giving Easton a warning look when he licks at the syrup on his finger.

“Yes mama,” Cash squeaks out sadly, abandoning his plate and walking up towards the bathroom upstairs to get clean.

Easton and Ezra are dead silent as they watch their brother leave - not wanting the same fate as him so they sit proper.

“Sweetheart-“ Harry begins, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“No, I have my hands full taking care of four kids. I don’t need you acting like a fifth. Go bathe your son,” YN tells him coldly, an angry stare directed his way.

Harry clenches his jaw, biting his tongue as he stands up and pushes his chair in with force - making a loud noise before following after his second son.

A few minutes after they’re out of sight, Easton thought it’d be funny to wipe syrup down Ezra’s cheek which made Ezra cry and throw a pancake at his older brother - now soaking him in syrup.

YN starts to leak milk at the sound of Ezra’s cries.

“Easton Robin - get you butt upstairs this instant too. You know better - no outside time today,” She informs him as she uses a wet wipe to clean Ezra’s cheek.

“Mama,” Easton whines, fat tears starting roll down his cheeks as he stands up, loitering by the kitchen stool.

“Do not make me repeat myself,” YN warns, swiping a paper towel over the wet spot on her shirt from the leak.

Harry had just started washing up Cash who was still melancholy when his blubbering older one comes in - still tearful.

He sighs, looking at his syrupy son, “Wha’ happened?”

Easton looks hesitant, “I put syrup on Ezzie and mama said no outside time today.”

His father is tight-lipped, he can already predict that Easton’s actions upset Ezra, “Alright, c’mon. Let’s clean y’up too. Y’know better, Easton.”

Harry had just finished helping both boys dress when YN appears in the doorway with Ezra who has a binkie popped in his mouth.

She steps over and hands their son to Harry before muttering, “I’m going to feed Briar, keep the boys out of the room. I need some peace.”

YN disappears from the room before he can even reply to her.

Harry can admit he gets distracted when one of his coaches calls him up for a game change, doesn’t notice when Cash sneaks from the playroom.

It’s less than five minutes later when YN leads Cash gently by the hand back into the playroom, with Briar still latched and feeding.

When she sees Harry on his phone, she’s fucking livid with him.

“Really Harry?” His wife scoffs, guiding Cash to join Easton in where he’s playing with legos.

“I’ll call you back,” Harry replies to his coach before hanging up, “Sorry, it was Donny-“

“Good to know your job is more important than watching your kids,” She spits out before storming back out of the room.

Harry is up and following behind her, jaw clenched and irritated, “Just ‘cause you’re in a pissy mood doesn’t mean that y’say shit like that.”

She turns on her heel, eyes fiery, “You have no god damn consideration. You’ve been swamped this week because of your nike promotion and games. I’ve had the babies all by myself for four nights while you get to gallivant around!”

Harry goes to speak but she puts her free hand up.

“I ask for you to keep our house clean and to let me have one moment of peace with our daughter but you don’t even let me have that! You do not understand how hard it is to push a baby out of you and then have them rely on you to feed them twenty times a day!”

His anger fades when his wife starts sobbing - chest shuddering sobs, “I just had her four weeks ago. I-I haven’t had a break yet. You act like it’s so easy!”

He starts to walk towards her, “Sweetheart-“

YN shakes her head, a desperate plea in her tone, “Please just give me time with Briar.”

Harry swallows harshly and nods - feeling like shit as his wife walks back towards the stairs - all the while still feeding their daughter.

“Hello?”

“Mum, I-can you take the boys for the night?” Harry asks quietly, standing in the kitchen while the two older boys are still playing quietly.

Ezra’s passed out, on Harry’s hip with his little face smushed against the cap of his shoulder with parted lips.

“Dear, is everything okay?” She replies cautiously.

“No, I-I don’t know. YN is overwhelmed and I don’t think I’ve been supportive enough,” Harry feels himself begin to sniffle.

Anne doesn’t pry for information which Harry loves about her, she agrees to take them, and states she’ll be over within the hour.

Harry goes about packing their pajamas and other necessities in their little backpacks as the squeal excitedly about going to Nana’s.

“Can we say bye to mama?” Easton asks anxiously as they clear out of their bedrooms.

“Let me go ask,” He murmurs, running a hand through his son’s curls.

When he cracks open the door, YN is sprawled out on her back, fast asleep with Briar also asleep in the bassinet next to the bed.

His heart aches because her shirt is off, and the remnants of her nipple cream which was a pinkish orange color wasn’t fully rubbed in on her bruised breasts.

Harry guides them downstairs, promising that their mama will call them later.

After the boys leave, Harry doesn’t know what to do so he cleans whatever he finds that is dirty or messy so she won’t have to.

He does all the laundry in the house, cleans up every single toy, and when Briar starts to whimper - he sneaks in to snatch her up so she doesn’t wake YN.

Then he takes her out to the shops with him to grab groceries, her favorite snacks, and maybe he does stop by a jewelry store and buy her something nice.

(casually a pair of 20k earrings)

YN fell asleep around eighty-thirty in the morning and doesn’t wake up until about nine at night, Harry had put Briar in her nursery about an hour ago.

When she does awake, Harry is sitting in the living room - watching a stupid action movie to pass time and dwell on everything.

She comes in quietly, stands in front of her husband who looks up at her with anxious eyes - she looks brighter now that she’s had adequate sleep.

“Will you hold me?” She rasps quietly, just in one of Harry’s shirts and soft pair of sleep shorts.

“Never haven t’ask, mama,” He murmurs, guiding her until she’s straddling his lap and burying her face into the crook of his neck.

His hands sneak beneath her shirt to massage the sleep-warm skin as he kisses her shoulder - over and over again.

“I’m so sorry,” YN whispers into his skin, voice croaky as she tries to not get upset.

He pulls her back to study her face, “Do not apologize, y’allowed to get mad at me and feel frustrated. You’re emotions are valid. There’s a lot going on and I could be doing more to help.”

YN wipes a tear that trickles down as she laughs in disbelief, “No, you can’t do anymore to help.”

“Wha-? I can, I promis-“

She interrupts his with a kiss before telling him sincerely, “You can’t do anymore help because you’re already doing the most amazing job. As a husband and dad. I was just tired and stressed - it’s not an excuse.”

It warms his heart, he fucking loves her so much it does make sense, has to button their lips together one more time.

“You have a really hard job too, on top of being a husband and dad. You give us all this, support us and take care of us.”

“Are y’kidding me? Y’the one who keeps this family together. Y’the fuckin’ love of my life, you know that? I love you so much, so so much,” He emphasizes, rubbing a thumb across her bottom lip.

The kiss one more time - the anger was subsided and they were okay once again.

Harry laughs and agree when YN murmurs, “S’time for bed again, m’tired.”

“Okay mama, anythin’ for you,” He responds before peppering her in kisses to make her giggle lightly.

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