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pappydaddy · 4 years ago

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Oblivious (r.b.)

A/N: Another request down! This one is another Robin request. It's a bit longer than the last one I posted, but it's a bit dry unfortunately. I tried to make it like my other longer fics, but I just felt like this is was meant to be this length. I threw in a funny scene in the end. Anywho, I hope you like it lovely anon💛, I really tried to do your request justice (I loved it btw).

P.S: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

TV Show/Movie: Stranger Things

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Byers!Reader

Stranger Things/Robin Taglist: N/A

Requested

Warnings: Fluff, a parent being obvious, getting caught getting hot and heavy the backseat. Pretty short in length.

Note: Not proofread yet. I'm gonna go over all my fics in these upcoming fics to proofread and I will do this fic then

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

The cool night breeze rolled in through Y/N Byers’ open window as she and Robin laid in her bed. Late Summer nights spent in bed with her girlfriend were Y/N’s favourite. Having their legs tangled together, their arms holding each other close as they lightly traced random shapes on each other. It was true bliss in her eyes. “You think your mom is back with the movie yet?” Robin broke the comfortable silence with a whisper. Y/N shrugged, pulling her hand away from where it was playing with Robin’s short hair.

“We would have heard her car so probably not,” She answered, shifting as she propped her elbow up. Robin automatically rolled onto her back, gazing up at Y/N with big blue eyes that sparkled in the silver moonlight, the sounds of frogs and crickets filling the silent room again as they enjoyed the company of each other. “Steve is probably taking forever to lock up the store and she’s probably waiting for him to leave so we don’t start without him.” She hypothesized, looking down at Robin again.

Robin hummed, nodding as she pictured Steve fumbling around with his keys, trying each one to figure out which one locked the store door. “He can never remember which key goes to what. We should get him a label maker so he can label them.” She suggested making Y/N snort out a laugh, flopping on her back, untangling themselves from each other completely.

“Are we really going to be that couple that gives friends stationary for presents,” She asked, lulled her head to the side to gaze at Robin who shrugged, pulling a face that asked her why they couldn’t be. “Because those couples are the boring couple that never get invited to any parties people actually want to have fun at.” She answered Robin’s silent question.”

“Fair point.” Robin agreed just as Y/N’s bedroom door opened. The two girls pulled themselves up, looking at the door as Joyce popped her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt girls night, but Steve is here with the movies and I got the snacks, come on out to the living room.” She told them, leaving the door open as she disappeared down the hall, getting Jonathan from his room. Silently, the girls rolled off Y/N’s bed and shuffled out into the living room, being greeted by Steve and Will placing bowls of chips and popcorn on the coffee table that already had a display of soda and water sitting on it.

“Hey, Dingus,” Robin greets Steve as she brushed past him to sit on the couch. “Will.” She nodded at the younger boy, slapping hands with him in a greeting as he sat beside her.

“Hi, Robin.” Steve breathed out, taking a seat in the armchair, cracking open a can of soda, taking a drink. Y/N stepped over his sprawled-out legs, plunking herself down on the other side of Robin, her feet kicking up to rest on her lap comfortably.

“Where are the other kids?” Y/N wondered, looking over her shoulder at Steve as he sat his open soda down, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“Dustin is sick, Max is busy being grounded, Lucas is sulking being Max is grounded, and Mike is at a family dinner with his grandparents,” Steve listed off the location of each kid easily. Making Robin laugh. “What?” Steve asked with furrowed brows as he grabbed a chip, crunching on it instantly before wiping his hands on his jeans, bouncing his knee.

“Oh nothing, it’s just that you’re such a mom.” Robin made fun of him, her hands resting on Y/N’s ankles as Joyce walked back in with Jonathan in tow looking like he just woke up from a nap, the pair sitting on the other couch.

“So, Steve,” Joyce started, reaching for two sodas, handing one to Jonathan. Robin reached over, collecting three and placed them in her lap. “What movie is first?” She asked as Y/N and Will each plucked a can from Robin’s lap, opening them at the same time, both cans hissing loudly.

“Have no idea, let Will pick-”

“Rawhead Rex!” Will interrupted excitedly, shocking Joyce since she obviously hadn’t picked that one up.

“Wiliam Byers, did you pick that up without me knowing?”

“No, please, I don’t like scary movies!” Joyce and Y/N said at the same time.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t pick any scary movies, mister.” Joyce told Will in a semi-scolding manner.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll protect you from the scary movie.” Robin looked over at her, her tone somewhat teasingly. Joyce cooed at this, tilting her head slightly.

“Aw, you two are so cute together,” She sighed longingly. “Wish I had had someone like that in high school.”

____

“I’m heading out for a date mom,” Y/N announced as she walked down the hall from her room, slinging her purse over her shoulder. Joyce opened her bedroom door, popping her head out just as Y/N was about to walk past, scarring her daughter. “Jesus mom,” She exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest as her heart tried to calm down. “You scared me! I thought you were in the kitchen!”

“Sorry dear,” She apologized, opening her door all the way and stepping out of her room all dressed up. Y/N furrowed her brows at her mom’s appearance. She was awfully dressy for a night home alone. Parting her lips as she followed her mother into the living room, she went to say something but Joyce interrupted. “You said you were going on a date, but I don’t see a car.” She pointed out as she looked out the window.

“I’m actually driving tonight.” Y/N explained before opening her mouth the ask her mother about her plans for the night.

“How progressive,” Joyce smiled, turning to face her daughter again, clasping her hands together. “I love a good feminist moment, you have fun on your date and tell me all about it when you get home.”

“So I can have the car,” Y/N asked tentatively. She had assumed that her mother would take the night to relax as this would be the first night in years she has to be home alone. Joyce nodded, looking at her daughter oddly as she tossed the car keys towards her from the bowl by the door. “You don’t have plans? You seem like you do.” Y/N pressed, not wanting to ruin her mother’s plans.

“Oh, I do have plans, I have a date.” Joyce confirmed as if it was nothing. Y/N sputtered, taken aback by this information and how nonchalantly her mother just disclosed it. She watched her mother walk into the kitchen as if it was any other day.

“If you have a date then you need the car, I’ll figure out how to work around not having a car right now-” Y/N rushed into the kitchen behind her, holding the keys out to Joyce who shook her head, pushing her hand away and cutting her off.

“No, I don’t need the car, he’s picking me up here, you go on your date with the car and have fun!” Joyce told her, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and forcing her to turn around.

“But, this is your first date since Bob died. Do you want me to stay home in case you need to bail? What if something goes wrong and you can’t reach me or Hopper? What if this guy is secretly a mad scientist connected to the Upside Down? What if he’s just a horrible person-” Y/N rambled, fighting against her mother’s hold as she pushed her towards the door.

“Trust me, Y/N,” Joyce started, opening the front door as Y/N continued to ramble off scenarios that could possibly go wrong. “None of that is going to be an issue. I know this guy, you know this guy. He is perfectly safe and I will be fine. Besides, this isn’t even our first date.”

“Mom-” She tried to say something but was cut off by her own mother all but pushing her out of the house. She let out a shriek, stumbling along the porch.

“Go on your date, Y/N and don’t come back until your date is finished.” Joyce warned, closing and locking the front door. Her face was glaring at Y/N through one of the small windows at the top of their door, almost daring her not to go on the date. Huffing, Y/N turned on her heel and headed off to the car.

____

Joyce’s mysterious date had been pushed into the back of Y/N’s mind the second she saw Robin open her front door. Now, it wasn’t even a thought in her head, all her mind could focus on was the way she felt as Robin’s lips traced down her neck, pecking and sucking as they went. Airy moans left her mouth as she squirmed under her girlfriend, her nearly bare back rubbing against the cold backseat of the car. “Oh god-” She whimpered as Robin’s lips travelled lower, dancing dangerously along the cup of her bra, her fingertips just barely slipping under the underwire. “Oh god!” She gasped when her eyes fluttered open after seeing the flash of red and blue hues on her eyelids.

“Am I making you feel good, baby?” Robin pulled her lips from Y/N breast, looking up at her flirtatiously thinking her exclamation was from pleasure, not fear. Her face fell when she noted the wideness of Y/N’s eyes and flashing lights reflecting off her glistening face.

“That’s fucking Hopper,” Y/N hissed as they both scrambled to sit up, Y/N’s arms crossed over her bra-clad chest. They both tried to squint through the fogged-up back windshield, seeing two figures getting out of the car, the beam of a flashlight clicking on. “Shit, where is my shirt?” She panicked, looking around until Robin threw it at her.

“Duck,” Robin pushed Y/N and herself down as the beam of the flashlight swept over the back window. Grunting, Y/N tried to wiggle around and pull the shirt over her head as Robin watched the beam of light. “He’s looking in the woods, let’s crawl out the front seats!” Robin ushered her, letting her crawl over the console first.

“Something tells me we’re not gonna make it to the front seat,” Y/N trailed off as her eyes squinted at the brightness of the flashlight pointed right at her through the driver’s side window. “Hi, Hop,” She smiled, waving awkwardly. In response, Hopper simply pulled the backseat door open, revealing Joyce standing there, looking confused. “Mom, what are you doing here? I thought you were out on a date?” Y/N froze, her knee digging uncomfortably into the middle console.

“I am on my date, we were heading to the restaurant after the movie when we saw the car looking abandoned.” Joyce explained.

“Your date was with Hopper? You’re dating Hopper?” Y/N asked, shocked as she crawled out of the backseat, Robin following closely.

“You didn’t know that?” Robin asked her as if it was obvious.

“No!”

“Your date was with Robin?” Joyce ignored the two girls, her brows furrowed.

“You didn’t know they were dating?” Hopper looked at Joyce as he pointed his finger at the pair.

“No idea.” Joyce shook her head.

“You two are really oblivious. Everyone knew both of these things,” Hopper informed them with a laugh, earning two glares from Y/N and Joyce. “Well, anyway, we’ve got a reservation-”

“Wait,” Joyce interrupted him. “I thought you guys were just friends-” Joyce pointed to Y/N and Robin who both shrugged sheepishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her daughter, slightly embarrassed for not realizing and a bit let down that she didn’t tell her.

“I thought you knew.”

“Well, now that I do know, I want to get to know Robin as your girlfriend so would you guys like to accompany us to our dinner reservations?” Joyce asked, her eyes wide as she hoped her daughter would say yes. She always knew that she liked girls, but she had no idea they were dating.

“Only if I get to drill Hopper with questions to make sure he’s good enough for you.” Y/N playfully glared at Hopper, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Deal.” Joyce nodded firmly.

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

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Nikah: March

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. Thank you all for reading and commenting! (Picture below is mine, btw)

Bucky’s birthday arrives amidst blooming flowers and a pollen-scented breeze, the day marked by preparations for a party Sam is throwing for him at one of the hotels downtown. Avengers and close friends only, yet he’s spared no expense, insisting on a proper welcome back. The captain is unrelenting in matters of social activity, especially since he has been spending minimal time with his teammates since his marriage. Marriage. He shakes his head at himself in the floor length mirror as he straightens his cuff-links and moonlight catches on the gold band on his finger. It no longer feels like a burden.

Rather, it’s a seed that’s been planted on him, and it’s taken root inside him, growing, growing, growing into a steady feeling of friendship with the person he wears it for. An understanding, a companionship. He refuses to confess to anything more, even within the confines of his own mind. His heart, on the other hand, has no compunctions about making its opinion known, setting off like a hare being hunted whenever she approaches. Most dangerous assassin in the world, defeated by her smile.

She offers him one now when she enters, picture perfect elegance very nearly succeeding in concealing her nerves. Bucky’s nerves, meanwhile, are on fire at the sight of her, sensory overload short-circuiting his brain. He finally turns to look at her directly and the fox-hunt pace of his heart stumbles, stutters to a stop.

“You- you’re- jeepers,” Is all he can manage, the rosewater blush deepening on his cheeks. It has the opposite of the desired effect, and she steps back, mascaraed eyes widening, horrified.

“It’s too much, isn’t it. Oh God, I knew I should’ve-” She begins to reach for a tissue box on the dresser and Bucky stops her. Lowers her hand slowly and keeps a hold of it, as if she will float away otherwise.

“Jesus, doll, stop. You’re perfect,” He tells her, and she slips her hand away but smiles a little as she sits on the foot of the bed - their bed - to put on her shoes.

“Thank you. You look nice, too,” She says, lifting the hem of her black gown as she pulls on pearl white heels. The matching clutch - pearl encrusted - is on the bedside table, and he hands it to her as they leave the room and then the apartment.

“Hang on, your tie is loose,” She says the moment they enter the elevator. He can’t even press the button for the ground floor while she holds him in place. The split-second it takes for her to wrap her hands around the green silk and pull it tighter stretches into hours, the graze of her knuckles gentle in his cotton-covered chest. He has enough time to carve the shape of her cupid’s bow into his mind, the descent of her jaw to her chin into his lungs. After half an eternity, she puts distance between them again and presses the button while he tries to smooth his hair back only to feel the short strands tickle between his fingers, and he remembers cutting it last week.

The lobby is bustling, people coming and going like bees in a hive, and they nod their hellos and offer the doorman a Good evening before getting in the car Sam sent. The seats are cold and comfortable, and the chauffeur tips his hat once in the rear-view mirror before putting the Rolls Royce into gear.

“ ‘Possess ye, therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue’ ” She murmurs, letting her fingers trace the stitching in the butter-soft leather.

“Marlowe?” Bucky asks, turning away from the New York evening, that special, streetlights-reflecting-on-wet-asphalt evening, to look at his wife.

“William Cowper. The Task.”

“I think I’ve read that one,” He lies, fully prepared to come clean, and she looks at him curiously.

“Wow, really? Even I haven’t read all six books,” She says, dubiously verging on impressed, and Bucky drops the facade.

“I’m pullin’ your leg. I’ve read some of Cowper’s work. Don’t remember much, but bits and pieces of school are still there,” He explains, all cheeky smile. “What’s it about? And why in God’s good name is it six books long?” This - the conversation, letting her talk about her work, her passion for literature - this he can do. Playful questions intermingling with genuine intellectual interest is manageable. Her beauty, her grace, the cloud of perfume that bleeds into his veins and makes his lungs strive for air, is not. So he concentrates on what he knows. Or doesn’t know, apparently.

“Honestly, what isn’t The Task about?” She laughs, eyeshadow glimmering like stardust in the smile wrinkles in the corners of her intelligent eyes. “Cowper had a bit of a breakdown during his barrister training in London, and retired to the countryside. In 1781, he met his friend Lady Austen, who later gave him a task to write about, to cheer him up. He started, and then just followed that train of thought wherever it took him.”

“Which book is that line from?” Bucky asks as the car stops in the inevitable Friday night traffic jam. At least they accounted for it, leaving early on purpose to avoid tardiness.

“I don’t actually remember. I think it’s from an extract in which Cowper criticizes the superficial pleasures and unnecessary luxuries of city life,” She answers, opening her clutch. Her phone and a tube of lipstick peek out but she reaches deeper for a pair of earrings.

Closing her eyes, she fastens the first one on the side Bucky can’t see, the other crescent-moon shaped accessory in her silk draped lap. The flower made from pearls matches her bracelet, the two pieces of jewellery clinking together as she puts on the other one.

“City life, huh?” Bucky muses, trying desperately to calm his heart. The earrings dangle, contrasting wonderfully against her simple black gown, and he swallows. She looks like royalty.

“Yeah, many poets of the time wrote a lot about the beauty of nature. They had a lot more of it at their disposal, I guess,” She shrugs.

“Do you have any favorites?” “Nature poems? I don’t know. There are so many good ones. Wordsworth’s To the Cuckoo, Herrick’s Daffodils, Yeats’ Wild Swans at Coole, Tennyso-” She cuts herself off with a huff of a laugh at herself.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, no- I just-” She laughs again, trying to wave her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “I just have conflicting feelings about these poems by classical authors who write about nature. Poems that express a keen appreciation of beauty yet are fillled with sadness because so many beautiful things are short-lived and because human life itself is so short,” She says, twirling the ring around her finger, deep in thought. Bucky doesn’t know how he found her. This simple, wise soul, in the midst of all the chaos of the world. The chaos of resettlement.

The chaos of the kitchen, an hour before dinner as the Avengers prepare dinner together, is unholy. Sam’s panicking about dessert while Wanda stirs the marinara sauce for spaghetti in her signature demure fashion, while Peter’s pile of handmade spaghetti grows taller and the pasta dough shrinks. His phone lights up on the table, and Bucky - kneading more dough nearby - is the only one who notices. He calls for Peter and pushes it over to him, not knowing what the point of having a phone is if it’s always going to be on silent, but Peter holds it out to him after just a moment of conversation.

Bucky reads the caller ID on the top and sees who it is, closing the kitchen door behind him, flour on his black t-shirt, as she speaks.

“Hi, Bucky. I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“No, not at all. Have you decided?” He asks, pacing the hallway, staying out of sight of the others. Not that it matters, they’re still fairly busy. She had seemed unsure when they met, and he had given her time to decide it she wanted to do this.

“Yeah, but I just- this is a huge favor,” She says.

“Not to me, doll. I’m just helping a friend of a friend,” He says, and it isn’t entirely true. That isn’t why he’s doing this. Something in him wanted to help, wanted to repay the debt of kindness that he owes the world. This is how he wants to do it, although he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to choose his penance.

“I thought you said Peter talks your ears off.” Bucky cringes, grateful she can’t see his face, even though he can hear the joking lilt of her tone.

“He’s a good kid. And I want to do this. Do you?”

“Yeah.” A lengthy pause, heavy and tangible, even across the phone line.

“When do you want to get married?” She asks finallly, voice shaking. His hand is, too.

“We have a week-long mission right after Christmas. Boxing day arms deal in Sao Paulo,” He replies, cursing the Brazilian gangs who could find no other time do get up to no good. Evil doesn’t go on vacation, and neither do the Avengers.

“So… New Year’s Eve?” She asks, doing the math. He realizes that’s true. A week from Boxing Day.

“Yes. Shit, you don’t have a ring-” He begins to say, freaking out about the logistics. He didn’t even propose properly.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bucky.”

“G’night.” He bids her farewell, then looks at the phone, asking himself what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. A knot builds and twists in his body, and he tries to loosen it. Breathes, and makes his way back.

“I’m engaged,” And the kitchen freezes in time as they all drop everything - not literally, Sam’s holding a knife - to look at him. The smile on Peter’s face is brighter than the Christmas tree in the adjacent common room, and the somersaults in Bucky’s stomach only settle at the sight of his relief.

It seems that his teammates gave him a later time on purpose, because they’re all ready, dressed to the nines and wine-tipsy, waiting for him when they enter. It’s a small ballroom, downtown Manhattan, quaint and graceful. A chorus of Happy Birthday erupts in the room, and he smiles and thanks them. The hugs pile on, and he begins to introduce his wife to his friends. Home away from home for the man who has never had one since the 1940s - until he met her, that is. She’s home now, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

Instead, he relishes in the grin she offers him between introductions, till Sam drags him off to stand him on a chair and sing a birthday song. The party commences in much a similar fashion, too much noise in the room for a couple of dozen people. He stays away from Thor’s alcohol, knowing she doesn’t drink, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

He’s just thinking about how she might be dealing with the hectic atmosphere when her hand slips into his while he’s talking to Harley Keener about letting him look at his arm. He’s shocked, looks at her to see her smiling and concentrating only on the conversation, but he can tell she’s tired. It’s been hours, and he knows he can’t leave early - it’s his party - but he just wants to slip those heels off her feet and sit and talk, still in partywear, for hours on end. Let her quote Byron and Cowper and Austen to him, poems and essays and books, until he falls asleep on their sofa. Instead, her voice says something he isn’t expecting at all.

“Is it possible to put some sort of temp regulation in it?” She asks curiously, head tilted to the side like a sparrow. Harley thinks it over for only a second.

“Of course, why?”

“It hurts in the cold. He rubs and rolls his shoulder a lot in the winter,” She answers, and the thoughtful observation astounds him. It’s accurate, but it hadn’t even occurred to him, the movements that she’s citing entirely subconscious. They talk to Harley for a while longer, and then dance to several of Bucky’s favorite songs. Billie Holliday is crooning in the background as the second-to-last guest exits, leaving only his wife and his captain and his deputy director. When the door shuts behind them, they break apart, and Sam and Maria approach, ready to call it a night.

The car ride home passes in complete silence, a comfortable weight resting like a blanket between them, so much so that she falls fully asleep on the way, her head resting against the cold window when they arrive. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her, so he goes around to her door, opening it slowly and lifting her into his arms, not caring what it might look like to onlookers. It’s late, and there are few of them, at least in the lobby, and as the elevator doors shut, her head curls against his shoulder, hair tickling his Adam’s apple.

Bucky looks down at her, her resting, easy expression, the chandni earrings still on, and thinks: what a way to turn 103.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #slow burn #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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mactuna · 6 years ago

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ђคгɭєץ ợยєєภ

↠ summary: jisol isn’t the only who got run over by the gossip train... and in the process, she learned a lot more than she was ever supposed to... (lmao this is such a trashy summary!!)

↠ idea: jungkook x oc!! bts mafia au!! kpop universe!!]

↠ part 1 [] part 2 [] part 3 [] part 4?

“I’ll bring you your stuff later, ok sis? Just please don’t trip on yourself if you see Han Jisung. Please.”

“For the last time! I DON’T LIKE HIM!”

“Sure sis… you definitely don’t have a sketchbook of drawings of him.”

“You can stop talking now!”

The two had arrived at Jeongmi’s new room, because college dorms were way too expensive. And lucky for her, there was a Min Jisol who was looking for a roommate.

“I’ll bring your stuff around later, ok?”

“Ok… bye!”

But in his defense, Jungkook believed he had the right to be worried about his little sister. Because he was pretty darn sure he knew exactly how her roommate was: the infamous Min Jisol of Daegu Town High School. She was the girl that everyone warned you about. It was obvious she smoked because she always coughed as if she had smoker’s lung and could literally collapse at any given moment. And Jesus Christ, she always smelled like goddamn alcohol! She always seemed as if she had tried to get the stank of alcohol off, but in the end she miserably failed and the smell basically radiated off of her. But of course, can’t forget that she was always late and skipping class. The problem? She never got in trouble for it. To top it all off, she graduated as valedictorian. Combined with her popularity amongst the boys for her looks, it was no surprise when the gossip train tooted about Jisol sleeping around with the administration to get straight A’s. Hence, she was basically the queen of the school in all aspects. Despite all the obvious warning signs, people loved her. Earning her the nickname, Harley Queen.

But Jungkook was barely any better and he knew it. His reputation wasn’t exactly spotless since he hit high school. Puberty had treated him very kindly, earning the attention from all the girls within the school district. Especially at sport competitions. And every so often, a girl would ask to speak to him somewhere quiet. Alone. Like a lost lamb, he would follow. He never did anything, didn’t even touch them, yet the gossip train tooted that Jungkook had a knack for quickies and breaking the girls’ hearts once he was done with them. Because of this one fact, Jungkook had begrudgingly agreed to let Jeongmi room with Jisol. Maybe she was just another victim of the gossip train, just like him. Or maybe it was just his grudge against her for… a number of reasons.

“Ok… bye Jungkook!”

“I’ll bring your stuff up in like, two hours ok?”

“Uh-huh. Goodbye!”

Obviously, Jeongmi was super embarrassed that her brother was basically dropping her off at her first apartment. And she didn’t want to make a bad first impression, so she did everything in her power to shoo him away. But as soon as the door opened, Jeongmi was shocked by the girl’s beauty in front of her. All of her doubts disappeared into thin air and she found herself bowing awkwardly.

“Hello, my name is Jeongmi. It’s really nice to meet you!”

But Jisol was already busting a lung with laughter.

“You are so cute!! But anyway, you don’t have to act so formal around me. We’re roommates now Jeongmi. As you probably know, my name’s Jisol and welcome to the apartment!”

Despite having only met once or twice, Jeongmi already felt the bond forming between them.

“Do you need any help bringing your stuff up or anything?”

“Actually, my brother is bringing up my stuff in a couple of hours.”

“Girl, that’s honestly sibling goals. My brother would tell me to suck it up and be independent like all the girls in the world preach about.”

But now, Jeongmi was confused as hell. How in the world did Jisol have such awful rumors circulating about her? She was honestly one of the sweetest, most wholesome Jeongmi had ever met. But for Jisol? She was just over the moon that there was someone who was willing to give her a clean slate and actually get to know her. Not try to kiss up to her just so she could be referred to one of the guys. The reason everyone thought she was a slut was that most of her friends were guys. Mostly because the other girls at school were entirely too judgemental. And super bitchy.

“Feel free to explore, Jeongmi. Lol, you don’t have to be so nervous. You kinda live her now?”

And Jeongmi was like, why the hell does it literally smell like freaking daisies? Smoker’s lung, my foot! There wasn’t even the slightest whiff of smoke or alcohol anywhere. That’s when the knock came faintly. Which Jeongmi barely heard.

“Hi, I’m Jungkook, Jeongmi’s older brother. I came to drop off her stuff?”

Already, Jungkook was gaining attention from the neighbors. Mostly because the apartment was a hot spot for college kids who couldn’t afford or didn’t want to live in a dorm.

“Unnie, do you mind if he comes inside? Because there are literally people crowding the hallway just to stare at him. And it’s kinda gross?”

“Yeah, of course! Come on in.”

See, Jeongmi was totally clueless to the history between Jungkook and Jisol. They had been rivals at everything, all the way up until high school. But that was a different story. Sighing, Jisol let him in, promising herself to be civil for Jeongmi’s sake, if not hers.

As for Jungkook, he was surprised to see the two three-star black belts hanging in the open closet and the sheer amount of beat-up medical textbooks on the kitchen table.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Uh, no. I’m good actually. But thanks.”

And he was 100% surprised at how well Jisol was keeping her cool. Taking the heavy box from him, Jisol gave Jungkook a tight smile.

“I can help Jeongmi unpack if you have somewhere you need to be.”

But Jisol knew that look in his eyes all too well. There was no way this could be the apartment of the Harley Queen, right? There was no way that the Queen would actually be reading and studying to get good grades, right? She had to be hiding the booze somewhere, right? The drugs? The weed? The cigarette packs? And Jungkook understood the tone of dismissal in her voice all too well.

“Then I’ll be going then. Bye, Mi!”

But as Jungkook made his way down to his car, he couldn’t but think of the little collage of Jisol’s baby pictures on the wall. One of them was of the two of them holding hands as they crossed the street. Groaning out loud, Jungkook looked towards the sky.

“STOP BEING IN MY LIFE MIN JISOL!!!!!”

Why was his life so intertwined with Jisol’s?!! On top of already being entangled with every aspect of his life, why was she his ex-girlfriend from preschool too?!! He thought he’d erased his memory of her a long time ago!!

When Jungkook got back to the house, he wasn’t surprised to find Yoongi watching TV on the couch.

“So… how did it go?”

“I mean, Jeongmi seems to really like her, so I guess that’s all that matters.”

Shaking his head, Yoongi sat up straight.

“But I asked what your thoughts on Jisol are?”

“She’s… a lot different from what I expected.”

“How so?”

“She seems a lot more… put together than everyone takes her for. There’s not a single trace of cologne, smoke, drugs, or alcohol in there. I honestly have no idea how the hell these rumors formed about her. She seems really nice.”

“Well… she has changed a lot since high school ended. Plus, the rumors are mostly my fault. But I thought you were-”

“What are you talking about, hyung?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Jungkook. However, this story isn’t entirely mine to tell, so it’d be a tad unfair if she weren’t here to explain the entirety of the situation.”

“But-”

“No.”

Grumbling, Jungkook made his way to the shower. He knew where he stood among the seven guys as the youngest: at the top. But when it came to Yoongi? That was all null and void.

“YAH JUNGKOOK-AH! JOONIE HAS A MISSION FOR YOU, JIMIN, AND TAE!!”

Jin yelled through the door, banging on it to disrupt the peace of the hot, running water.

“Ok hyung! I’ll be out soon! BUT YOU BREAK THAT DOOR I SWEAR-”

“BYE!”

But why was Tae coming on this mission? That almost never happened. He was the one who usually stayed back to work the comms and get all the inside info that was necessary to send to whoever was out in the field. But if he was coming, Joon-hyung’s mission for them had to be insanely top priority if Tae was coming out to play. 10 minutes later, the boys were seated on the floor in front of Joon.

“Does everyone here know Song Yuri?”

“Yeah. We’re all in the same biology class.”

“Well we just found out from our spy that Yuri is actually the heiress of the Ahn Empire in Daegu.”

“Wait… aren’t they the ones-”

“Who created a memory implanter and have passed down some secret through generations, using it?!!”

“Yes, that one. And if everyone else knows, then everyone is going to be gunning for her. She’s dating one of the NCT boys so we have to be careful. From what we know, she’s close with all of the NCT boys so we have to be careful. The reason I chose you three is because you have a subconscious memory of Yuri’s behavioral patterns So please bring her back alive. Got that?”

“Yes hyung.”

“Good. We’ve also got word that it’s one of the Dreamies’ birthdays today so they’ll be vulnerable. I will take the other hyungs to take them out, ok?”

“Ok hyung. See you later!”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: OKAY YAY PART 1 IS DONE OF THE BLOOD UNIVERSE SERIES!! lmao idek if i actually want to turn all the “books” of this series into the same universe but we’ll see:) btw i literally just fangirled so hard in the car when dream glow came on LOL!

↠ part 1 [] part 2 [] part 3 [] part 4?

#jungkook x oc #bts mafia au #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook imagine #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #HOLY CRAP DREAM GLOW IS SO GOOD!!!#sope #namjin #bts #bts x army

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deanssweetheart23 · 7 years ago

Text

Five Years Of Christmas

Title: Five Years Of Chirstmas (Mechanic!Dean AU)

Summary: 25th December 2013. Dean isn’t looking for love. In fact, he’s doing his best to steer as clear from it as possible. And then he meets her. The girl that shows up at his brother’s party only to turn his entire world upside down and makes him believe in the magic of Christmas again. So, he falls for her, falls so quickly that no one in the room even hears the sound. And that is the beginning of their story.

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy (mentioned), Autumn Brae Winchester (OFC), Benny Laffite, Lisa Braeden (mentioned)

Word count: 8129 (it’s a monster fic, I know, but it’s worth it)

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Some language. Implied smut. Death of parents, references to loss, grief and infedility (not Dean associated). Domestic Dean Bean (yes, totally a warning)

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @d-s-winchester‘s 12 Days of Christmas Challenge. Ashley, thank you so, so much for letting me participate and being so kind and understanding when I asked for an extension. I hope this was worth the wait.

Also, special thank you to my amazing friend slash sunflower @trexrambling because she beta’d this entire thing and helped me figure out how to make this story better and more beautiful. This would have never been posted without her.

My prompt for this was Baby, It’s Cold Outside by Michael Bublé and Idina Menzel (I love it btw) and it’s been used both as an inspiration and a key for the plot of this fic.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me and Merry Christmas! <3

Wednesday, 25 December, 2013

Arkansas Street, Lawrence

Dean knows she’s trouble the first time he sees her.

He’s leaning against one of the bookshelves in his brother’s living room, tiny snowflakes still sprinkled across his hair, and even though there are so many things he could have noticed, the fresh evergreen branches and the printed patterned ribbons and a Christmas tree with plaid garments, she’s the first thing that catches his attention.

He finds her dancing on top of a sofa, one of her hands reaching up towards the ceiling while the other holds a mustache stick close to her upper lip, and God, she’s singing, she’s actually singing Michael Bublé’s part in Baby, It’s Cold Outside while his little niece is sitting on the floor, just a couple of feet away, giggling and clapping her hands giddily.

And though there are reindeer antlers on her head and her tiny feet are engulfed in a ridiculous pair of red and green fuzzy socks and she probably looks like a mess in that oversized Christmas sweater of hers, Dean’s sure he’s never seen anything more radiant in his life.

It’s there, in the way she moves and laughs and sings so completely out of tune, in the way her eyes shine, alive with a warmth Dean has never seen in a stranger’s eyes before, in the way she just lives in the moment, and everything else around her ceases to exist.

He’s smitten.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice crawls deep into his thoughts, and he’s so lost in his own little world, so lost in her, that he doesn’t understand what is happening until he hears himself humming in response.

His brother chuckles.

He turns to look at him, chin jutted in offense.

“Dude, don’t gimme that look. You were obviously staring.”

“Shut up.” A pause. Eyes glancing towards her again. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Eileen’s roommate from college. Just moved back from Italy.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Sam smirks, patting his brother on the back. “Totally single, by the way.”

A groan.

Eyes rolled skywards.

“What?”

“Man, you got to stop trying to hook me up with friends of your wife.”

“I’m not, I swear,” Sam huffs out, hands thrown up in surrender. “All I’m saying is, she’s kind and smart and I like her. And,” -he jabs a finger at her direction- “Autumn Brae loves her.”

Dean shakes his head a bit then and lets his eyes drift back to the fascinating girl with the lively eyes, the girl that dances with his niece and blows Eskimo kisses on her nose and tickles her sides.

Her eyes dart up and meet his and she smiles.

She doesn’t know him, she’s never even spoken to him before, but she smiles like she does, like he’s a dear friend, a smile that’s all softness and sweetness and sunshine.

He nods at her, “Nice mustache.” He smirks before he can stop himself.

Her cheeks flush pink.

She bits her bottom lip and he’s sure she’s going to look away but-

“Nice smile,” she retorts.

And he’d give anything to come up with something smart to say, he’d give anything to impress her and smirk and flirt in that way he knows makes women swoon but, somehow, he feels like that’s not nearly enough with her.

He makes sure to sit next to her at the dinner table that night.

Friday, 27 December, 2013

Merriam Ln, Kansas City

Dean had stopped looking for love a long time ago.

He used to, once, back when he was younger and the world was much simpler, a place swirled around his parents’ fiery glances and their inside jokes and a love so profound he thought nothing and no one would be able to conquer it.

He’s seen enough since then though, has seen too much, and knows that true love does fall apart, and the world is a pretty crappy place and there’s no justice, no magic in it, just like there’s no point in falling in love just to get your heart broken in the process.

Because he had had his heart broken. And ripped out of his chest. And stood up at the altar.

So, yes.

Dean’s not looking for love anymore.

But as he sees the way Y/N’s eyes shine in the dim light of his car, its soft glow dancing across textures and shades and edges he so desperately wants to trace with his fingers, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s found it anyway.

“Are you sure this is edible?” Y/N asks after a few seconds, voice laced with a bit of uncertainty as she squints suspiciously at the paper box of Poutine in front of her.

They’re at a drive-in movie theater, slumped in the front seats of the Impala, and she’s got one of those blankets he keeps at the trunk of his car wrapped around her because she is always too cold for her own sake.

She looks like a burrito.

The thought makes him smile.

“Kid, I’m telling you this is one of the best street foods in America right now.”

“Yes, but is it safe? Because it looks like-”

“A mess. Yes, that’s the whole point. Just,” he spreads his hands and locks eyes with her, wide and pleading, “try it.”

She pouts, brows furrowed into a curious scowl. “Okay. But if something happens to me-”

“You’ll serenade me to death with Baby, It’s Cold Outside. Yeah, okay.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, but he can see the brightness there, can see the amusement and the playfulness as she takes a reluctant bite.

Silence and then-

“Oh my God,” she moans, looking up at him, “dude, this tastes like heaven.”

He chuckles, a rich, loose chuckle that dances in the empty space of his car and nestles between them.

“You like it then?” he asks, hopeful and pleased and just a tad cheeky.

“Do I like it? S’ so –how did you even know about this?”

He shrugs, something nonchalant, and hands her a cold beer.

“Got a buddy that spent a couple of years in Canada before moving here. He’s the one that told me to try it out.”

She nods and takes a swig from her beer. “Did he also suggest taking me ice-skating on the first date?”

A groan.

Eyes rolled skywards.

“You’re never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Well, for the record, I’m actually terrific at ice skating.”

“Obviously.” She shakes her head, raises her brow a bit. “I mean, that fall on the ice was definitely terrific.”

“Hey,” he groans, pursing his lips, “I was just trying to keep you entertained.”

“And you almost lost a leg in the process.” She snorts. But then. “Seriously though. I had a really good time today.”

And though she’s fidgeting as the words come out, he can tell it’s a genuine statement, and he smiles, just a tug of his lips upwards, but so thankful, so heartfelt.

“Hmmm. Sounds like someone’s impressed.”

She laughs.

Her lips curl up in a smirk.

“Or. This could be the booze talking.”

“Oh, yeah, blame it on the beer, you lightweight.”

More laughter and eyes that shine brighter than any star he’s ever seen.

Fingers that tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

God, he really wants to kiss her.

He clears his throat, quietly.

“What?” she asks, nervous half-smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Nothing, I’m just,” he scratches the back of his neck, “m’ glad Eileen invited you to that Christmas dinner.”

She beams and Jesus Christ, it’s brilliant.

“Me too.” Her fingers brush up against his. “She’s…. She’s just amazing, you know? She’s the only college friend that actually stayed in touch after I moved to Italy. And she’s been so helpful since I moved back.”

Dean nods, mind drifting to Eileen and how selfless and loving and accepting she is, how hard she tried to win him over when she started dating his brother, how she loves him like he’s family and makes Sam happier than he’s ever seen him.

“Yeah, she’s pretty awesome.”

“Runs in the family, doesn’t it?”

He chuckles, but it’s bitter and darker than before.

“I dunno about that, kid.” He thumbs the label on his beer bottle. “I come with a lot of baggage. Eileen, uh…” He rubs at his forehead. “She said Sam’s told you about Lisa.”

The muscles in her face tighten.

She knits her brows in a frown.

“I didn’t ask him, if that’s what you think. I mean, I might have asked about you, but not like –Sam only wanted-”

“Hey,” he soothes, placing his hand on her arm gently, “’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t know that my fiancée dumped me at the altar for someone else, obviously, but it’s not like it’s your fault my brother can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“It wasn’t like that. Autumn Brae...” She sighs, eyes going a bit narrow. “She was going through some photos of their wedding and there was a picture of you and Lisa there and-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells her firmly, but his jaw still clenches a bit. “That was years ago, but she just… What happened with her really messed me up, kid. And m’ still probably not as great as Sam and Eileen paint me to be.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not Little Miss Sunshine either.” She snorts and pushes some hair off her face. “I got plenty of issues I need to work on. Family stuff, personal crap I need to deal with, all that jazz. But. That’s conversation for like, the sixth date, so…”

“Sixth date, huh?”

“M’ willing to bribe you with homemade Italian cuisine. Hell, I’ll even add my famous tiramisu to the mix if you’re willing to put up with me that long.” She grins. “What do ya think?”

He smirks then, and leans closer, close enough that he can feel the heat that’s radiating off her. He tries hard not to think how much he wants to lose himself in it, and reaches for her hand, small and soft in his large one.

She looks up.

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, sweetheart,” he whispers, and she flushes, lips trembling into a shy, radiant smile.

He never once pays attention to the movie when it starts.

Monday, 30 December, 2013

Tennessee Street, Lawrence

Dean’s in way over his head.

He has known it from the very beginning, has known it from the moment he locked eyes with her and felt like a part of him had returned home, but it’s only getting clearer, only getting more evident now that they’re walking around the crowded Christmas market trying to find a present for his niece, and every time he catches her staring he just wants to lean over and kiss her until he can’t breathe anymore.

The Polaroid flashes for what feels like the hundredth time that day, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He groans.

“What?” she asks, a nervous chuckle escaping her.

“You do realize I know you just took a picture of me, right?”

She smiles then and, even though it’s nervous, there’s a glow to it that does funny things to his heart.

“Always so observant, Sherlock.” She waits for the photo to print, then hands it to him. “Here. S’ a good one.”

It really is a good one.

“So, I take it you like photography?”

“Kinda, yeah.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I, um… I actually wanted to become a photographer when I was a kid.”

And he’s not sure whether he’s supposed to ask but-

“Why didn’t you?”

She sighs, lets her eyes drift to the floor for a second.

“Y/N, look, you don’t have to-”

“My parents… I’m not sure whether Sam’s told you anything about them but they’re very difficult people. Very frigid, very driven. They, uh,” she laughs, but it’s harsh and there’s a darkness in it that hadn’t been there before, “run one of the most prestigious business companies in Kansas so, having a photographer daughter just didn’t fit into the kind of high profile they wanted to keep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rocks back and forth on her heels a little, seemingly thinking about something. “There was this program… I got accepted into it after I graduated high school. My parents and I got into a terrible fight about it so, I ended up getting into Princeton instead.” She gulps, head tilted to the right. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Princeton was great, and I love the job I have now but…”

“Your relationship with your parents was never quite the same,” he whispers, careful to keep his voice void of all emotion.

She nods, bottom lip wobbling.

“We were never close, but,” she runs a hand over her face, “they’ve been crappier and way more judgmental about my life choices since then. Which is why I spent the past five years working in Italy. Hiding is easier than dealing with them, sometimes.”

His jaw clenches.

He tries hard not to think about the scars those people have left on her, tries hard not to think that they might match his, despite the fact he’d grieved for the loss of his parents after they died in a car accident, while she’d grieved for the loss of hers whilst they were still alive.

Maybe that was worse.

“Well,” Dean mumbles and lets his fingers lace with hers, then grips, “for the record, I think they have no idea what they’re missing out on.”

She cracks a small, shadowy smile. “Thanks, D,” She whispers. Her eyes drift to the Polaroid he’s still holding. “You should keep that one.”

“Kid, I-”

She takes a step closer to him, purses her lips in a pout.

“Please?”

He chuckles.

God, how can he say no to her?

“Okay, but,” he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lets his knuckles brush against her skin for just a second, “I want to see the rest, too, if that’s alright.”

“The rest?”

He grins and it’s all mischief and brightness. “Everything you got,” he says.

“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Over dinner at my house. I’ll even let you buy me ice cream.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Just be glad I’m a cheap date, sweetheart.” He smirks and she laughs.

He knows then, knows with a certainty that’s beyond him and seeps into his bones, into his very marrow, that he’ll never fall deeper in love with a laugh.

He kisses her outside the ice cream parlor that same evening.

Thursday 25 December 2014

Massachusetts Street, Lawrence

Dean can’t take his eyes off her.

They’re strolling down the snow-covered streets together, surrounded by Christmas lights and large, fluffy flakes of whiteness, and still, all he sees, all he can see is the soft girl in his arms, the one that marched into his life a year ago and turned it upside down just by being in it.

“Are you sure Sam and Eileen were okay with us leaving so early?” Y/N asks, biting the inside of her cheek nervously.

He snorts out a laugh. “Oh, please. Benny and the Harvelles were still there. They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

Y/N arches an eyebrow at his response but he just chuckles and presses a kiss on the top of her head, lips brushing against the fabric of the burgundy beanie she’s wearing.

“We should have stayed a bit longer. Eileen worked so hard to make this dinner perfect.”

“And it was. But as much as I enjoyed getting my nails painted by Autumn Brae, I’d like to spend the rest of my time doing very adult things with you,” he gloats. “’Sides. We’re having breakfast with your parents first thing in the morning, remember?”

“Yeah, I’m actually trying to forget that,” she deadpans, brows furrowed in a scowl. “Do we really have to go? S’ not like they’ll care.”

And he knows she doesn’t want to sound bitter, knows she tries very hard not to let the venom that’s been poisoning her seep into her voice, but she does because she’s so tired of trying to win a battle that’s already been lost, tired of trying to make the two people that are supposed to love her unconditionally actually care about her.

So, he shakes his head and wears the fakest smile he’s ever worn in front of her.

“You know they will,” he says, squeezing her hand tight into his.

“D. -”

“Look,” he starts, “they’re not my favorite people in the world, alright? I know they got tons of flaws and they made lots of mistakes and they never valued you enough.” The muscle in his jaw twitches, but he just licks his lips and carries on, “But they’re trying, kid.”

“Are they? Because they’ve been treating you-”

“—c’mon, don’t go there.”

“No, Dean. They’ve been treating you like crap for months,” she retorts, and though Dean knows she’s trying to keep her emotions at bay, they’re tumbling out of her very soul, illustrated in the way she clenches her jaw and juts her chin.

“They have been nasty about your job and your family and the fact you didn’t go to college so that your brother could, and I’m just –you don’t deserve that because you’ve been,” she lets out a nervous chuckle and spreads her hands in a spread-armed shrug, “you’ve been everything I could ever ask for and-”

“Hey,” Dean whispers, titling her chin, “breathe.”

He gives her a second, lets her frustration burn out until all the angry things she wants to say are swallowed up by the crispy night air.

And then.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your parents think of me,” he tells her, but there’s no hatred there, no bitterness or pain or tartness. Just the truth, spoken into the darkness only for her to hear.

“Not when I got you. I wish we could get along, obviously, because they’re your parents and you’re –you’re too important to me. But this.” He laces their fingers together and brings their joined hands to his lips. “God, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He kisses her knuckles sweetly. “And I’m not letting them ruin it.”

She smiles, and it’s a smile he’s seen there before on afternoons spent by the fireplace with Vonnegut books and wine flavored kisses, in between tangled sheets and mornings when they wash each other in the shower, fingers running leisurely through shampooed hair, and in those nights they spend making lazy love like it’s the first and the last time.

It’s the smile that lets him know he’s not the only one feeling this way.

It’s the smile he loves.

“So,” he drags his fingers through her hair, “you and I are going to go out with them tomorrow, and we’re going to have fun and whisper inappropriate things to each other until they give us that murderous look you hate so much.” He smirks, all spark and playfulness. “And then, we’re going to come back home, and I’ll give you that gift I’ve been bugging you about.”

A lazy grin spreads across her face.

“So, you’ll just wear that pair of godawful Santa boxers you bought from the mall and dance for me?”

He lets out a loose chuckle, green eyes sparkling in mischief as his mind drifts to the new professional camera that’s wrapped in a plaid patterned roll, just waiting for her under his Christmas tree.

“Well, that wasn’t the plan, but if you’re into that kind of thing, I’m sure we can-”

“Shut up.” She whines and smacks his chest, trying to push him away.

He wraps his arms around her middle, firmly.

“C’mere, kid.” He cups her face with his large hands. “You’re cute when you blush, you know that?”

“Am not. M’ vicious and scary.”

“Hmmm,” he nuzzles her nose, leaning in, “so vicious, tiger.”

He kisses her then, lets his mouth brush up against hers, all purpose and fire, and smiles when he realizes he can taste the apple pie they’ve shared earlier, can feel the Tennessee Whiskey she’s been drinking on her lips.

“So,” he beams when it’s all over, hands precariously low on her back, “everything you could ever ask for, huh?”

“Well, yes,” she grins, “I love you, D.” She traces his jawline with her thumb. “Christmas Grinch and all.”

“Pffft. M’ so not a Christmas Grinch.”

A chuckle.

Lips curved into a smirk.

“Sure you’re not, old man.”

“Old man?” he growls out as he lets go of her, eyes drifting to a pile of snow beside him. “Careful, sweetheart. You don’t wanna poke the bear now, do you?”

She breathes out air through her nose, hand on her hip.

“M’ not poking the bear. I’m poking the Grinch,” she says with a brilliant, unwavering grin.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, you brat,” he hisses, reaching out for a handful of snow, smashing it in his hands.

“Dean, don’t you dare.”

“What, you’re scared now?” he asks, heat dancing in his eyes. “You were such a smart mouth just a few seconds ago, baby.”

“Dean, I’m warning you. If you throw that snow –you jerk!” she shouts as the ball crushes right against her chest, flecks of snow dotting her coat and the Y/H/C of her hair, but he just laughs because he isn’t even sure he’s played in the snow before.

She reciprocates after that, allows the snow to fly back and forth until their clothes are soaked, and they’re exhausted and limbless and frosted to their very bones.

She never stops though, wild laughter spilling from her lips as she runs away from him to collect more ammo, and he sees a chance and takes it, lunges for her and pins her to the ground with him.

And he’s sure the fall must have been painful, but she blinks, a pleased, half-smile spreading across her lips, lighting him up like a firework.

Leaning closer, he holds her hands above her head and takes everything in, the flushed cheeks and the snow-painted eyelashes and those brilliant eyes that look at him like no other eyes ever had.

He feels alive.

“What?”

He feels them then, feels those three little words he’s never told anyone since Lisa ready to slip out of his mouth and nestle into her softness and, this time, he’s not afraid, not willing to hold them back.

“I love you,” he whispers, and she beams, like he’s just whispered the words to her old favorite song.

It’s the happiest moment of his life.

Friday, 25 December, 2015

Karl Johans Gate, Oslo

Dean’s never been abroad before.

He’s never been particularly fond of the idea, never really cared to see what was beyond the little world he’d built for himself because he was content, he was safe there.

And then she came along.

Y/N waltzed into his life with her ugly Christmas sweater and her ridiculous fuzzy socks and brought with her colors and feelings and love, the love he’d given up on, the love he thought he’d never deserve again, and let them wrap around him like a vine until they seeped into his veins, into his very being and became a part of him.

He’s felt it before, felt that change creeping in through stolen kisses and drunken nights at Irish pubs, and he feels it again now that he’s leaned against the wall of one of the oldest hotel rooms in Oslo and watches in amusement as Y/N stands in the balcony and leans over slightly so she can take the perfect picture of the frozen landscape.

Joining her outside, he wraps his arms around her waist quietly and presses a soft kiss on that spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Taking pictures already, aren’t we?”

With a hum, Y/N lets the camera hang from the strap around her neck. “Well, we have to fill that scrapbook somehow.”

“You mean the one that’s already been filled?”

She snorts, placing her hands over his and squeezing. “No, I mean the one I just bought, smartass.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbles, brushing his nose against her neck, “go on then.”

“Yeah, I can’t if you keep that up.”

The words come out in a whine, but he feels her shiver against him, hears the way the breath hitches in her throat and her heart beats just a little faster and loves the fact that, after two years, he still has that effect on her.

“Seriously, s’ distracting.”

He smirks, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“What, that?” He trails kisses up the column of her neck leisurely. “Or maybe, it’s this,” he gloats, hands wandering lower, to that junction of her thigh and hip.

A groan.

Shaky breaths.

“D., cut it out.”

More kisses.

“D., I’m serious,” she warns, finally managing to turn around and face him. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Says who?”

“You,” she says, clasping her hands around his waist with a coy smile. “You promised you’d take me to the Christmas market today. And I want to see Ibsen’s house. And go to the National Gallery. And try the potato pancakes.”

“Well, yes, but,” he takes the camera off her carefully and places it on the table next to him, then walks until he’s got her pinned against the wall, “we could totally do that later in case you, ya know, want to show me how grateful you are for this trip.”

She laughs then, and he swears it’s the sunniest sound he’s ever heard.

“Real smooth, Mr. Winchester.”

He grins and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes light and bright as they flicker across her face.

“Well, not everyone can be as smooth as you, Fuzzy Socks.”

She rolls her eyes, but he still sees through her, sees the smile she’s trying to hide.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yes,” he brushes his mouth against hers, sweet and drifting, “but you love me.”

The corner of her mouth pulls up.

Her eyes lock onto his, something sincere.

“Yeah,” she whispers, hands trailing up around the back of his neck, “I do. I really do.”

And he wishes there were enough words to explain how much that little sentence means to him, what she means to him, but they never are, so he just leans in and presses his lips against hers, pours everything he feels into a kiss that’s gentler than rose petals and warmer than the first day of summer.

They pull away, breathless but sated.

“Listen, I have...” he lets his head drop on her shoulder, then swallows, hard. “I have an idea. But it’s insane.”

“Your ideas are always insane.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She kisses his jaw, fingertips grazing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Rough, calloused hands caress her cheeks.

“Wanna hear it then?”

“Hmmm.”

He lets out a soft laugh and leans in, until his mouth is inches away from her ear.

And then.

“Let’s get married,” he says.

Her jaw almost drops to the ground.

For a second, there’s nothing but silence, eerie and white silence dancing in the air between them, save from the sounds of strangers passing by the street in front the hotel, laughing and shouting and chatting.

He blinks, second-guesses himself.

“Dean, is this –do you mean this?”

“’Course I do, kid. C’mon,” a small kiss, “follow me.”

Taking her hand in his, he leads her inside the room and reaches for his duffel bag, fingers wrapping around a little velvet box.

“Here,” he waits until she snaps the box open to reveal a simple diamond ring with a platinum twisted band, “it, uh… This was my mum’s.”

“Dean-”

“No, just –I’ve been carrying this with me everywhere for months because I hoped.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I love you,” he says. “I love you so much that is scares me sometimes, and I don’t,” he sighs, and squeezes her fingers, “God, kid, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

She smiles, sparkling and rosy and real.

“Then don’t.”

A skipped heartbeat.

Brows furrowed in puzzlement.

“Does that mean that-”

“I’ll marry you? I dunno, D. Why don’t you ask me again?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time.

He just looks at her, at the girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and lets go.

“Marry me.”

“Yes,” she kisses him, “yes,” -kiss-“yes,” -kiss- “yes,” -kiss- “yes, I’ll marry you, you ass.”

It’s all heat and need and secret smiles after that, ragged breaths and lingering touches the only thing he can focus on until he lays her on the bed and makes love to her like he’s never made love to her before, whispering praises and sweet nothings and tender nonsense into her ear.

She follows him over the edge a million kisses later, then holds onto him, hides her face in the crook of his shoulder as he crashes on her and laughs, and it’s all because of him.

“Man,” he brushes sweaty locks of hair off her face, “merry Christmas to us.”

She chuckles, the sound vibrating into his lungs.

“I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”

He shifts a little then, presses his lips on her forehead.

“I do now,” he beams.

He’s the luckiest man on Earth.

Sunday, 25 December, 2016

Kentucky Street, Lawrence

Dean doesn’t deserve her.

He knows she’s too good for him, he’s always known it, but somehow has managed to bury the thought deep within the fragments of his soul.

It still hits him sometimes, though, hits him in the least expected moments, when he steals glances of her getting ready for work or when she’s asleep next to him in the mornings, hair a bird’s nest, smile soft and serene, and he swears that he’s never seen anything more perfect in his life.

It’s there then and it’s here now that her parents’ disapproval is getting to him again and her mum’s words are echoing soundlessly in his mind, a horrifying mantra.

You’re going to be her downfall.

How can she say that? How can she even think that when she knows that Dean would give everything, his job and his life, his very soul, to make her daughter happy? How can she say that when he’s spent the past year working double shifts just to give Y/N the wedding he knows she’s always dreamt of, even though she’d told him time and time again that all she wants is to marry him, pomp and circumstance be damned?

Y/N enters the kitchen, dressed in his light grey sweater, the one he bought to impress her parents the first time he met them, and even though he’d normally be unable to take his eyes off her bare legs or that soft spot on her neck that’s still bruised from his ministrations, now his eyes are locked on hers, on how puffy and swollen they look.

His heart clenches in his chest when he realizes it’s because of the fight they had the night before when he discovered that she was offered a position for a photography program in Paris and had declined it –for him, because of him- and never told him.

He’d been mad then, mad she didn’t tell him anything, mad that she’d given up on something so big for his sake without even asking him.

“Hey,” he rasps out.

He wishes he had something better to say, but he doesn’t.

Jesus, he hates fighting with her.

“Hi.” An awkward pause. Eyes that look anywhere but him. “Uh, can we talk?”

He blinks.

“Yeah,” he runs a hand over his face, “yeah, let’s do that.”

She nods, a thankful, relieved nod, and licks her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and it’s weak and shaky and genuine. “I should have told you about Paris. I just… God, I’m an idiot.” She wraps her arms around her middle, a self-deprecating laugh escaping her.

“Y/N-”

“I never applied for that program,” she says, like she doesn’t hear him, like she doesn’t notice how her name leaves his lips in a prayer. “One of the instructors just happened to be at that exhibition I did in Kansas last summer. He liked my work, so-”

“So, he offered you a position in it.”

“Yeah. And my mum was here the day he called, or I wouldn’t have told her, trust me.”

His forehead puckers.

“I know. But why,” he lets out a brittle chuckle and shakes his head, “why didn’t you tell me?”

And it’s just a simple question, but it’s laced with wounded pride and concern and a heart that’s been painfully scarred far too many times and he knows, the moment the words leave his lips, he knows she sees it, too.

“Because I said I wouldn’t go. And I didn’t want you to worry over something that wouldn’t happen.” She ducks her head, juts her chin a bit. “And I was wrong, and I could come up with a million excuses, but you don’t deserve that.” She doesn’t look up at him, “You deserve an apology.”

“I don’t want an apology,” he says, flinging his hands up. “I want you to trust me. I want you to not let me make the same mistakes your parents did.”

“But I don’t want to go. Not this time.” She presses her mouth into a thin line, fights with herself for a few fleeting seconds. “Dean, I love photography, but it’s not what I want to do for a living anymore. Because I love my life here. Because I love you.” She crushes the heel of her hands over her eyes. “God, D., I love you more than anything in the world and I know sometimes you –I don’t want you to think you’re not enough for me. That having you isn’t enough to make me happy. Because it is.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s just,” he runs a hand over his face, “c’mere, kid.”

She walks closer to him and reaches out to touch him, letting him lace their fingers together.

“Do you know I used to hate that ridiculous Michael Bublé song until I met you?”

“You did?”

He chuckles, just a little under his breath, and curls an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“Yeah, but then…” He takes in a deep breath and smiles, all love and longing for the memories waltzing in his mind. “Then I saw you dancing to it that night and… Now every time I listen to it, all I can think about is how it made me fall in love with the craziest woman I know.”

“Hey,” she whines, smacking his arm, and he laughs and tightens his grip around her, “m’ not crazy.”

“Yes, you are, kid.” He tilts her chin up. “And I love that about you.” A kiss that’s fleeting, soft and fragrant. “And that’s why I’m going to ask you to think about that offer again.”

“Dean-”

“Nope.” He clasps a hand at the side of her face. “Just listen to me for a sec. I know photography’s just a hobby. But you’re too good at it. And this is a pretty great opportunity.”

“But-”

“I want you to go.”

“D., we’re getting married in four months. The program starts in August.”

“Yeah, well. We can reschedule. It’s a six months program, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then we’re having a Christmas wedding. Next year.” He leans in, nuzzles her neck. “What do you think?”

She leans against him, fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt.

“How did I ever get so lucky with you?”

“I got no idea, but,” he braces his forehead against hers, lets his arms wander under the sweater she’s wearing, “you’re about to get luckier in about, uh, five maybe six minutes?”

She barks out a laugh, nose nuzzled against his.

“God, I love you.” she whispers.

“So, that’s a yes?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” He kisses her and this time it’s all depth and desperation and need. “It is if you promise you’ll come back to me.”

It’s the only moment he allows his walls to crack, the only moment he lets his armor down and lets her see him, see through him, through his fears and worries and tears, and she smiles.

“I’ll always come back, D.”

That’s more than he could have ever asked for.

Wednesday, 11 October, 2017

Rue des Francs Bourgeois, Paris

Dean can see why she likes Paris so much.

He can see it from the moment he sets foot on the City of Lights, can see it when he feels that last ray of daylight dance across his skin and knows that it’s somehow different, somehow brighter than the ones that cast light to his own world, back at Lawrence.

And he feels it, too.

There’s a fascinating kind of frenzy strapped to every street, every boulevard and cathedral and café he passes, and he can easily picture her flowing out of the bookstalls, with a newspaper and a croissant in hand, hurrying to get to the Louvre or to Seine.

A smile plays across his lips at the thought.

He misses her. It’s only been two months since the last time he kissed her lips, only two months since he held her in his arms, solid and concrete and warm, and yet, he feels like there’s a vibrant part of him missing.

Tonight, though…

Tonight, he’s going to surprise her.

He hadn’t thought about it until she called, almost a week ago, and sounded so tired and troubled that Dean lost a night’s sleep over it. She said she’d only had a bad day, of course, but he’d been worried and so, with the first opportunity he got, he booked a last-minute flight, bought her a stuffed teddy bear and flew to Paris.

He’s just purchased a bottle of her favorite wine from a little liquor store right across the street from her apartment when he sees them.

Y/N kissing someone else.

The man’s hands digging into her hips.

And for a moment, he’s so absolutely stunned and startled, so shocked that he refuses to believe what he’s seeing is real, refuses to believe that that girl is Y/N, his Y/N, but it’s written in the smoothness of her skin, in the radiance of her presence.

His stomach churns.

He lets the stuffed animal drop to the ground, mud painting its limbs.

“Monsier,” a young man asks him softly, taking a step towards him. “Ça va bien?”

Dean blinks away the tears, eyes glancing back to where Y/N and that, that man were.

They’re gone.

And Dean wants to do so many things, wants to punch a wall and smash every single bottle in that cellar, wants to go upstairs and beat the crap out of that punk that’s kissing his fiancée, wants to take her in his arms and yell at her and kiss her and ask her why, to run and scream and cry, he wants to know why she’d do that to him, and wants to ask someone, anyone, why he’s not enough, why he’s never enough, but there’s no life, no fight in him left.

“Monsier,” the man asks again, brown eyes gazing upon him with concern.

Dean lets out a ragged breath and shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says, running a hand over his face. And then again, if only so he can fool himself. “I’m fine.”

She tries to skype with him a few hours later.

He doesn’t answer.

Wednesday, 18 October, 2017

Sunnyside Avenue, Lawrence

Dean hasn’t talked to her in a week.

She’s called and texted and tried to skype more times than he can count, but he just keeps ignoring her, keeps pretending that it doesn’t break his heart every time he sees her smile on his screen and has to let it ring, let it go to voicemail like her effort means nothing to him.

Like she means nothing to him.

But that’s not the case. Because Y/N is still everything to him, no matter what she did, no matter how much he wants to hate her.

He can’t.

He can’t because for every second that kiss lasted there’s a good memory of her, a smile she smiled just for him, a laugh shared over spilled coffee, a soft whisper pulled out of her lips in the moments he spent plugged deep into her, an inside joke, a loving glance.

And then he doubts himself and he doubts her and everything he saw because he’s felt her love so deeply, felt her love interweaving itself so thoroughly into his existence, into the strings of his life that he can’t understand how she could do that to him.

“Benny,” Dean chokes out, waggling his fingers, “I want another round.”

“Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen, brother. M’ tired of dragging your drunk ass home every night,” Benny says, tossing the rag on the counter. He lets one, two, three seconds pass and then. “Have you talked to her?”

“C’mon, man, don’t-”

“Have you talked to her?”

Dean clenches his jaw.

His fingers wrap tighter around the pint glass.

“No.”

“Go talk to your fiancée, Chief.”

“She’s not,” his voice breaks, “don’t call her that.”

“How much of an idiot can you be?” Sam’s gruff voice startles him, and he turns around to find his brother walking towards him with long strides, fury dancing in his features.

“Sam, what the-”

“Y/N called me,” he states, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “She was crying. Said you haven’t called her in a week.”

Dean swallows, hard.

His eyes drift to the floor.

“We, uh… We’re dealing with some stuff.”

“Some stuff?” Sam repeats, incredulous. “Some stuff? Jesus Christ, Dean, she thinks you’ve been in an accident.”

And he knows it doesn’t make any sense, but his heart breaks all over again when he realizes she’s hurting.

“Sam.”

“She’s been calling every hospital in Lawrence, you ass.”

“Sam.”

“Why would you-”

“She’s seeing someone else!” He shouts, a shout that’s all bitterness and anger and heartache.

A few heads turn his way.

He can’t bring himself to care.

“She’s seeing someone else,” he says again, and this time the words are laced with unshed tears and wordless whys.

He expects Sam to apologize then, to stumble over his words, but instead.

“She’s not.”

Dean huffs out air through his nose, not quite a laugh.

“Sam, I saw them. They were kissing and-”

“If you had bothered to pick up your phone when she called, you’d know that the guy kissed her. He was drunk. She punched him and called his friend to take him home.”

“She --that guy-”

“The guy had been flirting with her for weeks. She told him she was engaged. He obviously couldn’t take no for an answer.”

Each word his brother speaks is like a slap in the face, leaving nothing but bruises and cuts and wounds as it pierces through his skin.

“I don’t understand…”

“She gave me the guy’s number. She gave me his friend’s number. Apparently, Eileen knew about this, but didn’t say anything because Y/N didn’t want you to worry.” He pauses, lets his words sink in. “She’s telling the truth, Dean.”

Dean’s bottom lip trembles.

The lump in his throat tastes like hope and guilt and shame.

He calls her thirty minutes later, and when she doesn’t answer he does it again and again and again.

She never picks up.

Monday, 25 December, 2017

Kentucky Street, Lawrence

Dean keeps a picture of her in his wallet.

It’s one of those photographs that never made it into their scrapbooks because she absolutely hates the way she looks in it, nose red and hair wild and unruly from the wind. He’d taken it in Norway, a day after he proposed, while she’d been staring at some kids that were playing next to them in the snow, and every time he looks at it he’s reminded of brilliant smiles and frozen kisses and whispered promises in the darkness of their room.

It’s been two months since the last time he saw her, two months since they broke up, and he still can’t believe he’s lost her.

Part of him thinks he’s going to open the door one day and find her there, asleep on the couch, or that he’ll walk into the kitchen and she’ll wrap his arms around his middle and step on her toes to kiss him and ruffle his hair like he’s a little kid.

He still turns around every time he hears a camera flash, still thinks it’s her trying to steal pictures of him like she used to do, and on the nights he’s had too much to drink he believes she’ll crawl into bed with him and he’ll get to touch her again, get to feel her sleep next to him.

But that never happens, so, he drinks a bit more and smiles a bit less and tries to get by.

And he loathes himself. He loathes his own stupidity and his fear and his pride because he did the one thing he swore he’d never do, because he let his scars define him, let Lisa and what she did to him ruin the one good thing in his life.

And then there’s a knock on the door one day.

With a sigh, he heads for the entrance of his house and swings the door open, ready to tell Sam that yes, he is sure he doesn’t want to have dinner with him and no, he doesn’t need a baby sitter because he’s a grown ass man, but-

“Hi,” an all too familiar voice says.

He freezes, then blinks.

She’s still there.

“Y/N,” he says, “hey.”

She smiles, something nervous and awkward, and every atom, every cell in his body screams at him to kiss her.

He doesn’t.

“You, uh… You look beautiful,” he whispers. “I mean, you always do but Paris… Paris looks good on you.”

Her cheeks flush a light shade of pink. “Thank you.”

One, two, three long minutes pass.

They just stare at each other.

And then.

“So, Sam,” he scratches the back of his neck, lets his eyes drift to the door, “he said you’d spend the holidays in Paris.”

“I was going to, but…” She shakes her head a little, gnaws on her bottom lip. “We were supposed to get married today.”

“I know,” he says, hoping she can’t taste his heartache on her tongue.

She laughs and God, it’s so broken.

“We really screwed this up, didn’t we?”

“Y/N-”

“No, I was… I was at that little café in Paris yesterday and Baby, It’s Cold Outside started playing and I remembered,” she sucks in a breath, but the words that leave her mouth are still wrecked and choked and fragile like porcelain, “I remembered how it made an amazing man fall in love with me. And I know it’s too late, that I’m too late, but… I miss you.”

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat.

She misses him.

It’s that simple.

It’s that complicated.

It’s everything he needed to hear.

“And I know I should have called. And I still can’t believe you think I’d cheat on you but-”

“You miss me,” he breathes out, and he can’t even remember the last time three little words had meant so much to him.

“I do.” The wind blows cold on her face then and prompts her scarf to sway, revealing the diamond ring that’s hanging from a chain around her neck. “I always do.”

And there are a million things he wants to say then, a million things he needs to say, but he doesn’t, because for the first time in two months, he knows he still has time, knows it’s still not over.

So, he settles for the first words that come into mind.

“It’s cold out here, isn’t it?”

She shoots him a bemused look.

Her brow furrows in a frown.

“It’s...cold?”

“Yeah,” he says, running a hand over his face, “you should come inside. I just finished lighting up the fireplace and everything.”

And this time, she understands.

This time, she smiles, and it’s a smile that takes him back to the start, back to the first time they locked eyes and he realized she was it for him.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches out for her, lets his calloused hand slide against her own and grips.

And when she beams, he knows.

They’ll always find their way back to each other.

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blondrichclosetwitch · 4 years ago

Text

The ride played twice today. Reminding me of the post I started when I left the house this morning.

See I had some bizarre dreams this morning. My mother was holding a leg that was found in a garden, deeply upset because it was evidence about my niece’s death. By the way......maniac just started to play on the past lives list.

Then I was holding a smartphone that was flashing “IRELAND” with sacred geometry traced over a satanic hipster with big sunglasses holding a girl. I answered the call and he said he was going to kill my daughter if I didn’t get him 1.4 million dollars. And that he also had my son and that he would chop off his hands.

(Now “betamax “ by big black delta is playing : Sometimes I lie to get what I want

Oh no, it's tearing me apart

This time I will drive)

There was also sex in the dream, and yet not, with me insisting to hold on to my celibacy.

When I woke up i was super groggy. I couldn’t move for several minutes which is very odd for me. And then the music started.

Witness 4 the persecutiob was the first song; I know this because I put it on the “first song” list. Some strange angel by car seat headrest followed, and then “have to drive “.

Reference to the accident. Haven’t heard it in a while. I made my

Coffee grumpily. The dream about my niece’s death and children being threatened to be killed had fucked me up. And then the farmers daughter played. That’s a referenceto me and Jakk and ireland in the 1700’s, and the daughter we lost then. (Btw, love rescue me by u2 is playing: it’s 8:08. ) Then it was 10:10, the Beatles and the stones.

“Sucking the marrow out of bones”

I thought of the leg.

Oh. Right.

When I was hit by the car, It was my leg they hit.

That took a minute.

10:24, pray you catch me: Keeping my head to the curb

as I look at my photos for the next song, In my head I heard “it’s all there”. Btw, Thom e yorke’s “last I heard (he was circling the drain) “ plays.

10:26 am, the ride. This is a special song and if you know, you know. I think about writing my brother a letter about this song: how when amanda played it live, with me in the back row clutching my

Niece’s framed Picture, I tried to sob as quietly as I could, but when you’re losing your shit, regulating your breath is unlikely. Was it too close to home? Maybe. I just know that it’s the one song from that album the spirits had me memorize.

Now they’re playing sober to death twice in less than 2 hours: 7:17 & 8:50 Jakk, i fee like I should tell you I sang/shouted the end of this song to the geese earlier. I think they really appreciated it. I saw myself at a microphone in front of a large crowd, even though it was just a human-less street by the water. And yeah I’m starting

To feel like getting high is a waste of time.

No offense, guys. But now rise by public image ltd is playing which starts “I could be wrong,

I could be right.”

May the road rise with you.

Moving on.

Around the time of the ride I was starting to notice all the references to car accidents.

Next song was telephone by Gaga.

Doesn’t play often. Reflecting as I wrote/write this, I was stumped, so I do what I do sometimes and I put it on repeat. And I walked. With the thing swinging in

My hand. Niecey was walking me

Through it. I asked her a couple questions, and she pushed me to go farther, the way they do sometimes. And then as a Beyoncé verse came on, I got it.

I shoulda left my phone at home

'Cause this is a disaster

Because if truth be told, that phone in my hand that was always trying to write the perfect ode to Jakk, was what I was thinking about as I went from south to the park to west across the street, never quite making it. I was so concerned with being a poet that I perhaps wasn’t the most aware of bright lights, big city.

Point being, a lot of these songs seemed to point to the accident (like right now the living end by Jesus & mary chain “I get so high on my motor bike “ or

Truckin by the Grateful Dead...what a long strange trip it’s been...now it’s playing transfiguration #2...and it’s been nothing if not that)

I’m still thinking about those haunting dreams.

0 notes

icefrozendeadlyqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Deadly Sisters: (y/n)’s Prologue.

Title: Deadly Sisters

Family: Reader comes from a family involve in the unknown. The world normal people have no clue about. They can theorize, but they can never be completely sure. Their family prefers to work on their own, "better work alone than with a crowd, right?".

Summary: Two killers rely on each others... What could possibly go wrong???

Ships: (y/n) x Ubbe, (y/n) x Sigurd, Ashla x Hvitserk. Reader insert words use

Favorite Coffee: (f/c) Your name: (y/n) Last name: (l/n) (Your tagged id)

Warning: There are huge topics in here. I’m sorry if it offends anyone, but I couldn’t stop once I started writing.

Story: On going. It's text/scenes. I hope you enjoy

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

My name is (y/n) (L/n), I am a hacker Hitman.

I thought life was simple in most terms speaking my simple is other's dismay or death. It all depends on my mood. I have a set of skills well learned throughout my life; it's a family legacy to know how to align with people at a level is certainly scary. I am always learning everything I can get my hands on from truth, rumors, lies and overall the darkest information known to men. Example, people's lives are a new chapter of a story, why did Gregory kill his wife? huh.

The cops said his wife was cheating on him. The first cop to come at the cries of the neighbors threw up in the scene of the crime. Revolting. It's all he manage to muster to the news. His family wants to believe he was posses by the devil. Only reasonable explanation for a gentleman that burn his wife and kids alive, right? Her family believes he was paranoid. They demand him to be given the highest type of punishment, Capital Punishment. The neighbors can't believe what has occur. Its such an atrocious act. They retell that night like a replying nightmare every time they close their eyes. "I woke up to the screams of Tiffany. She was a nice gal used to bring me pie whenever she had some extra". "In all my 80 years of living in this neighborhood something like this has never happen. They had family issues as any couple would". "Gregory and Tiffany were an exceptional matrimony. They would come to my families Saturday cooks out! Tiffany would bring her famous pie! Gregory bring some of the whiskey I like. We have a good time. My kids like their kids. We didn't notice anything wrong". His colleague detail how good he was at his job. He took a good length of time to manage his work to perfection. It became Gregory's signature. Her colleague say she was diligent. She never once made a mistake. Those people that envy her believed she was a witch how could she had a response for everything. Always being right neither wrong on anything. What a load of bullshit

A conservative small town what could possible go wrong with such a murder? it's the center of the epicenter.

Whats hot in news right now? I will let you know in more than one occasion. Hypothetically speaking a woman by the tag name Veronica_Ink join my chatroom long ago. I have always explained to them the chat rules here in the dark web.

(Private Message between (your tagged Id) & Veronica_Ink)

Veronica_Ink: "I have joined through a secure server on my husband's computer".

(Your tagged Id): "I don't particularly give a shit how you join. I am telling you not to come here looking for trouble, ma'am. I am fed up of saving damsels in distress".

Veronica_Ink: "My dad is a rapist, and I sleep with a pistol under my pillow".

(Your tagged Id): "Okay. You have experience to be here at least. It took an escalating turn"

Veronica_Ink: "It's alright. I had gone as far as too change my name and any trace of that from my present. Now, I have beautiful children and a treasure of a husband".

(Your tagged Id): "Cute then why are you here?"

Veronica_Ink: "Not all fairy tales are true...."

(Your tagged Id): "Enough said". I didn't ask what she meant in any way or form I don't care. It's how this new century works. The less you care the less probability of getting caught. A rule the (L/n) family has lived by for centuries, and we have manage to avoid detection. It's a sweet taste in your mouth like drinking the nectar of gods, A.K.A. (F/c), knowing that we haven't gotten caught yet. It's the best part of a thrill being known like any other millennial

Veronica_Ink: "We are the picture perfect couple since middle school. We grew up in a small town high school sweethearts, you know?".

(Your tagged id): "I have never understood the necessity of high school sweethearts".

Veronica_Ink: "It's like finding your other half for high school".

(Your tagged id): "I get that part, but I don't see the point. The expectations of happy ever after until is not possible".

Veronica_Ink: "It's picture perfect".

(Your tagged id): "Outside until people decide to look close enough".

We agreed it was just going to be a quick chat or did I just agreed to that? We never talk about it to be precise so I just don't understand the tugging I feel re-reading this none existence conversations lost in deep thoughts. I have single handle all of my problems without relying on my family much. We take on jobs that we have no emotional attachment what so ever... I guess I didn't comprehend why would that be. I have never taken a job with another family member for actual good reasons.

Jobs. Tasks. It's all the same in terms, isn't it? I am already 10 steps to close to this.

Veronica_Ink: "You don't like high school sweethearts, do you?"

(Your tagged id): "It seems all fake to me for some it works. I have no problem with it, but I have never understood the term high school sweethearts. The concept itself seems to be playing with fate, and fate is laughing at it".

Veronica_Ink: "Ahhhhh. You had a high school sweetheart?"

(Your tagged id): "No, I have never stay in a high school long enough. It was particularly entertaining".

Veronica_Ink: "Awh.. that's awful"

(Your tagged id): "It really isn't. You are probably thinking of an orphan or movng a lot type of deal. I am neither".

Veronica_Ink: "Yeah... you don't seem like the person to give a shit either. It was nice to talk to you, (y/n). I have to go attend to some things."

(Your tagged id): "Yeah, don't mention it. Have a good day Tiff".

Veronica_Ink: "Tomorrow same time?"

(Your tagged id): "Same place".

Who knew I would have gotten a friend from this illegal dump? Hell would laugh at my stupitity. I got attached. She knew before I knew. Well know... I did some bringing up to the light. I have uncover her life not like somthing can be hidden from me. There is nothing in this world that I can't crack with enough practice and hard work as long as you don't get caught. I don't need to be recognize on anything what's the point of doing something if people acknowledge it.

Just fucking do it and let the repercussions come later. I have many completely sign for me as we speak. My father always said, "Time will only tell, pop. We either keep doing things right protecting the family or we fail all together screwing the family". He has a point that there is no in between. I look at it the way anyone would have I don't regret my choices or the fact I am obviously blinded by emotions at this point. What the fuck was I thinking??

That's right I wasnt fucking thinking. I keep hearing my father's advice through out all my bad decisions a reminder that I am making a shitty hole for myself. I may as well make it even more big than it should be. I call myself a hitman, but I am here trying to solve marital problems? Jesus Christ. I am trying to blame somebody where there is nobody to blame. I am trying to find an excuse where there is none. I always will be a step ahead of everyone unless I let my heart lead.

(Your tagged id): "How are the kids?"

Veronica_Ink: "They are doing amazing! Little josh won fourth place on his spelling bee tornament, "Mom, I'll work hard to get #1 next year", he is the most cutest thing. Gregory offer to help him train up, and I almost forgot about last night beating. I have to thank you with helping jessica yesterday, you know? her paper got an A+. The university loved it. I don't know how you do it all the thoughts she wanted to express you had it on paper".

(Your tagged id): "Don't mention it, Tiffany. I am glad I could help even in the slightest. What about little jimmy? Is he better from the flu?"

Veronica_Ink: "We just got home from his check up. Gregory bought him a baseball bat, so they can plan on that trip. Jimmy wants to become a baseball player".

(Your tagged id): "The kid has a bright imagination... isn't this his 17th switch so far? How much energy does he has... you wouldn't fucking believe he has an illness damn".

Veronica_Ink: "haahahahah. Actually his 26th so far, "Mommy! I love them all! Fire fighter, super hero and baseball player! I want to be all", he said that on our way back and Gregory told him the sky is the limit.

(Your tagged id): "I pity his babysitter".

Veronica_Ink: "That's me”.

(Your tagged id): "I digress".

Veronica_Ink: "Ah come on! He is the cutest!".

(Your tagged id): "You can't decided which of your children is the cutest. On that note, who's the favorite?".

Veronica_Ink: "You know is getting late.. I should be going."

(Your tagged id): "I rest my case".

Veronica_Ink: "hahahahahaha. All jokes aside little lady. How are you today? You don't particularly like pen names, but I can't seem to resist"

(Your tagged id): "I ignored them. I am doing pretty good and you? I have had a pretty good week. Thank you for asking Tiff".

Veronica_Ink: "Doing as well as a viking burning boat. Jessica got into USCF, little jimmy says he will become a baseball player, and lil josh says he'll be the next spelling bee champion".

(Your tagged id): "So an honorable death? Well, this took a turn. It's UCF btw. I am guessing excitement took a turn".

Veronica_Ink: "Yeah, I started watching this discovering channel with Jessica.. you know mother and daughter quality time?! I am so happy! She ask me to watch it with her. I thought she would ask her best friend and not her boring mother."

(Your tagged id): "That's sweet you two are spending time together. I have to take a big dump on that 'boring mother' do I have to remind you that you are in a dark web chatroom. I don't think thats boring".

Veronica_Ink: "I can't really bragged about it though. That's like one of your main rules of the page or did you forgot? You say you'll ban people or ruin their life".

(Your tagged id): "Touché. Let me think... brag about your life? You won a hot dog competition in middle school? You punch that slutty math teacher in high school that's in prison now? I am going on a limb here but your life is not boring. It might not be celebrity worthy, but that doesnt matter".

Veronica_Ink: "Good point. My daughter is showing interest in my life! I feel so happy right now. Don't you think punching a teacher was a little too much?"

(Your tagged id): "It depends on what happen. Normally teachers are respecting human beings that deserve the world offer to them. Ashley was a racist little shit".

Veronica_Ink: "Look, (y/n) not everyone name Ashley is a bully or a racist or a pedophile. It was just a huge coincidence. My sister's name is Ashley".

(Your tagged id): "And? Lets not even get on the topic of your sister... she isn't a good example to begin with.

Veronica_Ink: "Touché. On good terms, what can I bragged about? Jessica is my star. I want her to look up to me. I want her to think I am like a super mom?".

(Your tagged id): "She already thinks that. Jessica knows you put a lot of work on feeding her, so she can get all her vitamins and minerals. She bought you flowers last friday after you stood by her when that douch broke her heart. She may not see much of your cool right now because she is a teenager that's basically their definition. Don't over think it much, Tiff. You are an amazing mother. You are doing just fine".

Veronica_Ink: "You are probably right. I am going to go right now. I want to give them all my undying attention".

(Your tagged id): "Good night, Tiffany".

Veronica_Ink: "Good night, (y/n)".

I have a weak point on some extent. I'll accept it. Other than my sister nobody has broken through my hard core firewall. I guess the first instict to change is to fight it or just be crazy for a little bit. I am friends with Tiffany. This is just incredible. This is a healthy friendship, right? You care for something. It's natural right? It's an excuse isn't it? I guess. I am not sure anymore. Ashla would have laugh at my weakness. She would have put a bullet on Tiffany and walk away. I wish I could just let go, but I care too much to walk away. I love her to much to let go.. is that what friendships are? You care for another person more than yourself. I thought families fall into that category...

I have never let anyone in. Tiffany knowing my real name makes her a target, but there is no way she'll become one right? No. I am just being paranoid. Yeah.. that's it. Paranoia.

Veronica_Ink: "It was a weird old man. I lost little josh at the amusement park, and he said an old man guide him to a van. He bought him an ice cream and told him to stay inside. I am terrified and scared about it. He said a woman came before the smelly old man could hurt him. She took his hand, knew his name and even play some games with him. He said the woman got him that teddy bear he wanted, but I told him I didn't had enough change for".

(Your tagged id): "Huh why are you telling me all of this?"

Veronica_Ink: "It was you, wasn't it? Don't deny it, (y/n). Josh secretly told me the woman knew my name. He told the police the description of the man. I was relieved when the cops found the old man, and it wasn't one of josh made up stories. He was brutally murder, (y/n). Execution style. The police told Gregory and I that there was a woman, but there is no camera that caught the woman's face. We could only see little josh talking to someone.. we recognize it was a woman because of the voice... just please. Thank you".

(Your tagged id): "Execution style? Sheez. Veronica. I don't do Execution Style. I am a hacker for fuck sake how would I know how to kill people?"

Veronica_Ink: "You said so yourself. Anything can be accomplish with enough anger built up".

(Your tagged id): "When the heck did I said that?"

Veronica_Ink: "The day before the amusement park. We talk. You said to watch my kids because there was news reports of kids disappearing and found dead a week later".

(Your tagged id): "Me and my big mouth."

Veronica_Ink: "I know it was you. I want to believe it was you".

(Your tagged id): "It wasn't me. I had been at home all day. I was working on a job"

Veronica_Ink: "Computer related? I know you can't do remote jobs.. Hmm.. Well.."

(Your tagged id): "Do you have any prove anyways?"

Veronica_Ink: "No.. I had a feeling. Josh had a bubble gum package and a chocolate bar in his jetted pocket. The only person I know that loves coffee more than life is you plus you are the only person that knows josh favorite bubble gum. He is a hard kid to follow strangers. He knows better than to do that, but he told me that the woman was my friend. No, his exact words were "My Guardian angel"".

(Your tagged id): "Can you just accept your kid is safe? He is away from harm. You are all a big family again, right? Be happy idk"

Veronica_Ink: "Thank you, (y/n)".

(Your tagged id): "It was my sister, okay?".

Veronica_Ink: "The deemed one?"

(Your tagged id): "We are all deemed, but yes"

Nah, bitch. It was me. Fuck. You see my point. I am attached to a level that can become deadly. I knew that old faggot wouldn't resist a lost kid. I knew that. I had to do some extra remote work to make up for it, but it was worth it. It was. It is worth it. Why wouldn't it be? Tiffany is save and the jumping troll thats her kid is doing good. I got attach to her and her kids.. I am a fool.

Execution Style seem the fair go to for all his fucking crimes. He had all the kids outfits. The ones he hurt. I got emotionally involve so what? like its a fucking crime. I couldn't live with myself if I let it happen. I couldn't live with my conscience. I feel... fuck.. so predictable right? (y/n) stares at her diary letting go of another sigh. (y/n)'s eyes scroll through the images in her computer of an old chat conversation with vivid notes she wrote daily to keep up with her changing or Tiffany growing into her. (y/n) lips tremble in little weeps tears that she doesnt bother to clean, "It's done sweet, Dove. I have avenge you... it has been a long time old friend". (y/n) words leave a sore taste in her lips though a sweet feeling inside her even if its been old to come. The words don't make her feel any better nothing seem to do fix the broken shell of a woman she was anymore, "I have a flight to catc-". The words lost within a train of tears coming furiously from her eyes as her heart opens accepting what she was pushing back all this years.

Yeah I can't believe that either. Dear old friend. You can rest in peace now, okay? The bitch is dead along with your ex-husband.

#reader insert #emotional #friendship #vikings #prologue

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