#guy who’s taken beer bottles to the head and respond by throwing a table

[tothesolarium]

When your ordered to kill a team and there only one member you can identity, and it’s the one who’s nearly beat you a few times. Yet instead of pressing killing blows he’s defended the rest of team so they can keep harassing your bosses. So you keep his wanted poster. For training reasons. No admiration. Nothing but violence at this man. Sword violence

[egcdeath]

act natural

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: sometimes, you just have to share the bed. 

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fluff, sharing a bed, idiots in love, cheesy

a/n: this is really just an excuse for me to write a lot of self indulgent bants, but it’s also a part of @stargazingfangirl18’s soft!dark challenge, and i decided to write something soft and use the prompt of only having one bed! (p.s. i like did not edit this at all so if a few words are used a lot pls forgive me) 

Dinner at the safehouse was finally wrapping up after a long day of getting your ass beat by an angry android and a few enhanced teenagers. You and everyone else around you seemed to be more than exhausted from the extensive day of revisiting deeply repressed traumas, and petty arguments between teammates over who was truly at fault for every predicament you found yourselves in.

You took a long and final swig from a beer bottle, glancing up to Bruce and Nat as they stood up and pushed in their chairs, retiring for the night. 

“Thanks for hosting us, Laura,” Natasha offered, grabbing her plate from the dinner table, and dropping it off in the dishwasher.

“Of course, guys. Any time,” she gave a half smile to her friend, then looked back at the table, where everyone else had taken the memo, and found themselves somewhere in the process of leaving the table, or grabbing their dishes, “but before you all go, I wanted to warn you that someone else is gonna have to share a room tonight.”

You glanced over at Steve, who was on your left, and Tony, who was sat at the head of the table. You and Steve shared an awkward chuckle at the thought of being in the same bed, not even considering the similarly uncomfortable situation of sharing a bed with Tony. 

“I think I’ll be rooming alone. These two lovebirds can share,” Tony chided before either of you even had a chance to think of a response. You looked back over at Steve, whose cheeks were currently dusted with a light shade of pink, and the bigger man quickly looked away from you.

“Tony, you know we are not- you know what, nevermind,” you huffed, deciding the argument was not worth it. 

Tony shook his head as he dropped his dishes off in the dishwasher. “So no objections?” he asked teasingly, eyeing you both with a smirk on his way back from the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?” You could’ve sworn you heard Clint and Fury laughing to themselves before excusing themselves from the table, and dispursting though the house.

Besides the slight humiliation of being teased for your situation, you weren’t too concerned about the act of spending the night, or next few nights with Steve. You and Steve were friends, or something like that. Just a few pals with crushes that you refused to admit to each other (or yourselves).

Pushing this thought aside, you grabbed the neck of your empty beer bottle, along with a few pieces of silverware and marched off to the mechanical cleaner yourself. You dropped off the things that needed to be cleaned, tossed your bottle in the recycling bin, then went to turn away when Steve grabbed your arm, automatically catching your attention. 

“Is this okay with you?” He asked, letting his vice grip on your arm go.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you upstairs,” you muttered before speeding off, and heading upstairs where you strolled into the only vacant room, with the door wide open, and both your own and Steve’s duffle bags on the floor. 

You made a mental note to thank whoever brought them in (probably Laura), and dug through your bag to find something even slightly comfortable to sleep in, eventually settling on an oversized shirt and your favorite cotton shorts. 

You had just barely finished changing in the tiny closet when you heard the soft click of the room door, notifying you of Steve’s arrival. You slid open the closet door, and made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto the left side, and reaching for your phone as a distraction. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Steve asked, searching through his own bag until he found the only clean comfortable pair of pants he had in there, that just happened to be a jokey Christmas gift donned with a red white and blue color scheme, and graphics of mini shields on it.  

“What the hell, Steve. Of course not,” you set your phone down so that you could get a better look at him. “We probably have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” You could live with that excuse, especially considering that it would not be very becoming of you to tell your crush that missing an opportunity to sleep in the same bed as him feels like a federal crime. 

He stood up from his squatting position, squeezing into the tight space of the closet so that he could change into the corny pants, and finally get out of his clothes from the day, “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Well, they won’t be as long as you stay on your side, okay?” You said petulantly, setting two pillows across the middle of the queen sized bed and attempting to ignore the excited butterflies in your stomach. 

“I will,” Steve responded, exiting the closet slipping into the right side of the bed cautiously, and looking at the wall that was facing him.

You glanced over at Steve, and when you caught wind of his shirtless torso, you couldn’t help but to look away with a warm face,“this is so awkward now,” you said after a beat. “Why couldn’t you have roomed with Tony?”

“Tony is the worst bed mate ever. Total blanket and pillow hog,” Steve chuckled, attempting to ease up some of the tension.

“You’re no saint either. I’ve heard you’re a cuddler,” you bantered back, allowing yourself one more glance at the man. Steve seemed to be having the same thought as you at the same time as you, as your eyes briefly met. 

It was uncomfortably silent in the room once more, and you reached over to your nightstand to turn off the bedside lamp, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Steve,” you turned your back to the border of pillows, fell into a fetal position, and squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you’d be able to find some sort of peace after such a bizarre day. You tried not to dwell so much on the horrors you’d been forced to face earlier, and instead relied on the rhythmic breathing coming from the man next to you to ground you.

----

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but a jolting of your bed, and a bit of a commotion coming from somewhere in your room pulled you away from your unsettling dreams.

Blinking yourself awake, you uncurled your body, and rolled over to look at Steve, whose legs were thrown over the edge of the bed while he panted heavily.

“Steve?” you slurred sleepily, “you ‘kay?”

“’m fine,” he yawned.

“Well you woke me up,” you mumbled, throwing your head back against a pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was having a shitty dream anyway.”

“Really? I was too,” Steve refused to look at you, staring blankly at the wall.

“So tell me about it,” you hummed.

“It’s just… I keep thinking about how I missed out on so many things from the past. I could’ve been happy, living out my days in a semi-peaceful and familiar world. Not anything like this.”

You sat up as you listened, pushing aside a pillow from the border you’d constructed to move closer to Steve and set a reassuring hand on his back.

“I guess I just wish that I was there. With everyone and everything I used to know.”

“But it’s not all bad, right?” you offered, and Steve shrugged before looking down. 

 “I’m sorry. I really am. I know that I’ll never truly understand that, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. You’re here now, and you have no other choice but to make the best of it. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if you spend all of your time in the present lamenting about what things could’ve been in the past, you’re just gonna be miserable forever,” you rambled sleepily, words slurring occasionally. 

“Your experience is so unique, so I could be getting this all wrong, but there are plenty of good things here in the now. I mean, a world without the internet? I don’t know if that’s a world worth living in,” you chuckled softly, and were joined in your quiet laughter by the man on the other side of your bed.

“Seriously, though. I know you can’t control your dreams, but maybe your subconscious is letting you know that it’s okay to let go. Of like, the past. It might just be time for you to move on and be happy. I’m sure that Peggy and everyone else from your past would’ve wanted that for you too.” In the dark, you saw the silhouette of Steve’s head nodding. 

“You always know what to say, huh?” he asked, kicking his legs back over onto the bed while you scooted back over into your previous space. 

“I’m like half asleep right now, Steve. If you asked me to repeat half of what I just said, I would not know what to say,” you giggled. 

“You wanna talk about your dream?” Steve asked in a concerned tone. 

“Mmm, I actually just wanna go to sleep. As crazy as that may sound,” 

“Is there anything that I can do to help you not have another bad one?”

“Hmmm,” you pondered, becoming a bit more lethargic by the moment. “Spoon me?”

“As you wish,” Steve happily obliged, grabbing one of the pillows from the middle of the bed and adding it to his stash of pillows. 

You threw a pillow from the border between your knees, and received a strange look from Steve. “What? I heard it’s good for your back.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “Stop being so judgy and cuddle me already,” you murmured, turning your body so that you could lay on your side.

Steve scooted closer to you, and you pressed your back to the front of his chest. He tossed an arm over you and somehow managed to pull you even closer to him. You swore you hadn’t been this comfortable since you left the womb, and you nearly purred in response. 

“Can I make a request?” he asked.

You simply nodded.

“Can we just… talk until we fall back asleep?” 

“That’s really cute,” you mumbled into your pillow. 

“You just have a relaxing voice!” he defended playfully.

“You are such a dork,” you giggled. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just tell me about… I dunno, anything.”

“That was so helpful, Steven.”

“My bad. Tell me about your favorite… mission?”

“Mm, probably that one time you and I had to go undercover for like a month to bust that arms dealer.”

“Which one?”

“Some dude in the Midwest. Can’t remember his name.”

“Oh yeah, yeah I know who you’re talking about.”

“It was fun being your life partner for a month. We were really good at being domestic.”

“Hmm, now that I think about it, we really were. Do you remember that cookout?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed at the memory. “Everyone else was getting so drunk, but you just… couldn’t. They were like Joseph, you’re such a beast, and shit. And who would’ve guessed that you, the old timer would be such a beast on the grill.”

“Well, who would’ve guessed that you were so good at cornhole?”

“Was I really that good? Or were you just really bad? Like really bad, especially for someone whose skill set revolves around having good aim,” you teased.

Steve scoffed and laughed, shaking his head at you. 

“How didn’t those people recognize us? I just don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised how much a beard and dyed hair can change your look.”

“I guess,” you sighed softly, and set a hand on top of Steve’s. “Does this feel counterproductive to you? We’re just sitting here giggling. We’re probably getting less tired.”

“I guess I am less tired. But I’m also not thinking about the impending robot apocalypse.”

“Well now that you brought it up, I’m thinking about the impending robot apocalypse. You better fix this, Rogers.” Emboldened by what must’ve been the butterflies in your stomach falling asleep, you began to roll a bit in his arms so you were facing each other, kicking away the pillow between your legs in the process. 

“How can I make it up to you?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“You’re the man with a plan, right? Think of something,” your lip quirked slightly in a smirk.

Steve leaned in just the smallest amount, before a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. “I got it. We can do one of those one word stories until we fall asleep.”

Well, that’s not exactly how you thought this moment was going to go. 

“Okay, I’ll start then,” you nodded, pressing your head down against a soft pillow, and looking up at Steve, “once.”

“There,” Steve added.

“Was.”

“A.”

“Death-bot,” you giggled. 

“Okay, Y/N. No. No more stories. We can just listen to each other breathe now until we fall asleep like before since you wanna ruin the mood.”

“What mood? And you listened to me breathe?”

“What else was I gonna listen to?” he furrowed his brows, “it’s too late for this anyway. We can talk in the morning.”

“All you had to do was tell me that it’s way past your bedtime, and I would be understanding. But goodnight anyway, Stevie,” you cracked him one last smile, not budging from your position as you closed your eyes. 

It was silent for a few minutes before Steve whispered up out of the blue, “you still awake?”

You slurred something into the pillow, much more asleep than awake. 

“Well, I really like you a lot. Maybe one day I’ll get the guts to tell you that when you’re not completely out of it.”

You grunted as a response, and Steve couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face, not while he was falling asleep, and certainly not during his rather pleasant dreams.

——

You just couldn’t seem to catch a break with your wake up calls. While you and Steve seemed to sleep through the rapping against the door, and the door itself opening, you both seemed to become aware after the artificial shutter of an iPhone camera flooded through your ears.

“You guys just looked so cute, I wanted to archive this moment for the rest of time. And I’m sure the team will be glad to see that you got along well last night,” Nat teased as your eyes widened and you shot up. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, by the way.”

Well, you two were going to have a great time explaining this one. 

[mikrowrites]

knocking on heaven’s door

winchester!sister , sam x sister!reader , surprise jack kline x winchester!reader

SPN SEASON 15 FINALE SPOILERS!!!

summary: Dean’s gone, and Sam doesn’t know how to tell their sister, who stayed home at the bunker during the hunt.

warnings: ANGST, major character death, fluff flashbacks, grief

Y/N walked down the bunker steps, Miracle ahead of her and pulling on his leash. She unclipped the lead, watching the dog run happily to the kitchen with a smile.

Suddenly her phone began to ring in her back pocket, Y/N reaching for it and identifying the contact name “Dean-o”. She grinned, answering the call. “Hey big bro.”

“Hey little sis.” Dean replied. Y/N walked over and sat in one of the chairs in the library, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the wood.

“How’s the hunt?” She asked.

Dean sighed. “It’s going. We’re outside a vamp nest right now. I think we’ll be home in time for lunch tomorrow.”

“So is that a hint for me to cook?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled through the phone. “You do make the best homemade pizza.”

Y/N hummed. “Damn right I do. Okay, okay. There’ll be deep dish waiting.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Dean was silent a moment. “How’s the college search?”

She pursed her lips, looking at the open laptop on the table with an application pulled up. Since the world was out of immediate danger and the Winchesters now had control of their lives, Y/N had decided she wanted to finish college, do something. “I’m thinking Kansas State. Close to home, so I can see you guys often.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.” Dean responded. “When we get back after some pizza we’ll go get drinks, you and I. Celebrate.”

Y/N smiled. “Can’t wait.”

“Well, Sammy’s being impatient and we’ve gotta rescue some kids. I’ll call you after the hunt.” He chuckled into the receiver.

“Okay. Be careful! Love ya, big bro!” Y/N cheerily answered.

Dean smiled, shaking his head. “Back ‘atcha, kid.”

The line went dead.

—

Jack held his palm up in a farewell gesture, smiling at the three Winchesters.

“Goodbye.”

He then turned, and began to walk away. Sam and Dean watched, upset but understanding of the boy’s decision.

Y/N, however, pushed past her brothers, running forwards towards the nephilim. “Jack! Wait!”

Jack stopped, turning and looking at Y/N questioningly. “Yes, Y/N?”

She exhaled shakily, stepping up to him so they were inches away. “Will you listen to my prayers? At least mine?”

The boy smiled. “You can talk to me anytime. I’ll be with you.”

Y/N nodded, stepping back for a moment. Then, after either building her courage up or contemplating (maybe both), she approached Jack once more, grasping both sides of his face in her hands as she kissed him, the boy letting out a noise of shock before melting into her.

After a few seconds they pulled away, resting their foreheads against each other’s, before Jack squeezed Y/N’s hand in reassurance.

With that, Jack turned and walked away, glowing with a bright light until he disappeared. Y/N exhaled, closing her eyes momentarily before turning back and looking at her brothers. She walked back over to them, Sam casting her a smile and look of pity, but Dean squeezed her shoulder.

Y/N looked up at her eldest brother, who pulled her into an embrace. The man chuckled, rubbing her back comfortingly with his hand. “You had the privilege of loving him. That’s a gift.”

She nodded her head, burying her face in his jacket. “Thank you.”

—

Y/N paced through the war room, biting her fingernail. She sent another text, her heart beating in her chest. It was 4 am, and Dean hadn’t called back.

Called: Dean-o (47) DECLINED

To Dean-o: How’d the hunt go?

To Dean-o: Dean?

To Dean-o: Hello?

To Dean-o: Please call me you’re scaring me

To Dean-o: Dean please

Suddenly the creak of the bunker door echoed through the room, Y/N’s head snapping up, the girl sighing in relief. “Jesus, Sam. Dean wouldn’t pick up his phone.”

The tall man walked silently down the stairs, Y/N shaking her head in disbelief and looked up at the door, waiting for Dean to appear. She rolled her eyes. “No need to hide, asshole. You just got your pizza privileges revoked, though.”

Sam silently walked up to the girl, who finally turned to him, laughing a bit. “Over-dramatic as always.” He looked down at his sister, tears threatening to escape once more. He pitied how he was about to upheave her whole life, destroy the happiness the family momentarily had. Y/N peered up at Sam quizzically. “What?”

Sam hastily closed the distance, pulling Y/N in for a hug, holding her tight as his whole body trembled. The girl hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

He continued to embrace his sister, who lightly tapped his back with her palm. “Sam?”

“He’s gone.”

Y/N felt the breath being sucked from her lungs, as if her heart had just stopped beating right then and there. “Who’s gone? Sam...?”

Sam tightened his hold on Y/N. “He’s... I’m sorry... Dean’s...”

She pushed him away shaking her head. “No, no, you are not saying Dean Winchester is dead. You’re joking. No way. Our brother is fine. He’s just avoiding me and—”

“Y/N.” Sam pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes, Y/N running her hands through her hair. “You’re lying. You’re a liar!”

Sam attempted to reach out to comfort her, but Y/N took a step back. She met his eyes, a tear trailing down her face. “You—!” Y/N suddenly lashed out, throwing weak punches at Sam’s chest, shoving him back. She cried out with every punch, the tears beginning to waterfall down her cheeks.

The tall brunette took every hit, every shove, every curse for a while until Sam gently grasped both her wrists, spinning her and wrapping his arms around her from behind, holding her back against his chest. Y/N thrashed in Sam’s grip, screaming obscenities as she sobbed.

After a few minutes she let her body go limp in his hold, her mouth opening as if to scream, but only a raspy whimper escaped her throat. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hanging her head low as Sam held her tighter, resting his forehead on her shoulder from behind.

The bunker echoed with her soft cries, the two Winchesters mourning an incurable loss.

—

Y/N closed one of her eyes, biting her lip in concentration before she let the tip of her cue hit the ball, Dean letting out a low whistle. “Damn, kid. You play a mean game of pool.”

“Well, you know. Training meant many different skills to Bobby. How to shoot a gun, wardings, kicking ass at pool.” Y/N mused, reaching a plucking the $20 bill off the edge of the table and pocketing it.

Dean took a swig from his beer, nodding. “Well, those three check out.”

Y/N blushed at the compliment, Dean sitting at an empty table in the bar, gesturing for her to sit across from him. Sam was resting at the motel while Dean and Y/N decided to celebrate another successful hunt. The girl grabbed her own drink and sat down.

“Nice work today, kiddo. You saved our asses out there.” Dean tipped the neck of his beer forward in a toast, Y/N clinking her drink against the glass of his. They took a drink, the girl shaking her head.

“Anytime.” She smiled.

Dean sat forwards. “Y’know, only if you want to, but um, Sammy and I wouldn’t mind another person helping us out on hunts. If you wanted to, I mean, you don’t have to, but if you wanted to—”

“Dean.” Y/N interrupted his rambling, grinning. “I’d love to.”

The man smiled at his little sister, nodded. “Great. Awesome.”

Y/N nodded, smiling back and taking another drink before standing and grabbing her cue. “Another round? I’ll bet fifty on this one.”

Dean shook his head in amusement, smiling and joining her at the pool table.

He had failed one of his half-siblings in the past. Dean swore he’d never do it to her.

—

Y/N sat on her bed, gripping her phone in a white-knuckle grip. She stared blankly down at the photo on her phone, it was a photo taken from that night at the bar. Y/N and Dean stood side by side in front of the pool table, smiling wide. Dean held his beer bottle in his hand, his other arm wrapped over Y/N’s shoulders.

It had been a week. One torturous week since they burned his body, since they said goodbye.

She sniffed, before laying the phone down on the bed, straightening her back and raising her vision forwards. Y/N inhaled, her eyes steady and red-rimmed.

Y/N closed her eyes slowly.

“Jack?”

The room was silent, Y/N opening her mouth once more.

“You said you’d listen to my prayers. You’d always be with me.” She exhaled softly. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I take his place, if I go to hell, if I suffer, fine. But please. Please Jack, bring him back. Bring Dean back. Do something.”

“You can’t just let this happen. Bring him back. I know you can, so just please, do it. I can’t... I can’t live without him. I can’t live without my big brother. Just bring him back. If you ever loved me, prove it and bring Dean back.”

Y/N sat in deafening silence, before opening her eyes, fresh tears gathering as she stared forwards. “Please.”

Silence. Nothing.

The girl shakily sighed, lowering her head.

A knock at the door brought her head jolting up, only to feel as though deflating at the sight of Sam. “Hey.” He softly spoke. “Donna has a case. I... I think we should go.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, looking for something to say, but opting to step away and head for the library when coming up with nothing. Y/N looked around her room, before grabbing her duffle.

She could read Sam like a book. He didn’t plan on coming back to the bunker after this hunt.

Y/N packed her duffle, leaving only the things she knew she wouldn’t miss. She smiled as she pulled polaroids of her and her brothers off her wall, stashing them into her bag.

She met Sam up at the top of the bunker stairs, looking out at the place she and her brothers had called home. Y/N let one last prayer be recited in her head before turning to her brother. “Let’s go.”

The lights shut off one by one, engulfing the bunker in darkness.

[mycupoffanfiction]

The One

Coco Cruz x Reader

Summary: Coco turns you in a clumsy, shy mess every time he’s around and you just can’t quite find the courage to tell him how you feel, that is until your Mayan brothers drag you both to a funfair.

Warnings: Fluff, lots of shyness, Angel and Gilly trying to be wingmen, a brief mention of public sex acts.

Word count: Approx 2600

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, I’ve been working on this fic for months, but it was never quite right, but I loved it too much to scrap it, so I’m super happy to finally be able to share it with you! I did struggle with this a bit, so I apologise if it’s not super smooth, but hey 🤷🏻‍♀️ This is just the first part, the second part will be with you soon. Enjoy! 💖

“How the fuck are you winning again?” Gilly groaned, slouching in his chair opposite you as you placed down a card on the table, effectively winning the round of the card game you were playing. Giggling, you shrugged and crossed one leg over the other, looking rather smug with yourself. “You challenged me, remember?” You giggled, all too happy that you’d won another round. Gilly sighed and tilted his head back before gathering up the cards. “One more round?” He asked, handing you the cards to shuffle and you nodded, taking them from him.

Shuffling the cards, you were mid conversation with Gilly about how you wanted to go to the fair that had been set up just outside of town, when Angel and Coco entered the clubhouse. “It’ll be great, also, I don’t believe him, but Coco said he’d never had cotton candy before and-.” “He’s never what?” Gilly replied, incredulous, if not a little over dramatic and you giggled, shaking your head. “There’s your chance for a date, hermana, take ‘im to get cotton candy.” Gilly chuckled, nudging your hand with his, to which you protested with a drawn out, hushed ‘noooo Gilly’.

You were a dear friend to the club and all of its members, so much so that you were often titled ‘hermana’ since you had become a sister to most members, though some of them, notably Bishop had taken to calling you mija. But really, you kept everyone in the club grounded and you were greatly appreciated for your loving, sweet nature, despite the fact that you were horrendously clumsy and on more than one occasion had managed to run into people, drop everything and break things, not that anyone minded. But it always seemed to happen more prominently around Coco and the boys were beginning to notice it happen more frequently when you were around him.

“What are you two up to?” Angel asked, interrupting your thoughts as you shuffled the cards. “Just having a game.” Gilly replied, going on to tell Angel about how he’d totally won the last three rounds, to which Angel snorted in disbelief. It was another moment before you even realised that Coco was there, he’d not said a word, but you looked up to deal the cards between you, only to see him eyeing you over Gilly’s shoulder and you fumbled with the cards, some of the deck falling from your hands and spilling over the table and scattering everywhere while you attempted to keep them together.

“Oh jesus- fucking- hi Coco.” You managed to squeak out, Gilly trying so hard to contain his laughter as Angel gathered up the cards that had dropped to the floor and you felt the heat of embarrassment surge through you as you shuffled the cards back into a stack. “Hey corazón.” Coco responded with a light chuckle at your sudden bout of clumsiness and you felt yourself melt at the name he used for you, hoping it wasn’t too obvious how shy and embarrassed you were.

“I’ll get some beer.” Coco announced, throwing you a smile as he walked away. “How long is this gonna go on for? I can’t deal with you goin’ all butter fingers whenever you just fucking look at him.” Angel hissed, though he was far too amused by it all to actually be annoyed and you desperately wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Everyone knows you love him.” Angel told you and your eyes went wide. “I’m pretty sure even Coco knows.” He chuckled and you felt even more nervous about saying anything. “Shut the fuck up, man. Don’t listen to Angel, hermana.” Gilly said, lightly whacking him on the arm. “You gotta tell Coco-.” “Tell me what?” Coco cut in as he came back with some bottles and you slid down a little in your seat. “Oh, our little hermana here-.” “Thinks it’s ridiculous that you’ve never had cotton candy before.” Gilly interrupted Angel, kicking him under the table and you gave him a thankful smile before shooting daggers at Angel who looked far too pleased with himself. “What?” Angel asked, giving you a mischievous grin.

Coco just looked at you with a raised brow, evidently not believing it one bit and you quickly reached for your drink, hoping at the very least that occupying yourself with the bottle would distract you a bit. Coco lit himself a cigarette and toked it a couple of times before taking a full draw of his smoke, reaching for his beer.

“So what about that fair outside of town this weekend?” Gilly asked. “I’m down, I need a change of fucking scenery.” Angel nodded. “Coco?” Gilly asked as you took a sip from your bottle. He shrugged, looking at the two men with indifference. “Hey, c’mon man, remember last time with the photobooth?” Angel nudged him, winking. “Shut up, carnal.” Coco rolled his eyes, taking a puff from his cigarette as Gilly snorted. “The fabled tale of Coco gettin’ loco with not one, but two girls in a fuckin’ photobooth.” Angel said, speaking as if it was some kind of epic tale, when really, it was more of a half drunk escapade that Coco barely remembered a wink of, apart from maybe the tale end of a two girl blowjob.

“You comin’ hermana?” Gilly asked, completely changing the subject and you looked between the three men, giving them a look of uncertainty. “I don’t know guys, you’re just gonna abandon me in the teacups again.” You pouted, Gilly and Angel immediately erupting into laughter at the memory from last year.

Coco huffed as he listened to the conversation. He didn’t care about finding girls to have a little fun with at the fair, if anything, he was more interested in something else, not that he was going to make that known, especially not with Angel and Gilly around.

Coco leaned over, draping his arm around the back of your chair. “I’ll go if you go, corazón.” He whispered in your ear and you instantly felt yourself burn up from his close proximity and the way he said those words, deep, enticing, but somehow still sweet and soft. Angel and Gilly too were far too wrapped up in retelling stories of their last trip to a fair to pay any attention to Coco’s actions and you swallowed heavily, glancing shyly across at him, the Mayan much closer than you had anticipated and as you faced him, eyes almost too timid to meet his, your breaths mingled for a moment with how closely he had leaned in.

“I’ll go.” You responded quietly, voice barely audible, but Coco heard you just fine and your response prompted a big, lopsided smile on his lips and you wondered how you’d even mustered the courage to respond.

“See you there, corazón.” He smirked, leaning back to take the last sip of his beer before he stood up from the table abruptly enough to get the attention of Angel and Gilly.

“Gotta go, got shit to do with Letty.” He said, putting his bottle down on the table. “See you later ‘mano.” Angel waved him off, Gilly eyeing your flustered state and giving you a questioning look as you attempted to pull yourself together.

“You alright hermana?” He asked. “Probably.” You nodded, clearing your throat a little and shifting in your seat, uncomfortable under the questioning looks you were getting from both men before you finally decided to awkwardly say goodbye to your brothers and excuse yourself from the table.

“Tell me I wasn’t the only one who saw that?” Gilly hissed at Angel. “Nah man, I saw the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her.”

The next day was far too quick to come around and by the time you’d rocked up to the fun fair on the back of Gilly’s bike, you felt like the last day had slipped away from you far faster than you would have liked. It wasn’t that you weren’t looking forward to spending the day with your boys, you were so excited to spend some time with them away from the MC. But your apprehension came more from being afraid that you might fuck things up with Coco. What if you told him how you felt and he rejected you? What if he avoided you? That would crush you, but while you had been nervous about admitting feelings to Coco, all of your brothers knew that the two of you would be perfect together, which was why they were adamant on pushing you both together despite your often silent panic when they did so.

It was early evening as you walked with Gilly over to where Angel was standing in the parking lot, leaning against his bike, waiting impatiently for you both.

“You’re gonna tell Coco today, right?” Angel asked before he even greeted you, pushing away from his bike before approaching you and Gilly. “Oh yeah, it’s real nice to see you too Angel.” Gilly replied in a sarcastic tone, making the taller of the two snort in response. “But you’re gonna, right?” Gilly joined in, turning to look at you as you glanced at the two bikers who stared at you expectantly. “I mean… Maybe?” You answered, hoping it was enough to get them off your back about Coco, but it only seemed to make it worse because Angel was adamant a plan he’d come up with for how you should tell Coco was ‘fool proof’, whatever that implied.

“We’re meeting Coco in the fair, he’s late.” Angel informed you both as Gilly began to lead the group of you across the parking lot towards the entrance booth. “Club shit?” Gilly asked. “Nah, somethin’ to do with Letty.” He shrugged.

You stood with a grin on your lips as you watched Gilly and Angel playfully banter between them as they waited to have a go at winning something at a booth with water pistols and targets.

As you watched, you almost jumped out of your skin when you felt two hands gently grip your shoulders and you barely had time to react before you heard his deep, low voice, quickly relaxing you. “Whoa, relax corizon, s’just me.” Coco spoke softly in your ear. “Coco,” You looked over your shoulder at him with an uncontrollable smile, the biker coming round to your side, his arm staying around your shoulders.

“Sorry I’m late, was making cake with Letty.” Coco told you with a smile. “Don’t tell Angel that.” He added, making you giggle and shake your head. “I won’t, your secret is safe with me.” You replied, voice quiet and soft. Coco looked over at you, his grip on your arm tightening slightly as he caught your gaze, noting how relaxed you looked, how relaxed you felt against him and it brought a warmth to his heart to see you that way.

Angel glanced over his shoulder at Coco and the pair nodded at each other in a silent greeting, Angel smirking as soon as he saw you tucked against Coco’s side with his arm around you before he turned his attention back to the game when it was his and Gilly’s turn.

“Wanna go do shit without those two?” Coco asked. “Gonna have another headache if I gotta babysit them.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You nodded, letting Coco tug you along with him.

Coco walked you through the fairground, stopping by stalls and booths along the way to play a few games, his smile always doubling in size whenever he heard you giggle, noticing you enjoying yourself in his company. Coco had wanted to spend time with you and talk to you for a while, but no matter how hard he tried, one of the Mayans always seemed to drop themselves into the conversation before he even had a chance to try and ease you out of your shell and give you his full, undivided attention.

And now, as you both found yourself on the furthest side of the fairground, overlooking a beautiful sunset in the distance with a bag of candy floss in Coco’s hand that he shared with you.

It was such a sweet moment, calm and dreamy, the ambience of funfair was soft in the background, the soft, golden glow of the sunset gently casting over the desert horizon.

Coco looked over at you, bathed in golden light, gorgeous with a soft smile on your lips. He felt himself smile uncontrollably as you leaned against his side, his hand finding yours, fingers slowly and gently intertwining.

It felt right, it felt like it was meant to be in the sweet, serene moment you shared together and Coco knew right then and there that he’d found the one for him. You were the one.

“Coco,” It came out as a whisper, warmth filling you when you realised how naturally your hand had fit in his, how wonderful his touch felt against yours. “Yeah, corazón?” He asked, barely above a whisper, his voice low and warm against your ear as he leaned against you.

“I… I’m-.” You cut yourself off with a sigh, eyes cast down at your feet, trying to hide yourself, the feeling of shyness overcame you.

“Hey, take your time, mi estrellita.” Coco hummed softly to you, his voice soothing as you drew in a deep, slow breath. But when you became too shy to respond, he smiled, bringing your hand up to his chest, prompting you to look at him, a bit too timid to hold his gaze fully. “Look at me, mi corazón.” Coco whispered, reaching over to lift your chin with his fingers.

You shared a comfortable moment of silence together, your hand resting against his chest, the background chatter and laughter of the fair adding to the ambience, the sun slowly lowering just enough to leave you bathed in a soft, hazy twilight.

“I know, I know that every time you look at me, you get shy.” Coco said, watching as you tore your gaze away from him quickly. “Hey hey, wait, hold on corazón.” He urged, tugging you back to him gently. “But I get butterflies every time I look at you, I get this fuckin’ uncontrollable smile whenever I see you lookin’ at me ‘cause fuck, ma, you drive me crazy.” He smiled to himself, his eyes lighting up as he spoke openly about how he felt.

“It drives me fuckin’ crazy whenever I think about you, I think ‘bout all this shit I wanna do with you, shit I’ve never wanted to do with anyone before.” He confessed, both of his hands holding yours to his chest as he spoke and you couldn’t help but look at him and wonder if you weren’t just dreaming. “Really?” You managed to get out. “Yeah, I can’t get’chu outta my mind.” Coco grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your hands.

“I wanna take you on a date, wanna make you happy in every way I can, in every way possible ‘cause you deserve nothin’ less.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath before his eyes met yours. “Will you let me do that? Will you let me make you my girl?” He asked softly, watching as you smiled, shyly nodding, a little taken aback by his sweet words.

“I’d love that, Coco.” You said, almost in a whisper, but Coco met you with a bright grin before he leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Mi estrellita.” He whispered, pulling you against his chest and holding you close, embracing you gently, his heart fluttering, feeling on top of the world, because Coco got his girl.

He found the one.

Mayans/SOA Taglist (OPEN):

@everyhowlmarksthedead​ @woahitslucyylu​ @trulysuccubus​ @iambabyharry​ @starrynite7114​ @ifoundmyhappythought @peaches007​ @angelreyesgirl​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @plentyoffandoms​ @lovebennycolon​ @chibsytelford​ @mayans-sauce​

Permanent Taglist (OPEN):

@scuzmunkie​ @megantje123​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @loving-life-my-way​ @searching-for-neverland​ @kitkatd7​ @psychiccreationtaco​ @damienwitcher​ @thesewaywardskies​ @abbiesthings​ @marquelapage​ @noz4a2​ @queenbeered​

[wicked-mind]

Spark: Chapter Two

Summary: Y/N and Damon were apart of a Hydra experiment for over a decade until they escaped. When power outages through towns along with bodies of murdered Hydra agents start popping up across the country, Y/N becomes Bucky’s mission.

Warnings: More drinking, trauma, mentions of (kind of )torture

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*gifs not mine

Chapter Two - The Two Ts

-10 Years Ago-

Y/N sat in the small cell. She had been here for a while, stuck in the small cell with a glass door. There was a bed, a desk with some books and notebooks, and a small corner covered with a curtain as her bathroom. The walls were all white as well as the floor. She sat at the desk, picking up a pencil and putting another line with the many already on the page. The days she had been here. Almost three years. She stepped on the cold floor with her bare feet, hearing someone enter from outside the cell down the hall. She was wearing some grey sweatpants with a matching grey shirt, it was the same thing she was always given to wear once a week. Around her neck was what looked like a thick silver collar, attached by a long metal wire to the top of the room that allowed her enough freedom to walk around her whole cell without discomfort. She touched the glass with her palm and leaned her forehead against the glass as well, trying to see who it was. She hadn’t left her cell in a long time, and rarely got visitors coming down to her except for meals and a change of clothes. Y/N watched as two guards escorted two young men down the hallway, placing them in the two cells across from hers and the glass doors shutting behind them. One was shorter, dark brown hair with green eyes. The other was taller and skinnier, dark black hair and blue eyes.

Y/N spend the next few days getting to know the two. She had learned they were brothers, Damon being the dark haired one and the other was Stefan. They were taken from the military, considered missing in action. They learned about her as well. Her parents sending her away after they figured out she could create electricity. Being adopted by a nice family after being discharged from psychiatric care, but when it was finalized they handed her over to the men who brought her here. She told them everything she knew about Hydra, which wasn’t much. Y/N would watch as one of the brothers were escorted out, when they came back they were always exhausted, talking about being tortured and strapped into chairs.

The three were there together for years, become friends. Damon and Stefan quickly learned of why Y/N was here. The collar around her neck was used to absorb the electricity Y/N could create and power the facility, keeping the facility on the down-low from those who may be looking for Hydra. The brothers witnessed Y/N being shocked daily until she would eventually pass out, usually when one of the brothers were taken. She was the battery for the facility and their experiments. 

One day, the guards took Stefan and he never came back. A guard informed Damon a few days later that his brother had died as part of an experiment they were running on the two. Damon had flown into a rage, breaking everything that he could in his cell. He looked over across the hallway to Y/N who was also heartbroken to hear the news, tears streaming down her face as she sat curled on the floor. Damon and Stefan had become her family, “I’m going to get us out of here, Y/N.” Damon told her, “And I’m going to kill them all.” 

Damon would be taken for experiments almost daily after Stefan was killed. One day he came back to his cell different, talking about how he was stronger and faster with all his senses heightened. They told him they were making him a super soldier and the next stage was to brainwash him into submission after breaking his will to live.

Y/N remembered the day of their escape vividly. The sharp prongs in the collar pushed into the skin of her neck, causing her to scream as her body reacted with a large amount of electricity being sent through the collar and up through the wires. It wasn’t just pain she was feeling though, her anger and grief had grown since Stefan had died as well as after she heard what they were doing to Damon. She created a powerful surge of energy, causing the lightbulbs in the hallway to explode before the whole facility seemed to be overloaded with power and shut down. The glass doors to the cells opened in the darkness. Damon ran quickly across the hall from her, breaking the collar off from around her neck. The two made their way through the facility trying to find a way out with Damon killing every Hydra member in their path. When they got out, they found themselves in a secluded part of a forest around the border of Canada and the United States. Since then, they had been on the run before settling in Covington, Georgia together. They were inseparable, the only family both had left.

-Present Time-

Bucky found Sam waiting for him at the apartment that was set up as a cover home. Sam sat on the couch, watching some football game on tv with a beer in his hand. Bucky shut the door, locking it behind him as he watched Sam, “Make yourself at home.” He grumbled, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer for himself. 

“You missed our check-in last night, had to come make sure you weren’t off the rails.” Sam replied as he clicked the tv off with the remote, looking over the Bucky, “Where were you?”

“Working.” Bucky replied, taking drink of his beer, “I finally got in to plant bugs in the house last night, spent the night watching the house.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, “It’s about time. I thought we were going to have to pretend to be the gas company or something it get in there. What did you find?” He stood up, crossing the room to sit at the small dining table.

Bucky sat at the other end of the dining table, running one of his gloved hands through his hair, “Y/N is definitely some type of enhanced human, something to do with electricity. But I don’t think she’s doing the killings. She doesn’t seem capable of that, can’t even make a proper threat or lie without flinching.” He informed, looking at his beer, “She does have this friend, Damon. Don’t know much about him, but he definitely seems like the rip out your heart type.”

Sam nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it for a moment before sliding it across the table to Bucky, “Is this the guy you’re talking about?” 

Bucky picked up the phone, narrowing his eyes at the picture. It was a picture of Damon and Y/N walking around at nighttime, probably from a street security camera. He noted that they both looked younger than they do now. He nodded, sliding the phone back, “Yeah, that’s Damon. Where did you get that photo?”

Sam clicked the phone to turn it off, leaving it on the table, “It was taken two years ago, a small town in Washington happened to catch them on camera before the power went out in the whole town. It’s the first photo we have of the two.”

Bucky nodded at the new information, taking another sip of his beer, “I did overhear a conversation between Y/N and Damon. He said he saved her life again the night after the most recent dead Hydra agent.” He informed.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Well, if Damon is the one killing all the Hydra agents we keep finding, we have to figure out how and why. And if the why is that the Hydra agents are coming for them, we need to know the why to that also.” Sam stood when he finished, “Don’t miss another check in. And at least get a damn picture to hang on the wall or something, spice it up.” He said before walking out the door, leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky sat silently after Sam left, finishing his beer before throwing it away. He had a few hours before he would start to head to the bar to see Y/N, and decided to get some much needed sleep after pulling an all-nighter watching Y/N’s house. 

Bucky awoke as quickly as he fell asleep, another nightmare. He ran his hand through his hair, breathing deeply. He pulled himself off the floor from his makeshift bed, pulling on clean clothes before putting the same black gloves and leather jacket on his always wore. Bucky made his way down the street to the bar, but stopped when he noticed it was closed. His brow furrowed in confusion as he looked through the windows, seeing nobody. This was the first time it’d been closed since he arrived in town. Bucky quickly came up with a different plan, walking into a nearby store and grabbing a bottle of tequila, a bottle of whiskey, and some chicken noddle soup before walking to Y/N’s house, gently knocking on the door.

Y/N was alone at her house. Damon had gone out of town, which he didn’t do very often. But when he did, Y/N stayed home in fear of going out alone. She dragged herself up from the couch at the knock, watching some dumb sci-fi movie with that wasn’t grabbing her attention.  She peeked through the curtain to see Bucky. A small smile appeared on her lips as she went to the door where Sarge was already waiting, unlocking the locks quickly before opening it to see Bucky holding a grocery bag, “Hi Bucky.” She said softly with a smile.

Bucky smiled at her, “Hey, Y/N. I went by the bar and saw it wasn’t open. Figured you were either sick or something was wrong so I brought supplies.” He said, holding up the bag, “Chicken noodle soup and tequila for you, whiskey for me.” 

Y/N let out a small laugh at the bag. She blushed a little bit at the thought of him thinking about her. She opened the door a little more, allowing room for him to come inside, “I’ll never say no to tequila. I also haven’t had dinner, so I won’t say no to the soup either. Come in.” She responded with a smile as she watched him walk inside and greeting Sarge who then promptly went and laid on the couch. Y/N locks the door behind him, all six padlocks. She took the bag from him, taking it to the kitchen and placing the contents on the table. 

Bucky greeted Sarge happily before following Y/N to the kitchen, “So which is it? Sick or something wrong?” He asked with a smile, “Just so I know if I should keep my distance, I don’t want a cold if you have one.”

Y/N looked at him and shook her head, “Don’t worry. I’m germ free, not sick.” She informed before grabbing out two small glasses for the alcohol and spoon for the soup, “Damon’s just out of town for a few days. I just.. feel safer at home when he’s away. Thanks for bringing me some dinner and tequila.”

Bucky reached out and uncapped the bottles of alcohol as he watched Y/N grab some glasses, taking a seat at the small table. There were only two chairs. He wanted to ask curiously why she didn’t go out when Damon was gone, but didn’t want to raise any suspicions in Y/N’s mind, “I could keep you some company tonight… if you’d like. When does he get back?” He asked as he filled the glasses up a little bit with tequila and whiskey.

Y/N nodded, “I’d like that.” She smiled towards him, sitting down in the other chair. She uncapped the styrofoam container of soup, spinning it with her spoon for a minute before taking a bite then setting the spoon down back in the container, “He said he shouldn’t be gone too long, he was headed to Washington to visit a grave this time of year. Probably going to be gone a few days.” She told Bucky breaking eye contact with him to look at the soup. It wasn’t a full lie. It was getting close to the anniversary of Damon’s brother’s death and every year he would go back there and try to figure out what happened to Stefan’s body. 

Bucky nodded slowly, lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips as he thought. Damon going to Washington where the first power outage and footage of Y/N and Damon were spot raised some flags in his mind. Why was Washington important to these two? Bucky watched Y/N take a few more bites of her soup. He grew more and more curious as to how a sweet girl like her got mixed up in something to do with Hydra.

Bucky sat with Y/N while she ate the soup for dinner and then putting the leftovers in the fridge, watching her sit back down and drinking the glass of tequila. He promptly filled it back up a quarter of the way, smiling over at her, “So what’s your reason for drinking?” He asks as he watched her face.

Y/N smiled and thanked him for the refill, bringing it to her lips, “You first.” She challenged before tilting her head back as she drank all the liquid without a flinch. 

Bucky chuckled at her, Y/N was quick. It seemed like she was trying to figure out as much about him as he was to her, “The usual stuff. Annoying co-worker. Trauma. The taste.” He smiled looking at the amber liquid in his glass before downing the rest of the whiskey.

It was Y/N this time who refilled their glasses with the preferred liquid, nodding at his list, “Ah. You have a longer list than I do.” She smiled over at Bucky, “My reason is just the two Ts. Taste and Trauma. Luckily it’s only me at the bar, no annoying coworkers.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Bucky chuckles, “You’re lucky it’s just you. Annoying coworkers are the worst.” He said, rolling his eyes as he thought of Sam. Thinking of him made him take the next shot of his whiskey quickly before focusing back on Y/N. He noticed her watching him, as if trying to decode him.

Y/N watched Bucky, studying him. She was wondering why he was so out of his shell with her. He never spoke to anybody else at the bar or about any friends. Why would he be so interested in her? Bring her soup and alcohol when the bar wasn’t open? The tequila in her stomach was giving her a little courage, “Why are you here, Bucky?” She asks, her eyes narrowing.

Bucky was caught a little off guard by her question, shifting his weight in the chair, “What do you mean?” He asks, the smile fading from his lips to a stern line. 

Y/N tilted her head at him, “You noticed the bar wasn’t open so you brought me soup and tequila. People usually don’t do that for their bartender, they just find another bar to go drink at.” She said, her eyes still slightly narrowed at him as if she was trying to decipher if he was going to lie.

Bucky shrugs at her words, meeting her gaze. He knew she was analyzing his every move and word, “I like your bar, wouldn’t go to another one since I’m such a good and loyal customer.” He said carefully, “Plus, I thought you and I had fun the other night when I beat you at your game. I like spending time with you.” He said, realizing it was honest. He did have fun with Y/N, and he did like spending time with her. She was like a ray of sunshine in his dark world. 

Y/N bit her lip as she listened to him, looking down at her glass when he said he liked spending time with her to hide her flushed cheeks, “That’s very nice of you.” She said softly. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she looked back to Bucky, “I don’t have much to do here…” She admitted with a small smile, “Have you ever seen the movie Alien?”

Bucky titled his head at her, a smile returning to his lips as she accepted his answer, “I haven’t seen that one yet.” He told her, refilling his glass with some more whiskey. He could drink a lot and wasn’t about to slow down now. He was having too good of a time with Y/N. 

Y/N smiled at him, “Oh, it’s so good! You’ll love it.” She told him, standing up, “It’s my favorite movie.” She grabbed her glass of tequila in one hand and grabbed Bucky’s gloved hand with the other, pulling him up out of his chair and into the living room. She set her glass of tequila on the coffee table before turning to put a DVD into the player, “I don’t have popcorn though, I hope you don’t mind.”

Bucky couldn’t help that his smile widened at Y/N’s excitement about watching a movie with him. He almost forgot he was here for work, not a date. Something about feeling Y/N’s hand in his felt…. right. He wished he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could feel her touch on his, but instead squeezed her hand slightly, “Don’t worry about it, doll.” He said with a smile, watching her put the DVD in. He sat down on the couch next to Sarge, watching her fumble with the remotes.

When Y/N got the TV to start playing the movie Alien, she took a seat on the couch next to Bucky. She smiled over at him a little before returning her focus on the tv. He made her feel nervous like she had thousands of butterflies in her stomach, but he also made her feel calm and safe and she couldn’t figure out why. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time even with Damon constantly around her keeping her safe.

It wasn’t long into the movie until Y/N fell asleep with her head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. He took in his surroundings. He was watching a movie sitting on the couch with a beautiful girl asleep on his shoulder and a dog beside him. He wondered if this was something his life could’ve been like if he had never joined the army and been taken by Hydra. Bucky felt happy at the thought of it. He could stay in this calm, happy place forever.

__________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos​

If I missed anyone on the tag list, please let me know with a quick message. As always, thank you for the support (:

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

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“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

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

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

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

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

[everybodyscupoftea]

the plug

college au jj x reader

word count: 3025

warnings: drinking, cursing, mentions of jj’s dad, four year age gap (20yo jj and 24yo reader)

synopsis: you’re the pogues’ alcohol plug and jj’s favorite person

a/n: this was an anonymous request, age gaps are kinda sensitive, nothing here happens until jj is almost 21 but please be careful out there folks; also i got kinda carried away 

You grew up in the Outer Banks, spent most of your time surfing or playing soccer for the local school’s team. Your house was near the Heyward’s shop, and you picked up odd jobs working Kook events all throughout your high school years. When college rolled around, you started working at the Wreck with Kie.

The Pogue and Kook rivalry never particularly interested you, it seemed frivolous, and after a brief stint on the mainland, you realized the world was so much bigger out of the scope of the Outer Banks. Your refusal to participate was what originally drew Kie to you. The two of you hung out after work on Friday nights, you had access to good weed and were willing to share. Eventually she invited you to a party her friends were throwing.

Honestly, you weren’t exactly over the moon at the idea of partying with a bunch of 17-year olds, but the idea of free beer and a night on the beach seemed promising. You figured you could say hey to Kie’s friends and slip away to walk by the ocean.

Until the afternoon of the party rolled around, and you found out that they had no alcohol. Kie scrambled to explain that the guy who normally sold them beer underage had moved and someone stricter had taken his place and refused their fakes. You sighed and stood, “How much do you need me to get?”

“Wait, what?” Kie asked, taken aback.

“Beer. You want packs or a keg?”

She blinked a few times, “We normally get a keg or two.”

“Let’s go.”

You led Kie to your car and cranked it up, immediately turning up the AC as high as it could go. She plugged her phone in to play some music as you drove to the nearest liquor store to the Boneyard.

“Stay here, I’ll be back,” you told her, and she nodded, promising to sit still. The guy inside was in fact different from the guy who used to sell to you and your friends underage, so you fished out your ID. You knew you looked pretty young for your age and had to resist rolling your eyes when he stared at it intensely for a few seconds before charging you for the keg.

When it was filled, he helped you carry it to your car and the two of you set it in the back. Kie stayed still and quiet in case he tried to card her for some reason too, but you weren’t too worried. Soon enough the two of you were back on the road, heading toward your house for a quick change of clothes.

“Can I borrow something?” Kie asked, looking a little nervous.

“For sure, Kie, take what you want.”

You were only there for about 30 minutes before leaving to get the keg to the Boneyard before party time. Kie was really excited to introduce you to her friends, they’d been hearing all about the cool college girl she’d been hanging out with in her spare time, and they were really interested to see who had her so enthralled.

Pope was the first to greet you, recognizing you from when you worked with him and his dad. He nodded at you with a small smile, and you returned it. John B shook your hand with a huge grin, babbling on about how awesome it was to have someone willing to buy them alcohol again. The last of the group, JJ, was the quiet one.

You weren’t sure what he thought of you at first, it was easy to see he was hesitant to just accept anyone, but you did buy him alcohol. He offered you a fist bump and a small smile before telling you, “Really appreciate the plug.”

“No prob, new guy was pretty suspicious, sorry for your loss.”

JJ let out a loud laugh and warmed up to you instantly. From then on, he followed you around. Whether it was hanging around the Wreck while you were working and he was free, or asking to smoke with you some weekends. Kie thought your new shadow was hilarious and she would send you videos of JJ talking about how funny you were or how pretty you were. It was…endearing.

And then you graduated college and got into grad. You wanted to finally move off the island, and with the money you’d saved up from the Wreck, you finally had enough money to rent an apartment just off Chapel Hill’s campus. The Pogues came with you to help you move all your stuff, which you were grateful for.

You let them handle pizza and went to go pick up alcohol for the group as one last hurrah before they left. John B picked through the bag you brought back with a watery smile, “Gonna suck throwing parties without our favorite plug.”

“Aren’t you dating Sarah Cameron now? Get Rafe to buy your alcohol.”

“He hates us,” JJ whined, “not everyone is cool like you.”

You pointed the bottle in your hand at him, “That’s right, don’t you ever forget.”

And then that was it. You were onto the next, without the Pogues. Or, so you thought.

You’d gotten a job at a coffeehouse just off campus while working through your grad degree. It was easy and brought in a surprising amount of tips, and the atmosphere was really chill, so you loved it. Mostly you dealt with regulars, until one morning. You had your back to the door when it opened, making another coffee, and you called over your shoulder, “Be with you in a sec.”

A familiar, slightly deeper voice, answered back, “All good.”

Whirling around, you grinned widely at the boy, “JJ! Long time no see, bud.”

His eyes widened and he laughed, “Holy shit, dude, you work here?”

“Have for the last few years. What can I get you?”

JJ smiled widely, “Actually, just got hired, I’m here for training.”

You passed the customer their coffee and wished them a good day before turning back to JJ, “Okay, go wash your hands and I’ll grab your hat.”

The rest of your shift was spent goofing off with JJ, every so often interrupted by a customer, and you showed him the ropes. He picked up on it pretty quickly, only stumbling through using the register a few times.

“What brings you here?” you finally asked.

JJ took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair a few times, “Family shit. My dad was an asshole and I wanted to get out. I started picking up extra hours at the hotel, but my dad knew where I was, so I decided to just move to the mainland and start over.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, “sorry to hear that. Everything okay now?”

He nodded, “Yeah, um, started taking a few classes at Chapel Hill, and Pope’s family is helping me keep rent until I get my feet under me.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Yeah, I just, I needed to start over. And I saw the hiring sign on the door, so I stopped in a few days ago to apply.”

You nudged his shoulder gently, “If you need anything, gimme a call, yeah?”

JJ blushed and nudged yours back, “Yeah.”

Because of the small number of customers, most shifts at the coffeehouse were solo shifts except for opening and closing. You and JJ both had mostly afternoon classes which meant that the two of you were scheduled several times a week together opening and closing.

One night you had soft music playing while he was doing dishes and you were sweeping and mopping the dining area. JJ watched you dance around with the broom, small smile on his lips, and when you caught his eye, he looked away with a blush.

“J,” you called out, trying to catch his eye again.

He looked back, blush still present on his cheeks, “What?”

“You hungry?”

“Oh, um, yeah, I could eat.”

You motioned out the window, “That place has fire po-boys for cheap if you want to get one with me after.”

JJ stared at the lit-up restaurant across the street before shrugging, “Sounds good.”

Thursday closing shift dinner became a thing after that. One of you would call in your food and pick it up before going back to one of your apartments to eat and do homework. JJ had a quiet focus to him that you liked, it helped keep you calm while scrolling through mounds of research you needed for your final paper.

He had one afternoon shift a week, unbeknownst to you, and walked in for it one week to see you laying face down on one of the tables near the counter. JJ paused, glancing over at the guy he was replacing in confusion. Your coworker shrugged and clocked out without saying anything else.

You felt someone crouch down next to your table a few minutes later and he softly called your name. Opening your eyes felt like a chore since you’d had them squeezed closed for so long to block out the anxiety over your paper that for some reason wasn’t writing itself.

“Want some coffee?” he asked, as soon as he finally saw your eyes.

The thought of caffeine made you want to throw up, and you made a face before finally responding, “How about some tea.”

“What kind?”

“Surprise me,” you told him tiredly.

JJ squeezed your shoulder once and walked back around the counter to start making you a drink. You woke your laptop back up to see the word count of 406 staring you straight in the face, and just as you went to put your head back down, a steaming mug of tea was placed in front of you.

“That should help,” JJ told you, smiling softly.

And shockingly, it did. It was warm, and with JJ’s steady presence, you were able to knock out over 1000 words before you had to leave for your afternoon class. He called your name just as you went to push the door open and you turned around, “What?”

“Text me if you need anything else, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Unintentionally, you let JJ worm his way back into your life. One of the classes he struggled with you’d already taken so you fished out your old notes and tutored him for the rest of the semester through it. Sometimes he’d show up at your closing shifts he wasn’t scheduled on and sit at the bar doing schoolwork and distracting you. He did at least always help close which was a huge improvement from when you worked at the Wreck and he showed up to cause problems.

One night was interrupted when the door swung open five minutes from closing. You sighed, not wanting to dirty anything you’d just cleaned, and forced a customer service smile on your face. To your surprise, Kie walked through the door, beaming widely at you.

“Long time, no see!” she called out, opening her arms for a hug.

You beamed and set the rag down on the counter, wrapping her up tightly. She squeezed around your middle hard and you sighed, “Missed you, Carrera.”

“Missed you too.”

She sat next to JJ and the three of you caught up while you and your coworker finished the closing duties. You nodded at her to leave when she held up the garbage bag to let you know she was heading out after a trip to the dumpster.

Kie stood, “Okay, we have to meet up with everyone else, none of us have seen JJ’s apartment yet.”

“Hope you cleaned, JJ,” you told him, bumping your elbow into his side with a laugh before continuing, “last time I was there it was questionable.”

“It’s clean,” JJ defended himself, “you caught me on a bad day.”

“Bad month, more like,” you retorted, laughing when he flipped you off in response.

Kie watched the two of you, amused, “Wow JJ, you’ve come a long way.”

John B and Pope stepped out of the restaurant next door, hands full of food bags, before you or JJ could respond and greeted you just as eagerly as Kie had.

“Getting the gang back together,” John B cheered, lifting two of the bags in the air.

You originally had plans to drink wine and watch the new season of Stranger Things, but the prospect of seeing some of your old friends was too enticing. JJ’s eyed you as you shifted on your feet, “You sure you guys want me butting in.”

Kie rolled her eyes, “We thought you knew we were coming in. JJ said he’d tell you.”

“Hey, don’t pin this on me, I wanted it to be a surprise!” he defended.

Pope spoke in what you think was meant to be a mockery of JJ’s voice, “Don’t bother bro, I’ll just text her and let her know.”

With a laugh, John B added, “It was just like old times whenever we needed alcohol and you’d be all ‘I’m going to visit her at work today, we’ll just swing by and get some after, I’ve got this’. The nostalgia was overwhelming, J.”

JJ scowled at his friends as the teasing continued. You’d known about his crush on you back then, tried not to encourage it because you knew you were leaving and because of the underage situation, but it was funny to hear about it from the other side.

“Okay, so we headed to JJ’s place?” you finally interrupted, saving him from the merciless teasing.

“My place,” JJ confirmed and you broke apart into two separate groups, one in JJ’s car and one in yours.

Kie rode with you and took control of the music, like always. You smiled, “Really is just like old times, huh?”

A few weeks later, one of the Thursday night shifts, JJ seemed less enthused than normal. You didn’t want to pry but you were worried about him. After a few more half answers from him, you finally stopped drying the dishes, “Maybank, what’s going on?”

“My fucking-“ he trailed off for a few seconds before shaking his head and continuing, “my dad called asking for money. Apparently, he’s broke and he owes his dealer. I just can’t, god I can’t fucking escape him.”

He wasn’t crying, but you’d never seen JJ’s jaw so tense before and your heart ached for him. You dried your hands off and pulled him into a tight hug, “Your dad is a piece of shit and you deserve better.”

“Do I?” he asked, almost hysterically, while he tried to pull away.

You didn’t let him go far, “Yes, you do. You’re a good guy who deserves to be happy and successful and far away from his dad’s reach.”

“I wish I could see it like that,” he murmured, voice breaking halfway through. JJ’s whole body shuddered a few times as he fought tears harder than he ever had before. He didn’t want to break down in front of you and look like a child.

“How about you go get dinner, I’ll go buy some alcohol, and we meet at my apartment and watch movies tonight.”

JJ’s lips quirked up into the briefest smile you’d ever seen, “Stepping back into that plug role, huh?”

“Turn 21 then,” you told him, shoving him away gently.

“Two months, and then I’ll finally be able to start repaying my alcohol debts.”

“You’re going to be buying me drinks for years, J.”

He held his pinky out, looking significantly more cheered up, “I promise.”

You linked pinkies with him before pulling him into one more hug with one last thought, “You’re going to have to stick around for a while to keep that promise.”

He cleared his throat, almost nervously, and you pulled away, confused. JJ wouldn’t look you in the eye when he spoke, “Surely you knew.”

“What?” you weren’t really prepared to have the conversation that seemed to be happening.

“That I liked you, idolized you practically. You were so cool and older and you dealt with all my shit.”

“J,” you warned, not sure if you liked where it was going.

He let out a sad laugh, “Please just be honest with me, you knew right?”

With a sigh, you pulled your hat off and clutched it in your hands, “I knew.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hands shoved deep in his pockets. JJ looked up at the ceiling with a sharp inhale before continuing, “Fuck, I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. And then I came here and started doing it again.”

And you had to stop that train of thought right there, “Woah, wait, it doesn’t bother me, JJ, you know that right? Like I do enjoy having you around.”

Eyebrows raised, JJ finally made eye contact with you, “What?”

“Well I mean,” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure how to continue, “I guess it was a little weird when you were in high school, but it’s not so bad now.”

“What?” he repeated, faintly this time.

You rolled your eyes, “Fucking hell, JJ, really?”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I was walking into this conversation ready to get rejected, let me be surprised.”

“I cannot deal with you, go buy the food, oh my god.”

JJ grinned at you cheekily, “Is this a date?”

You hated him. So much.

He grabbed your hand and squeezed, “Are you asking me out right now?”

“I’m about to rescind the offer if you don’t quit.”

“I can’t believe the day has finally come. Kie is going to flip her shit,” JJ told you, leading you out of the empty shop.

“God, what have I gotten myself into,” you muttered.

JJ stopped walking and looked at you with a soft smile, all traces of teasing gone, “Hey,” he got your attention, “thanks for everything, now and then.” Before you could answer, he continued, “Best plug I ever had.”

“God dammit, JJ!” you exclaimed and his laughter echoed down the empty street as the two of you walked to the po-boy place, hands swinging between you.

[shotsbyshae]

The Wolf

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Words: 3.4k

Summary: A blast from Ransom’s past blows into town, but there’s more to you than meets the eye.

Song: The Wolf by The Spencer Lee Band

Tag list is open

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

I watch you burn this place to ashes Move that ass and raise a glass To how you love to misbehave, baby

Many Years Ago

Being sent to live with an estranged great aunt is every young girl’s dream – not.

You never knew your mother, but your father – that loss is still fresh.

Not that you’ll go around talking about it.

It didn’t take long for you to be labeled the freak at school. You’ve gotten really good at acting like it doesn’t bother you – it does. Maybe for starters, you shouldn’t have raised your hand in class when the teacher asked if anyone thought ghosts were real.

You hear a twig snap behind you and quickly turn to find no one there. It’s a long walk to your aunt’s house on the main road, but it hadn’t taken you long to find this short cut through the woods. As long as the sun is still out, you should be fine – right? After a few more steps, you can sense the presence of someone – or thing – behind you.

It happens so fast, he doesn’t have time to think as you swing around with your backpack, using it like a weapon to hit him square in the chest. You grab his arm, sweeping his legs out from under him with your foot and he’s on his back in the dirt and leaves staring up at you wide-eyed.

“Not the face!” the blue-eyed twelve-year-old kid with dirty blonde hair exclaims, his free hand covering his face haphazardly. “Shit.”

You recognize the boy from your class, and you release his arm slowly, “Why are you following me?”

He takes a deep breath before he responds, “In class today, you said you think ghosts are real.” You fold your arms across your chest, waiting for the onslaught of cruel jokes, but the boy’s brow furrows slightly. “I think so too – not that I’d admit it to the entire class – obviously.” He smirks as you roll your eyes.

“That’s why you followed me?” you glare at him in annoyance.

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbows, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I know of the perfect house. Whaddya say – ghost hunt?”

You contemplate saying no, but if something happened to this kid while he ventured into some ramshackle old house, you’d feel partially responsible. It won’t be until later when you find out the perfect house is actually his grandfather’s old mansion. Surprise – it’s not haunted. Just creaky old floorboards.

“Fine,” you remark, offering your hand to him as you give him your name while pulling him to his feet.

He grins brightly, “I’m Ransom.”

Now

“Who’s that?” Ransom questions the man standing next to him, as he watches you casually lean across the pool table, lining up your shot.

“You don’t remember her,” Howie comments, glancing from you to Drysdale who cocks a curious eyebrow. “Middle school.” He adds, trying to jog Ransom’s memory.

The realization flashes across his face, “No – shit – really?” He does remember you – the two of you were friends.

Best friends actually.

Then you left.

Howie nods, “Showed up in town today.” Ransom finishes the bourbon in his glass before he places it on the bar. “What are you doing?” The look on Howie’s face is comical as Drysdale runs his fingers through his hair.

“I’m going to say hi,” he comments.

“She’s been giving Greyson ‘fuck me’ eyes all night,” Howie remarks as Ransom turns to walk toward you. “Good luck.”

Ransom knows he doesn’t need luck.

He’s Ransom fucking Drysdale and he knows you better than Greyson Moore.

Or at least he thinks he does.

He approaches the table slowly, taking in the sight of you. Time had been more than generous to you and it wasn’t a surprise that Moore was hovering over you. A new face like yours – fresh meat – always brings the wolves out.

Ransom stops just shy of the table, waiting for you to make your next shot. Once you sink the next ball, he comments, “It’s been a long time Trix.”

You cut your eyes over at the man as you stand up straight, “Ransom.”

“Trix?” Greyson says the name in confusion. “I thought you said your name was –”

“Oh,” Ransom interrupts, casting a devilish grin in Moore’s direction. “It’s just an old nickname my grandfather gave her.” He glances back to you as you line up another shot. “We go way back – don’t we?”

You miss the shot.

Sighing as you lean against the pool table you look at the man in annoyance, “What do you want Ransom?”

He looks at you innocently, “To catch up with an old friend.”

You laugh dryly, “We stopped being friends a long time ago – or did you forget?” You wait a moment to see if he remembers the night, but it’s obvious he doesn’t, and you shake your head. “Of course you don’t.”

Ransom watches you curiously, “What did I forget?”

“Nothing – look,” you glare at him. “I’m trying to enjoy my evening here with my new friend.” You point toward Greyson who doesn’t hide the smug smile on his face. “So, if you’ll excuse us.”

Ransom clenches his jaw, irritated by how quickly you shut him down. Aside from who he is, the two of you had spent two summers as children running around his granddad’s estate. Before cell phones and computers took everyone’s attention, when the two of you relied on your own imaginations or books as sources of entertainment.

“Yea – fine,” he responds coldly before he turns away from the pool table.

He downs his second glass of bourbon after another hour passes by, having watched you with Greyson the whole time, ignoring anyone who approached him. He was too busy doing a deep dive into his memories, trying to figure out what you were implying that he’d forgotten about.

Greyson’s hand is at your waist, as if it’s supposed to be there, and he’s whispering something into your ear as you take a sip from the beer bottle in your hand. You smile at whatever he’s saying before your eyes flick up to meet Ransom’s gaze.

He’s done.

Why the hell he’s let himself sit here this long is beyond him. He doesn’t know you – not anymore. Greyson can fucking have you for all he cares. He places his glass on the bar and grabs his coat from the stool before heading for the backdoor.

Once outside he digs in his pocket for his keys, as he unlocks the driver’s door, he hears an unfamiliar voice behind him.

“Hey, aren’t you Hugh Drysdale?”

“I’m not in the mood pal,” he begins as, he turns to face a man roughly his size holding a pistol level with his forehead. “Whoa.”

“Hugh Drysdale,” the man reiterates, a far-off look in his eye.

“Look – you want the car,” Ransom begins to offer him the keys. “It’s yours. You want cash – I have cash.”

The sound of metal clangs loudly from behind the man and Ransom jerks, watching as the man crumples to the ground. His eyes fly back up to see you standing there with what appears to be a piece of metal pipe. You don’t look fazed by the situation, neither scared or nervous, as you drop the pipe casually.

“What the fuck?” Ransom exclaims.

“We need to go,” you say calmly before moving to the passenger side of his car.

“No – psycho,” he shakes his head. “You just whacked a guy with a lead pipe, what the hell is going on?”

You lean across the roof the small silver car, eyes narrowing slightly, “I just saved your life – get in the fucking car.”

Ransom hesitantly slides into the driver’s seat next to you, noticing as you pull a phone from your pocket. He turns the key, bringing the car to life before throwing it into drive and pulling out onto the dark roadway.

“Okay,” he comments, once he’s on the highway. “Care to explain why an hour ago you were giving me the cold shoulder, yet here you are.”

You hold your phone up, showing him the screen. The blue-eyed man does a double take in confusion at the sight of his face on the screen, along with following:

$50,000 Reward.

“What the hell is that?” he asks incredulously.

“Came across this morning,” you respond, dropping the device back in your lap. “Someone wants you dead.” Turning toward him slightly in the seat, you watch his reaction in the glow of the dashboard. “So, who did you piss off?”

He contemplates for a moment, brows furrowing as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, “I mean, that list is long, but no one that would try and kill me over it.”

“Well,” you begin to respond, but stop as you reach for the phone that vibrates against your leg. You look at the screen. “Someone is and they just upped the bounty.” You turn the phone showing the increased number of $75,000.

“Fuck,” Ransom says under his breath. “When I get home –”

“You can’t go home,” you interrupt. “That’s the first place they’ll be looking. We need to get you out of town until we can find out who’s behind this.” Punching in an address on your phone you start the navigation on it before handing it over to Ransom. “Here, I have a place we can crash for the night. It’s off the grid so to speak.” He takes the device as he nods his understanding.

“Why are you helping me?” he questions quietly after a moment.

“Being an asshole shouldn’t be a death sentence,” you respond sincerely. “But sooner or later Ransom, your demons catch up to you.”

Past

“Don’t you dare,” your tone is stern as you point your finger at the boy with the water pistol. Your hair is loosely pulled back into a ponytail and you’re in denim shorts with a red tank top – appropriate for a Fourth of July cook out.

“Nothing’s going to save you now,” there’s a malicious grin on Ransom’s young face.

“Trixie dear, will you fetch the lemonade,” Harlan comments causing you to instantly stick your tongue out at your friend before bolting inside the large house.

“Why does he call her that?” Richard remarks in annoyance to his wife. “That’s not her name.”

“That book series maybe,” Linda responds. “The girl detective.”

“What does it matter?” Harlan interrupts them shooting an icy glare in Richard’s direction.

“I’m just saying,” his son-in-law begins, obviously one too many gin and tonics in to stop at this point. “You treat that girl better than you do some of your own grandkids.” Richard glares at Harlan in contempt. “And don’t think they haven’t noticed.”

The older man doesn’t falter as he responds, “Maybe they should consider she is the better child. A friend of mine once told me family doesn’t end with blood, she’s as much a granddaughter to me as Ransom is my grandson.” Harlan’s eyes narrow slightly at Richard. “And if that bothers you – or anyone else – you’re free to go.”

Now

You open the door to the small cabin as you say, “Well, someone wants you dead, so what did you do?”

“I have no idea,” Ransom responds following you inside as you flip a light switch, illuminating the small interior of the living area.

“Do you owe someone money?” you close the door behind him, locking the deadbolt as he shakes his head, moving instinctively towards the refrigerator across the room. “Did you sleep with someone’s wife?”

He turns to look at you, contemplating that question a moment before he shrugs his shoulders innocently, “Maybe.”

“My God,” you roll your eyes. “You really are the worst – aren’t you?”

“Oh,” he places his hands on his hips. “And you’re a saint?”

“At least no one’s trying to kill me,” you remark coldly.

Ransom watches you for a moment, the silence in the room deafening.

“What happened?” he finally asks. “What am I missing? We were friends.”

You close your eyes, inhaling slowly before glancing over to him, “Winter formal – the night you ditched me because you decided you were too good to be friends with me anymore.”

His mind races quickly through the events of that night, knowing he’d never thought that, much less said it, “Who told you that?”

“Carla Santoni.”

A laugh escapes him as he remembers the gossip queen, “And you believed her? I never ditched you, I was stuck in Mr. Elkins office for punching Ron Willis in the face.”

“What – why?” you narrow your eyes at him, the new information surprising you.

Ransom’s gaze shifts to the floor, “He was being dick.”

“Ron was always a dick,” you remark, tilting your head as you fold your arms across your chest. “Try again.”

He takes a deep breath as his gaze flicks back up to you, “He was being a dick about you – okay? He called you freak. So – I hit him.” The surprise on your face is evident, but you try to conceal it as he shakes his head slightly. “God Trix, you – you were my best friend. My only friend – you thought –” His voice trails off and you can see a tinge of sadness in his features. “I’m sorry.”

You clench your jaw as you catch a glimpse of that thirteen-year-old boy you used to know in those deep blue eyes. Glancing away from him, you remember how hard the two years you’d spent here had been. Surprisingly enough Ransom was the only thing that made this place tolerable – him and Harlan.  

Now, One Week Earlier

You inhale deeply before you climb from your car, taking in the familiarity of the estate as the front door opens. The older man greets you with a warm smile as you make your way up the steps. He’s the grandfather you never had and part of you had envied Ransom when you were children for being so lucky.

“Oh – my Trixie,” he says as you smile at him before accepting his embrace. “I have missed you.” Harlan steps back, taking a better look at you. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” you sigh with a warm smile. The two of you have managed to stay in touch throughout the years, mostly on Harlan’s behalf, for which you’re grateful. “So, tell me – what’s going on?” Watching the old man carefully as you question him gently. “Why did you send for me?”

“It’s Ransom,” his demeanor falls slightly, taking your hand in his. “I’m worried about him – I think he’s messing with the wrong kind of people. He needs someone to talk to him.”

You laugh slightly, “And you think he’ll listen to me?”

Harlan’s features soften again as his hand moves to touch your cheek gently, “My dear – he’s only ever listened to you.”

Now

Ransom watches as you warm up the canned Chef Boyardee on the stove. It was one of the few things in the pantry that wasn’t expired.

“Does Granddad know you’re in town?” he finally asks, and you glance over your shoulder at him, giving him the look, he remembers it all too well, making him feel like a kid again. “Nevermind – of course he does.” Ransom sits on a stool at the small kitchen island, tapping his finger idly on the white tile countertop. “Next question.” You continue to stir the ravioli, keeping it from sticking to the bottom of the pan as he says. “Are you some kind of assassin now?”

You turn to him slowly, a puzzled look on your face, “What?”

“The messages about me on your phone,” he responds. “How else would you get them?”

“Right,” you nod, before you turn to turn the knob on the stove off. “I have a friend, he’s in that line of work.”

“He,” Ransom says it with a tone.

“He knew I was in the area,” you continue, scooping some of the ravioli into one of the blue bowls you found in the cabinet. “Ketch sent it to me, checking to see if I might know you.” You walk across placing the bowl with a spoon on the counter in front of Ransom. “And I did.”

“So – your boyfriend’s an assassin,” he remarks before taking a bite of the ravioli.

“No,” you turn and walk back to the stove.

“No – he’s not – or you don’t have a boyfriend,” Ransom mutters with his mouthful.

Rubbing your hand across the back of your neck in frustration, you turn back around to face him, “Is that information even relevant?”

Ransom visibly contemplates the question for a moment, eyes darting to his left before focusing back on you, eyebrows high on his forehead, “Given my reputation – nope.”

Past

“I can’t go to boarding school,” your aunt had broken the news last week and you look across the desk at Harlan. “What am I going do? It’s obvious she found out what really happened to Dad.”

Harlan is the only person you’ve told the truth to about your father – afraid to even tell Ransom. Not that it matters, he’s moved on to more popular friends anyway.

“I’ve spoken with her,” he responds. “I have a friend – he specializes in this sort of thing. He has two boys that stay with him often and he’s agreed for you to come out. Said he even met your father once.”

Harlan watches your eyes brighten up almost immediately at the words and there’s hope in your voice, “Really?” He nods as you climb from the chair you’re in, and rush around the edge of the large desk, throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you – thank you.”

You feel bad for leaving without saying anything to Ransom.

Being a kid is tough.

Suffering your first heartbreak is tougher.

Now

“This is better than I remember,” Ransom comments, indicating the ravioli with his spoon. You’re standing beside where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, but you don’t respond to his comment only smile slightly. “Well, aside from who’s trying to kill me, how have you been?”

You glance over at him finally, “It’s been good – you?”

“I’ve been alright,” he responds with a nod of his head. “It makes sense now. Why you left without saying good-bye.”

“I was just a kid Ransom,” you say quietly. “I was hurt.”

A dry laugh escapes him, “That moment – that misunderstanding.” His eyes stare up at you, and you can tell there’s so much he’s hiding – from you – from everyone. “It fucking broke us Trix. We weren’t kids anymore after that.”

You have to look away from the intensity of the stare, but you nod your agreement. Ransom shoves his spoon back into the bowl of ravioli as he says, “Well, you live and learn I guess.”

You feel as if you’ll get whiplash from the extent of how quickly his mood seems to change and you’re thankful when your phone buzzes. You pull it from the back pocket of your jeans, and you look at the screen. You have to stare at it for a moment, trying to calm yourself down. Ransom may get whiplash if you don’t.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you exclaim turning your glare towards the man beside you.

“What?” he questions in confusion.

“Where’s the ring?” you ask, and Ransom raises his eyebrows waiting for you elaborate. “It would be silver looking – gaudy.”

Realization strikes him, “Oh – it’s at my house. Why?”

“Where did you get it?” you ask, irritation written all over your face.

“Poker game,” Ransom responds, unsure why you’re so angry with him all of the sudden. “I won it in a poker game. It’s hideous, but it’s all the guy had left.”

“What did he look like?”

“Shady, blonde hair,” he begins as you slide your phone across to him, a photo on the screen.

“So – not this guy?” you question him, and Ransom looks at the picture on your phone.

“No, not him. Who’s he?”

“That’s the guy who the ring belongs to,” you respond. “It’s called the Haxon ring. He thinks you stole it.”

“Well, let’s go get it,” he says quickly. “Give it back – explain what happened.”

“It’s not that simple,” you respond.

Harlan was right, Ransom was messing around with the wrong kind of people.

“What do you mean,” Ransom watches you curiously.

“You didn’t just piss off anyone,” you remark taking a deep breath. “That guy is Crowley.”

Ransom glances back at the dark-haired man in the photo before looking back up to you. Shaking your head as you place your hands on your hips, you can’t help but laugh.

“Way to go Ransom, you pissed off the King of Hell.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

sick ~ rook

word count: 1298

request?: yes!

@dejia-cook​ “Can you do a story where the reader is sick and Rook stays home to take care of her even though she told him he should go party with his friends?”

description: when his girlfriend becomes sick on the same day as a launch party, he decides to stay home to take care of her, which makes her feel bad

pairing: rook x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

It was a big day for Rook. After working for over a year, and having the album being pushed back due to a global pandemic, Rook, Colson, and the rest of the boys had finally completed Tickets to my Downfall. To celebrate the realise of the album, the boys decided to throw a party.

And, of course, the day of the party I woke up sick as a goddamn dog.

My head was pounding and my throat hurt so much I could barley swallow water, let alone any actual food. I could barley breathe and I was sneezing so much that I couldn’t go too far away from my tissues for too long.

Knowing I’d be able to go to the party, I sent Rook a text to let him know.

“hey baby, i know this party tonight is important but i’m so sick i can barley get out of bed. send me lots of pictures and updates. proud of you and i love you so much.”

Shortly after sending the text, I fell asleep again. I wasn’t sure how long I was out, but the next thing I knew, I was hearing footsteps approaching my room. When I rolled over to face the door, Rook walked through holding a steaming bowl.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice basically a squeak as I spoke.

“I wasn’t about to let you deal with this sickness on your own,” he responded. “I made you soup, and brought some water.”

“I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Shhh, just eat.”

I rolled my eyes, but gratefully took the soup. My throat was on fire, but my stomach was hurting from hunger and I knew I had to eat. I let the hot soup slip down my throat, wincing at the raw feeling that followed it.

Rook went to the bathroom and I heard the sink turn on. He returned with a wet cloth that he put over my forehead. I sighed with relief at the feeling of the cold cloth on my hot forehead.

Rook set up my fan on my bedside table and turned it on, allowing the cool air to blow on me and cool me down.

“You’re too good to me,” I told him as he climbed onto my bed next to me.

“You deserve to be taken care of when you’re sick,” he responded. “What do you want to watch?”

I cuddled into Rook’s side and watched Netflix with him for hours. When I finished eating the soup, Rook ran a bath for me and sat with me for a while. The feeling of the hot water caused me to sweat, but I knew that was good cause it meant my fever was going to break. It also helped my stuffed up nose, as by the time I got out of the bath I was able to breathe again.

At some point during the day, I fell asleep again, this time cuddled up to Rook. Eventually, the two of us fell asleep together. When I woke up again, I felt a little bit better than I had before. Rook still had his arms wrapped around me and was fast asleep. I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was so handsome, and I was so lucky to have someone who cared so much for me like he did.

I grabbed my phone to check the time and saw that it was just an hour until Rook’s party was supposed to start. Suddenly, I jumped up, fighting back the dizziness I had caused due to getting up so fast. My sudden movements stirred Rook from his sleep. He looked up at me in confusion.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“The party is in an hour, you gotta go get ready!”

Rook rubbed his tired eyes and stretched his arms out. “I’m not going to the party.”

“What? Why not?”

“I wanna stay home and take care of you.”

I gave him a look. “No, go to your party. This album has been so important to you guys, you should be able to celebrate with your friends and not be stuck here with me.”

Rook sat up to look in my eyes. “(Y/N), I want to be here with you. I can party and celebrate with the boys any time, but tonight I want to take care of you while you’re not feeling well.”

I felt guilty. Rook had been so excited for the release date, and for the celebration party, for months. I knew he was still excited, and he was just feigning nonchalant for my benefit. But I also knew that he wouldn’t go, no matter how much I asked. But maybe...if Colson said he wanted him to go...

“At least tell Colson and the guys you won’t be there. I’m sure they’ll be sad you can’t go,” I told him.

Rook sighed and rested his head against mine. “If that will make you feel better, I’ll let him know I’m not going.”

I nodded and watched Rook send his message to Colson. We waited for some time before Colson sent a response.

“no big deal man, tell (y/n) i hope she feels better soon”

“See? It’s fine,” Rook said.

I sighed heavily, but decided to drop the issue.

~~~~~~

I spent the rest of the night feeling awful. I felt like a terrible girlfriend. Rook had been so stoked for that party for so long. I was regretting texting him so early on and saying I couldn’t go. If I had just rested and drank lots of water, I’m sure I would’ve been fine to go.

Rook and I were cuddled up on the couch together, watching TV. I knew he could tell that I still felt bad, but the two of us were over our slight bickering. Rook wasn’t going to give in and go to the party, and I wasn’t going to give up feeling bad over that. We both decided to just live with it.

There was a knock at my door that drew both of our attentions. I groaned, annoyed that I’d have to get up from my comfy spot on the couch. Rook chuckled and helped me up. He followed me to the front door, where I found two beer bottles placed on my doorstep. Stood a few inches away was Colson, Baze, Slim, and Mod Sun, holding their own drinks.

“If you guys can’t come to the party,” Colson said, “then we’ll bring the party to you.”

“That’s so cliche,” I told him.

“It is, but we love a good cliche,” Mod Sun commented. “Now pop open those bottles, have at least one drink with us.”

I picked up both bottles and retreated into my house to open them. Rook stood in the kitchen’s doorway, smiling slightly at me.

“You knew about this, right?” I asked him. He nodded. “Did you put them up to this?”

“No, they told me they wanted to do this and I encouraged them. I knew you were going to feel bad about this for a while.”

“I wanted you to enjoy your night and celebrate the release of the album, that’s all. I felt bad that you were being held back from that because of me.”

Rook crossed the room to wrap his arms around me. “Baby, I chose to be here, and I would choose it again in a heartbeat. I don’t want you to be by yourself when you’re sick, and even if you’re not sick, I’d choose a relaxing night in with you than a night out partying any day.”

I smiled and kissed Rook’s cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. Now, hurry and get those beers open, we can’t leave the guys waiting.”

[xfandomwritingsx]

Triangles – James “Logan” Howlett

(image source unknown)

Ashley’s 2020 December Prompts

Prompt: Holiday Meal

Warnings/Labels: Grumpy Logan.

Appox. Word Count: 1,100

The bar is quitter than normal. The lighting is still low and dingy, floors not entirely clean, and the soft Christmas music played quietly over the sound system gives the entire place a somber tone. You feel out of place with your well-kept long coat and fluffy hat. It’s hard not to notice you’re the only female in the place, not to mention the only person under thirty. Despite sticking out like a whale on a beach, heads don’t turn. They’re all too busy drowning themselves in their beers.

You spot Logan at the end of the bar. He’s facing the door and judging by the way he’s nursing his beer and forcibly looking anywhere but at you, you can tell he’s trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. If he had a little more coward in his bones, he may have actually darted to the bathroom the moment you walked in.

You strut up to him, boots clicking on the wood floor that you imagine had been polished once in its life. Sitting on the barstool next to him, you throw your ID down on the bar for the bartender and order a beer. Logan still hasn’t looked at you.

“Shitty place to spend Christmas Eve if you ask me,” you comment, copying his behavior and purposely not looking at him.

“Well no one asked you,” he grumbles. You’re actually surprised he spoke to you that quickly. “If you don’t like it, then go back home.”

“Home is relative,” you tell him before giving a nod of thanks to the bartender as he brings you your drink. “Although I will say the manor has a full five course meal occurring right now.”

“This place has a Christmas meal.”

“Yeah, I saw the ad in the window.” You scrunch up your nose. “Overbaked turkey and slimy gravy. Not quite my idea of a good dinner.” He huffs out a dry laugh and leans his elbows on the bar top.

“Yeah well, fancy five course meal with the entire manor shoved around one table acting like no one wants to kill each other isn’t my idea of a good time either.” You roll your eyes and finally swivel on your stool to face him.

“No one wants to kill each other,” you argue. He doesn’t turn his head, but he finally casts his eyes in your direction and raises a single eyebrow at you, challenging your statement. “Okay maybe you and Scott want to kill each other, but I thought that was water under the bridge now!”

“Yeah and I’m sure Bobby won’t be glaring daggers at the Cajun all night,” he responds sarcastically. “And Kitty ain’t gonna wanna kill Bobby for being jealous. Jean won’t accidentally spill red wine all over Emma’s inevitably white dress.” You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Because he’s not wrong. “That place has enough love triangles to air as a soap opera.” He takes another swallow of his beer and his jaw tightens. “Speaking of, where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“Are you implying I’m in a love triangle?” you ask coyly. The tightening of his jaw turns into a grind.

“That guy barks at any male who comes within a ten foot radius of you. Ain’t a triangle when it involves every man on the planet.” You hum and pretend to mull over it.

“Except it didn’t.” He’s taken to not looking at you again. You swivel back to the bar and take a long drink. If you were going to touch on this conversation, you wanted more alcohol in your system. “You and I both know he only got pissed when it came to you.” Logan chooses not to respond. “Can’t really blame him. It barely even took a look from you for me to ditch him.” You start to pick at the label on your beer bottle. “You pick up on the fact that this is all past tense yet?”

“Not deaf so yeah,” is his short response. You can tell by the tone he’s on the verge of shooing you away and flipping the conversation to a new channel. You’re not going to let him.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Which means I’m definitely not in a love triangle. Also means I’m one hundred percent available if there’s a specific someone who wants to pick me up and take me home.”

“Knock it off, kid.”

“I’m legally allowed to sit here and drink with you. Kid is a little outdated, don’t you think?” He doesn’t answer again, just grinds his jaw and tightens his hand around his bottle. You widen your stance on the stool, brushing your knee against his leg boldly. “I’m tired of doing this dance, Logan.” His hand clamps down just above your knee and holds you tightly. It might scare some other women, but all you want to do is lean into it.

“You think you ain’t in a triangle?” he growls. “You got me and you got The Wolverine. I’d say that’s one hell of a triangle.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him since this is the closest he’s ever gotten to actually admitting he’s got feelings for you.

“Stop pretending you’re not the same person,” you tell him carefully. “I get that it’s easier to compartmentalize and say it’s The Wolverine that wants to get rough with me and it’s Logan that wants to be sweet, but it’s all you.” You put your hand over his and start to move it up your thigh. He doesn’t stop you. “You don’t scare me.” You start to lean into his space with your body. “I know you. I know everything from James Howlett to The Wolverine to Logan. And I want all of you.” His grip on your thigh loosens and turns over to hold onto your hand.

“You’re making one hell of a mistake,” he warns. You smile and give his hand a squeeze.

“The only mistake I’m about to make, is ordering one of those disgusting Christmas dinners.” He chuckles a lot more genuinely than before and lets you go.

“Well I’m not about to let you do that alone.” He flags down the bartender to order and then really looks at you for the first time all night.

Maybe it’s the holiday magic making him soft or maybe it’s some kind of acceptance, but for the first time in a long time, you think that maybe he’s going to stop pushing you away when you get this close. Maybe he’s going to let you both get what you want.

You’ve damned sure waited long enough.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

The Dad Friend

          An accident forces Sebastian to take care of you, even though you don’t want him to.

-

           “Oh, my God, Seb, I’m fine,” you insisted as your friend tried to get your jacket on your shoulders. He was bringing you home from the hospital, where you’d been forced to stay for two nights since your poor car had gotten t-boned and you were the one in the driver’s seat. Your parents were across the country, and since it wasn’t too bad of an accident, Sebastian had insisted of taking care of you.

           “I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t cold!” He said, half-laughing at you as you jerked away from him. “Are you hungry?”

           “Seb, I just want to go get my rental car and go home,” you whined. You didn’t protest this time as he put a hand on the small of your back to walk you out of the hospital room, out to where the car he’d called was waiting. He had barely left your side since it happened and you’d asked the EMT’s to call him because you figured he’d be the most chill of your friends. You were absolutely wrong. He’d barely left your side except to take care of all of the insurance stuff because you had never even broken down on the side of the highway before your wreck.

           He quite literally yelled at the guys at the rental place until they gave you the car that you’d asked for over the phone, insisting that you deserved to have a fun car while you were trying to look for another one, and forced them to waive the young driver fee. So you went home with a Dodge Charger and Sebastian slept on the couch that night, even though you were both due on set at eight the next morning.

           “I made you some breakfast,” he said when you emerged form your room the next morning, already having taken the hospital-grade pain pills they’d given you. You were due for a stunt today, where you were fighting Sebastian’s character, and the last thing you wanted was for your back to be hurting like crazy.

           “Thank you,” you said sincerely, sitting down at your table. He made you a massive breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and he tried his hand at pancakes before giving up.

           “You need fuel.” He squeezed your shoulder before heading to your bathroom to get ready. You sat down and started eating, waiting on him to finish getting ready, and then you started to clean up. He walked out of the bathroom and snatched the plate from your hands.

           “Seb, I can clean it up, I’m not helpless!” You stomped your foot, trying to ignore the shooting pain up your back.

           “Mmhm. Go lay down.”  

           “We have to leave in ten minutes, I’m not going to lay down.” Sebastian rolled his eyes at you, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you do your thing, and then you were driving him to set. He gasped when another car got a little too close, earning a slap on the shoulder.

           “You’re fucking ridiculous, it’s fine,” you insisted. You pulled into the studio half an hour later, and Sebastian finally let you go over to wardrobe. You groaned at the way the tactical suit hit your bruised back, but it was so tight that after a minute it actually started to feel good. Sebastian’s eyes got wide when he saw you limping, but your leg was throbbing even with the knee brace on underneath your costume. You stood up straight, even though it hurt, and took your mark.

           “You sure you don’t want your double?” Sebastian asked you.

           “I’m fine, Seb.” You threw a fake punch, one that he blocked, and he glared at you. “See? That almost landed.”

           “If it lands, you’re going to need more than hospital drugs,” he warned you playfully. Your director called action and you started working your way through the scene, giving them about a million takes of each shot from different angles. They tried to use your double once, but she wasn’t completely the same body type as you and they needed shots of your entire body.

           “You need a break?” Sebastian asked you after about two hours, noticing that you were throwing your shoulder too far each time to compensate for the fact that you felt like it was absolutely burning.

           “No, just some icy hot,” you insisted. He nodded at you, helping you get the tight vest off. An assistant came by with it in a few minutes, and it felt good. Really good. You waited until it was hot to start filming again, and even though you were sweating, you still felt so much better.

           “Okay,” you finally said another hour later. You had been looking down to hide the fact that tears were in your eyes, trying not to cry and ruin the makeup you were in. “We have to stop. My shoulder hurts.”

           “Jesus, you should’ve said something,” Sebastian sighed. He called the director over, who agreed to give you an early lunch and finish the rest of the scene in a couple of hours. Your doubles could be used until you came back later that afternoon, and Sebastian was hauling you off to the medical trailer.

           “You really need to take it easy, Y/n,” the medic said as she handed you a pill.

           “I’ve already taken two Oxy this morning,” you said, refusing it. She sighed.

           “In that case, you may need to take a few days. I’m sorry. But your shoulder…”

           “It’s fine,” you tried to insist. “It hurts, but it’s fine.” Sebastian walked up behind you and took your waist that wasn’t bruised, pulling you over to him.

           “I’ll take her back to her trailer,” Sebastian said, giving the medic a half-smile, and he walked you over to your trailer that was right next to his. “Okay, take off your shirt,” he said.

           “Seb, I’m barely legal. That’s weird.” He rolled his eyes.

           “Sit down and take off your shirt. I’m not discussing this.” You did what he told you, revealing the white t-shirt you were wearing underneath, and sat down on the couch. He sat down, too, and started massaging your shoulder.

           “Ow!” You started. After a second, though, his hands on your shoulder actually didn’t hurt too badly. “Okay, never mind.”

           “You should really rest this, it’s swelling up.”

           “Won’t that make it worse?”

           “Eventually. But for right now, it might help. So I’m going to finish this, you’re going to take a nap, and I’m taking you home.”

           “You are such a dad friend.”

           “Yeah, I know.” He massaged your shoulders for a few more minutes before putting more icy hot on, and then he handed you one of the spare t-shirts you kept. You pulled it on over your sports bra, trying to get it to un-stick from where the icy hot was, and watched as he went to the back and gathered up a blanket and a pillow that you kept in there for the few times you actually had to take naps in the middle of the day.

           “Thanks,” you said as he tucked you in, handing you the remote to the built-in TV.

           “Take a nap. I’ll take care of everything on set, alright?” He rubbed your hair for a minute before leaving you, and the next time he came back you were still asleep. He eventually drove you to an urgent care, who just gave you more medicine and told you to take it easy or you’d need surgery.

           “Alright, so what I’m hearing is she’s gotta take a break from set?” Sebastian said, rubbing your back as you sat on the exam table. You were exhausted from the amount of tests they were doing, again, and you were absolutely sick of everyone touching you.

           “Yep. At least a week of bed rest.” You groaned, putting your head in your hands.

           “Alright, kid, give me your insurance cards and go out to the car,” Sebastian instructed, handing you the keys to the rental. You did what he told you to do, watching as he made sure they had your insurance information, and then he came back to the car. You were on the phone to your mom, ranting, when Sebastian sat down.

           “Hi, Y/n’s mom,” Sebastian said over Bluetooth. “Your daughter is absolutely terrible at taking instructions.”

           “Yeah, we know,” your mom responded. That made Sebastian smile a little. “What’s the diagnosis?”

           “She needs to be off set for a week.”

           “Do I need to fly up there?”

           “No, I got her. I’ll bring some stuff over and stay with her and make sure she’s not doing anything she’s not supposed to.” Sebastian started driving and you said goodbye to your mom. He went by your favorite drive-thru restaurant and got food for you before heading back to your apartment.

           “Feeling any better?” He asked you as you ate.

           “Slightly.”

           “Only slightly?”

           “Can you do the massage thing again?”

           “After I finish eating.”

           “Thanks, Dad,” you said. He looked over at you with a grin.

           “I guess I am the dad friend,” he sighed.

           “Yep. Can I have a beer?” He scoffed at you, snatching the un-opened bottle away from where you were about to grab it.

           “No.”

Taglist (if you’d like to be added, send me a message!): @an-adventureland, @firstangeldragonranch, @ssebstann, @winterreader-nowwriter

[jawritter]

The Arrangement

Part 9

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Jared is an asshole in this fic, but He has his reasons, language, insecure reader, sheltered reader, scared reader, protective Jensen, I think that’s pretty much it.

Word Count: 3106

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

It was a quiet ride over to Jared's house. 

Even though it wasn't that far from where Jensen and yourself were staying, it seemed like the drive over took forever, and then didn't last long enough all at the same time. Your stomach did nervous flips the whole way there, and your mind traveled to the worst scenario over and over again.

What if Jensen's friends hated you? What if it angered Jensen that they didn't accept you? What if he wanted to take you back to Dallas because you weren't good enough to fit into his lifestyle?

You didn't know how to do this. You didn't know how to function outside of the church world that you grew up in  with your family.This was all new to you. So far Jensen had been more patient with you than you expected him to ever be, but you didn’t   know how much more slack he was willing to grant you. 

He had only tried to have sex with you once  since you where married, which made you think he must not have been that impressed with you. 

Sure, the day after your wedding night, he’d taken a shower with you, and his hands weren’t shy about wandering, but he said he didn’t want to hurt you, because he knew you had to be sore.

Then there was your little interruption this morning, effectively putting a halt into your extracurricular activities. 

Other than that, he’d not really shown any interest in touching that way, aside from cuddling.

Needless to say, you had a whole lot of insecurities going on right now.  Anxiety that Jensen didn't  know that you fought against gnawing away at the corners of your consciousness. You focused on breathing as you stared at the scenery flying by you out of the car window. 

Austin wasn't quite as big as Dallas, but it was much more appealing. It was livelier almost, less businesslike. It had  its own little personality centered around art and a culture that fascinated you. 

Turning off the main road, Jensen began to make his way up the long driveway that would inevitably lead you to the front of Jared's house. Closing your eyes you started to count backwards, and focus more on your breathing to calm you down . You hadn't noticed that your hands were visibly trembling, but Jensen had. 

Reaching over from the driver's seat, he grabbed one of your hands that you had folded in your lap and squeezed it, making your eyes snap open. He'd stopped the car in front of a large, beautiful house with a well manicured lawn, and grounds surrounding it. 

"Hey, everything okay? Are you feeling okay?" he asked, eyes searching you. 

He looked genuinely worried about you, but you couldn't trouble him with your anxiety issues, so you shoved it down even though you felt that familiar feeling of the tightening in your chest, and smiled at him. 

"Yeah. Just nervous." you tell him. 

Pulling you as close to him as he could in the car, he pecks you on the check, causing a blush to rise up to where his lips had just been, and sending a warm feeling all the way through your body, effectively driving away some of the anxiety and fear. 

"Everything is going to be just fine. We don't have to be here long, they just want to meet you. They're a little worried about me. I divorced Danneel and then appeared with you. That's not exactly something normal people do, you know." 

You nodded your head and didn't say a word. That's what you were worried about. You'd been so secluded for so long that you really didn't know how to act like 'normal' people, or at least normal as they classified it. 

Jensen opened his mouth to say something else, when a hand reached up and knocked on the driver side window making you both jump. 

"Jared, you scared the shit out of me." Jensen yelled, jerking the door open, and looking up at the extremely tall man with long hair and a beard oddly resembling Jesus.

Jensen walked around the car as you opened the door, and took your hand as you got out of it, shutting the door for you as the tall man approached the car.

"Jared, this is my wife,Y/N. Y/N, this is my best friend Jared, and that little woman hiding behind him over there is his wife Gen." 

"Hi", was all you could manage in a quiet voice, looking down at the ground more than making eye contact with either of the two people in front of you. You wanted desperately to hide behind Jensen’s tall form, but you knew that wouldn’t be exactly acceptable behavior, and you didn’t want to make your husband look bad. 

"Hi Y/N, It's nice to finally meet you!!" Gen said, running up and pulling you into a hug you didn't expect, but returned after a moment. Jared only nodded at you, then turned the conversation back to Jensen that you didn’t  hear. Your nerves were too high to pay that much attention, but you were pretty sure they were talking about a car of some sort that Jensen was supposed to be getting.

"So, are you guys going to stick around for dinner tonight? It should be ready in about thirty minutes! We're having enchiladas Jensen!!" Gen said, bouncing over to him, throwing her arm and round his neck like they'd always known each other. 

You'd be a liar if you said you didn't feel more than a little bit out of place, and you weren’t sure how you felt about this stranger , just running up to Jensen and throwing her arms around his neck. You were always taught to keep your distance from married men.

"Sure, how can I turn down free food." Jensen said, giving Gen a wink, and a pang of jealousy slapped you right in the gut when he did so. She seemed totally unaffected by his actions, smacking him in his chest with her hand before walking off into the house.

"Where are the kids?" Jensen asked Jared who was watching you closely, but still hadn't addressed you directly. 

"They are with my parents for the weekend. Why don't you guys come inside?" he said, leading the way into the large, very well and tastefully decorated house. 

As you followed the men into the sitting room, your fingers laced with Jensen's, staying as close to him as possible, but keeping quiet and your head down. 

You both sat down on the little leather loveseat in the room across from the couch that Jared sat down on. Jensen pulled you close to him and wrapped your arm tightly around you.

Gen appeared with a tray of beers and a bottle of wine with two glasses on it, putting it down on the table, and pouring wine into the two empty glasses handing you one before the boys could grab a beer.

"So,Y/N., Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" Jared said a little louder than he had to in the small space, making you look up from the glass in your hand at the man sitting across from you as Gen took a seat next to him.

"There's not a whole lot to tell." you tell him in a quiet voice, and that wasn't a lie. Your whole life has revolved around the church, and your family. You had neither anymore. Jensen had moved you to Austin, so the church was out, and you lost your family.

"Oh come on. There's got to be something. Hobbies, interests? The reason why you jumped up and agreed to  marry a man that's 11 years your senior?" he said, a little sharply. 

You looked at Jensen a little panicked, and Gen grabbed Jared's arm, giving him a stern look. 

Jensen pulled you tighter into his hold, before looking over at his friend. 

"Y/N wasn't raised like you were Jared. She doesn't quite know how to respond to your question, or your demeanor for that matter." 

He took your wine glass from your hand that you had yet to take a drink from, and sat it on the coffee table in front of you.

"Y/N and I were in the same church. We were supposed to be married when she turned 18. By the time she turned 18, I was already in California, and had left the church. She doesn't know life outside of that place, and her family. She doesn't understand speaking so directly to her unless you are  her father, husband, or pastor. She doesn't drink.She has grown up highly sheltered. I'm not saying that, that is right; though I am asking you to mind your tone of voice with my wife. She's still learning and adjusting to life away from that place, and I expect you to treat her with the same respect as you show me, as well as being a little patient."

Jared looked down at this lap for a moment like a scolded child. Jensen definitely had the whole alpha male personality that other men seemed to pick up on right away. You didn't know if it was the deep tone in his voice, or that even though he was thin he was solid. His broad chest and shoulders made him look like a force to be reckoned with, and if he wanted to, he could hurt someone. 

"I'm sorry.I'm just worried about you man, you know that." Jared said, directly addressing Jensen now. 

"Like I told you on the phone, there is no need to be worried. Y/N didn't come looking for me to take advantage of my money, or become famous. I went looking for her after I found out what Danneel did to me. I wanted to do what I should have done all those years ago, and marry the woman I was meant to marry, so that's what I did. If you don't want to understand that, or have a problem with it, that’s your own affair, but you will not take your misunderstood feelings out on my wife Jared, I won't allow it. Respect my wife as you do me, and if you call yourself my friend, you will respect my decisions." 

Jared shook his head, glancing between you and Jensen. Gen was watching you closely not saying a word. 

"I'm sure the food is almost done. Y/N, would you like to come help me make up a salad and get the plates ready?" 

You definitely wanted an excuse to get away from Jared, and out of the tense atmosphere. Cooking and place setting was something you could do, and knew how to do it well, so you looked up and Jensen for permission. 

He nodded his head to you, and loosened his grip on your shoulders as Gen stood, and you followed her into the expansive kitchen, grateful to be away from the tenseness of the room you were just sitting in.

Jensen's POV:

"The fuck is wrong with you? Why did you attack her like that? She has said nothing to you, nor has she done anything to you.There's no reason for you to be so harsh towards her." Jensen said, taking down the rest of his beer in one swig.

"Sorry Jay, I just don't trust her. Her family probably just sent her here to milk...."

Jensen threw his hand up to stop Jared in his tracks.

"Jared!! That's enough! Her families dead. They died two days before I went to claim her. This was my choice, my idea. I chose her. She has never done anything wrong, she's not a gold digger, and I would appreciate it if you would stop being a dick."

Jared looked over at his friend coldy, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his temper under control. 

"Jensen. Do you even have a 'real' marriage with that woman? I mean you say she's been sheltered and all that shit. I mean she probably can't even fu..." 

Jensen got to his feet, knowing where this conversation was going, and it was quickly pissing him off. He had heard all of the shit he could stomach. He thought Jared was his brother, his best friend, why was he being so hateful to Y/N when she'd never done a single thing to him?

"To answer your question, that really is none of your business. She's perfectly capable of performing in a satisfactory manner as far as a physical marriage is concerned. She and I have consummated our marriage if you must know. She's just as much my wife as Gen is yours.”

Jensen shoved his hands through his hair harshly before reaching down, and grabbing his phone from the coffee table where he’d sat it a few moments ago. 

“I've had enough of this. I'm getting my wife and going home."

Before Jared could stand to stop him, Gen poked her head around the door. 

"Okay boys, dinners ready!"

"Okay” they said in unison. 

Jensen turned to look at Jared, giving him a death glare. 

"One word out of line towards my wife, and we're leaving, do you understand me?" Jensen said. Jared looked down at the ground like a scolded child, knowing he'd overstepped his boundaries, and it was going to take quite a bit of making up to Jensen before he’d forgive me. He was just worried about his friends well being. This was all very strange to Jared. 

Your POV:

You were standing at the counter, putting the finishing touches on the salad you'd been busy making since you entered the kitchen, grateful for something to do with your hands to keep yourself busy. Placing the utensils into the salad bowl, you passed the bowl to Gen as she reentered the kitchen with you, leading the way into the dinning room.

"The boys are headed into the dinning room." she said, over her shoulder. 

She seemed like a nice person, someone you would probably be able to make friends with. Her husband on the other hand, hated you and that made your chest ache a little. 

You were shocked when Jensen had stood up for you before Gen brought you into the kitchen to help her prepare the rest of the food and set the table. 

You expected him to side with the other man in the room, though you didn't know what Jared may have convinced him about you when you were away in the kitchen just now, and it made you nervous, the fact that Jared may have made Jensen see his side of things, making Jensen want to take you back to Dallas. 

Jared and Jensen were sitting down in their chairs as you and Gen entered the room, sitting the salad down on the table. 

"Okay everyone dig in!!" she said, taking her seat next to Jared. 

You found it odd that Jensen and Jared grabbed empty plates, and started to fix their own food. You were always raised in the custom that the wives fixed the men's plates first. Then the children, then themselves. Though there were no children here tonight, it was odd to watch them fix their own food. 

Grabbing a plate of your own, you fixed a very small portion of food onto your plate, mimicking Jensen's. He had barely put any food on his plate , and seemed very tense when you took your seat next to him. It seemed he was ready to go, and didn’t want to hang around much longer, which you couldn't help but hope you were right on that account. 

Two hours later everyone had ate, and the kitchen was cleaned up between yourself and Gen. She was pretty easy to talk to, and seemed to know her way around the kitchen. Jensen and Jared stayed sitting at the table, talking tensely about Jared's new role that he'd picked up that was due to film in Austin. 

They were sitting silently when you reentered the dining room.Jensen looked up at you hopefully, and then back at Jared.

"Well, it's getting late, we need to get going. Gen dinner was great, thanks for everything." 

Before either of them could really respond to him Jensen had grabbed your hand, and started making his way toward the door. 

"Well it was nice to meet you Y/N! Let's get together, and get our nails done some time or something." she said as you reached the porch with Jensen, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. You just smiled and nodded at her, not knowing if Jensen would be okay with that or not. 

Once you had reached the car, Jensen opened the door for you, and you slid inside. You were so glad for that to be over. You could tell that didn't go as planned for Jensen. He was hoping Jared would have accepted you, and for some reason he obviously did not. 

Once he was back on the main highway headed toward home, he looked over at you and took your hand once again in his. 

"You okay, sweetheart?" 

"Yeah, I’m okay, I'm sorry your friend doesn't like me." you said quietly, looking down, ashamed into your lap, hoping and praying that Jensen wasn't too angry with you.

"Don't worry about him, he will get used to you. This is just all new to him." 

Picking your hand up to his lips, he kissed the back of your hand lightly, eyes still focused on the road, and his shoulders tense.

"Let's get you home, get showered, and crawl into our bed and die for the night. It's been a long day." Jensen said, suppressing a yawn. You didn't realize how long you had been at Jared's; it was almost midnight, the streets in Austin much calmer from lack of traffic. 

Relief  flooded you as you looked back out the window, watching the lights of the city speed by you in a blur against the dark sky. He wasn't going to send you away after all, or at least he didn’t seem so angry that he didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as you, so maybe you didn’t mess this up to bad.

Exhaustion hit you like a freight train the closer you got to home. It has been a stressful day for you. Tomorrow you would try harder to be a better wife for Jensen. He deserved so much more than you'd been giving him, and you were determined to make him happy.

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[thebluenoteblog]

Just a Number

Summary: While celebrating a win with the team, you overhear a conversation that you really wish you hadn’t heard.

Player: Joel Edmundson

Word Count: 2k

*I’ve never written the Hurricanes before, but I did my best.*

Requested: Can you do a Colton parayko or Joel edmundson one where they have a age gap (reader is 21-23) and on day at a party you hear his friends talking about the age gap and you also hear him not defend your relationship and you leave and when he comes back he sees a blanket and pillow on the couch and the bedroom door is locked and you tell him what he did and you ignore him when he tries to talk to you but that next morning you go downstairs and he runs to you and says he sorry and you guys make up

You were never much of a party person. However, there was no denying that your boyfriend was the definition of life of the party. It wasn’t uncommon for you to find yourself in one of Raleigh’s bars late into the night after a game celebrating a win with the boys and their girlfriends. It wasn’t your favorite pastime. You would much rather be curled on the couch with a good book and a nice glass of wine than sloppy drunk on a Wednesday night. You managed though.

You were managing your way through your second beer of the night when you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You weren’t gone long. Three, maybe four minutes. The boys and their girlfriends were all pretty far gone though, so their social skills were basically nonexistent at this point.

You paused a table away, still able to hear their too loud voices clearly over the bustle of the bar. “I don’t understand how you do it man.”

“I could never date someone that much younger than me, I would feel like I was babysitting all the time.”

A round of laughs and no defense from Joel, he was laughing right along with them. You should have made your presence know. You should have walked up to the table and stopped them from making asses of themselves. You couldn’t make yourself. The temptation of finding out what they truly thought of your relationship, what Joel truly thought of your relationship, was to strong.

So, you stood partially concealed behind a group of men and listened.

“You’ve got to think about this. You’re at totally different points in your life, man.”

You watched as Joel nodded and took another drink of his beer.

He wasn’t wrong. You were getting your college degree and Joel was traveling North America playing in the NHL making millions. That had nothing to do with the age gap though, it would have been the same story whether you were twenty-one or twenty-six.

“You aren’t really planning on staying with her, are you?”

You didn’t want to hear the answer to that question. You already had your purse, so you turned and walked out the door before he had time to answer. You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving. You didn’t want them to see the tears in your eyes. Childish? Yes. Why did that matter? You’d done everything you could to prove yourself to them and still, none of it mattered. So you walked down the street, ordered an Uber from a McDonalds and waited.

****

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Joel asked, craning his neck to look around the bar.

Sebastian turned his head, joining him in the search, “I don’t see her.”

“Could she still be in the bathroom?” Petr asked, “She isn’t out here.”

“It’s been like fifteen minutes,” Joel said, though his concept of time was skewed by alcohol and it had been much longer then fifteen minutes. He started to stand from his chair, “I’m more worried about something having happened to her between here and the bathroom.”

Sara put out a hand, as the soberest person at the table she was thinking the clearest. “Sit down, I’ll go check the bathroom. I don’t think they would take to kindly to you walking into the women’s restroom.”

She stood and walked off, Joel leaned back in his chair bouncing his leg and pealing at the sticker on his bottle. “Man, she’s fine.” Haydn said from beside him, “stop freaking out.”

Joel didn’t take his eyes off the bottle, just nodded, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Haydn? Right about something? It’s a miracle.” Sebastian said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Haydn threw a straw wrapper at him and he swatted it away without much effort.

“Sara’s coming back,” Petr said, nodding his head through the crowd.

She took a seat with her lips pressed together and said, “She wasn’t in there, or anywhere along the way. Did you try calling her?”

He quickly placed his beer on the table and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The phone rang once, twice, then voicemail. He pulled it away from his ear and stared at it. He was feeling really fucking sober by that point.

He tried again. Straight to voicemail. He looked up at the rest of the group, “Straight to voicemail.”

They all looked around at each other, concerned. “Do you share you share your locations with each other?” Sara asked.

Joel nodded, a little bit of the panic leaving his face as he pulled out his phone and went to the app. No Location Found. “Her phone is turned off.” He looked up, eyes wide, “What do you do when someone goes missing in a bar?”

“Do you think maybe she just left?” Haydn asked. “Like maybe she just went home?”

Joel shook his head, “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave and not say anything.”

“Eddy, it’s a hell of a lot more likely that she went home than that she got kidnapped in a crowded bar and no one noticed.” Haydn said, “We’ll stay here, you go back to the apartment and see if she’s there.”

He pushed his lips together and closed his eyes, trying to think logically through the panic and what was left of the alcohol in his system. “Okay.” He said eventually, “Okay, I’ll go see if she’s there.”

****

Twenty minutes later he was unlocking the door of your shared apartment and pushing it open. He stepped inside and the first thing he noticed was that in the middle of an otherwise spotless apartment (courtesy of you, despite the team thinking he was babysitting you, you were the one cooking for him, cleaning up after him, and in general making sure he was taken care of) there was a blanket and a pillow thrown on the couch. They weren’t folded. Not the way they would have been if you had been leaving them for a guest. They were unceremoniously tossed.

They hadn’t been there when you’d come home to change after the game before heading to the bar. At least he knew you were here.

He closed the door behind him and as he flipped the lock he called, “(Y/N)?”

There was no answer. He could see into the living room and kitchen from where he was standing so that really only left one of the two bedrooms as options. As he walked past the guest bedroom he pushed the door open. Nope.

He made it to the end of the hallway and twisted the door knob of the master bedroom without pausing in his stride because, well, he expected the door to open. It didn’t. He ran right into it, took a step back and twisted it again. Locked. “(Y/N)?” he asked through the door, knocking a couple times, “Can you let me in?”

There was no verbal response, but through the door he could hear her turn up the TV to tune him out. He pounded harder on the door, “(Y/N), seriously! Let me in!”

There was no sign whatsoever that she had heard him. He sighed, “Babe, what did I do?” He asked making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard over whatever show she was using to drown out his voice.

On the other side of the door, you turned down the TV and responded, “Go away, Joel. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

He could hear in your voice that you’d been crying. He ran back through the events of the night trying to find anything that he had done that was bad enough to illicit this response from his usually stable, calm, reasonable girlfriend. He couldn’t come up with anything. “(Y/N), I swear to god I will break down this door if you don’t let me in.”

“I don’t want to deal with this right now! Go away!” You yelled, finally snapping and throwing a pillow from his side of the bed at the door.

He flinched at the impact and took a few steps back. He stared at the door for a few more minutes wondering what the fuck he’d done and how he was supposed to fix it. After a long moment of contemplation, he headed to the couch to grab his pillow and blanket.

****

It was a good thing you usually walked staring at the ground when you were in a bad mood. If you hadn’t been, you probably would have tripped over your boyfriend who was laying sprawled on the floor outside your door like a guard dog. You stepped over him and made your way into the kitchen.

You must have been slamming things around louder than you thought you were because the notoriously heavy sleeper appeared behind you within five minutes. You did your best to ignore him, but it was difficult given his following you around with a confused, guilty look on his face. It was like he felt bad for what he’d done but he wasn’t quite sure what that thing was.

Finally, you dropped the bowl of eggs you were whisking on the counter with a clatter and turned to face him with your hands on your hips, “Okay, ask.”

He swallowed, eying you nervously like you were some type of wild animal. “Why are you so mad at me?”

You were angry and not quite thinking clearly. “Don’t you mean to ask why I’m acting like a child?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. Then his face paled. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You said, “Make your own eggs, babysitter.” Then you returned to your whisking.

He stood quietly behind you, knowing he had to do something to fix this, but not quite sure what. As you poured the eggs into the pan he decided that saying just about anything was better than saying nothing, so he decided on, “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You hummed, acknowledging that you’d heard him but not accepting the apology.

“To be honest, I don’t even remember what all was said. I was mostly tuning them out.” He said, taking a tentative step toward her. “I know I should have stopped them, but it just didn’t seem like an argument worth having.”

“Is this argument worth it?” You asked.

“No.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that you feel that way. Maybe next time you won’t just sit there while all your friends try to convince you to break up with me.”

“I didn’t!” He defended himself, walking up to stand next to you, leaning against the counter and trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Really?” You asked, “Because that’s sure what it seemed like from my end.”

“(Y/N),” He said, voice serious, so uncharacteristic for a man who prided himself on being so lighthearted, “The only part of that conversation I remember was telling them that I plan on marrying you someday.”

You looked up from your eggs, “I didn’t hear you say that.”

“I did, (Y/N), I swear.” He said, “They asked me if I was going to stay with you-,”

“Actually, they said you aren’t really going to stay with her, are you.” You corrected him.

He swallowed, and you stared into each other’s eyes as you waited for him to say something. Eventually he said, “Yeah, they did. They were wrong though, and I told them that. They shut up after I did.”

You dumped the finished eggs on the plate you’d set out then turned to face him, tears in your eyes. “You really said that?”

“I did.” He said, “I swear to god, (Y/N). I wouldn’t lie about that.”

He took a step toward you, closing the distance and wrapping his arms around you. “I know I should have said something sooner and you have no idea how sorry I am, but I don’t think they’ll bring it up again.”

You blinked back tears as you buried your face in his chest. “I’m sorry too. I guess I kind of proved them right last night, didn’t I?”

He hummed low in his chest, “No, baby. Besides, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. We both know I’d be lost without you taking care of my irresponsible ass.”

[third-rail-vip]

Unexpected Guests

Summary: 

Ivy gets a surprise visit from a bored Piper while she's recovering from her injuries from Forest Grove.

MacCready runs an important errand in Goodneighbor.

What's a week off from adventures without a chance to catch up with old friends over drinks and maybe get a little bit of gossip?

Notes:

This is a bit of a self indulgent split pov fic.  I’ve had a chance to drop in some character backstory and separate Mac and Ivy and let them talk to other people about each other too.

Rating:  Teen

Word Count: 6456   [AO3 link]  [Then I Met You - Series Link]

Ivy woke with a start, chest caught in a tight knot from the blinding flash relived behind her eyelids.  Still clutched in her fingers from before she drifted off was an old photograph, faded by the centuries, but lovingly maintained.  It showed a perfect nuclear family; a smiling husband--dark-haired, handsome and square-jawed--his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of his wife, her rich brown curls perfectly framing a serene expression of absolute love towards the baby cradled in her arms.  

Nate, Nora and Shaun Carroll - October 20th 2077 was written in neat looped script on the back - the precious memento had been pressed into her hands by Codsworth as she set out for Concord.  Ivy could remember peeking through the blinds of Rosa’s living room - still recovering, still hiding from the world - and seeing them take that photograph.  The laughter and the sweet ridiculousness of their Mr Handy attempting to take it first before they resorted to a neighbour.  

Her dream wasn’t of that moment though.  It was of thundering knocking at her door, of propellers whirring deafeningly overhead, of Nora’s hand in hers dragging her up the hill to the vault, of her throwing more military legalese at the gate guard than Ivy could wrap her head around until the man let them pass.  It was of being held tightly in the arms of a near-stranger as the light from a rising mushroom cloud burnt itself onto their retinas, and of a baby screaming in its father’s arms.  

Ivy owed the Carrolls her life.  Not that the debt mattered much to the frosted dead eyes that stared back at her through thick glass when she fell coughing and half-frozen from her own metal tomb.  It was in the ruins of what had been her sanctuary, that she promised Codsworth that she’d do everything she could to find the boy and bring him home - to whatever kind of a home this world had to offer.  

Sliding the photo onto her bedside table, Ivy checked her pipboy:  6pm.  Shit, when did that happen?  Last time her eyes were open it’d been 11.  

The dull thrum of conversation from the Dugout’s evening crowd drifted through the thin walls, punctuated occasionally by the proprietor's booming laugh.  Even that was drowned out in the wake of the incessant knocking which shook the door.  

Her sleep-clouded eyes indignantly took in the lamplit room, wondering why her partner had put up with the banging as long as he had - MacCready’s patience was infinitely shorter than hers at the best of times - but her surroundings were severely lacking one mercenary.

For a moment she wondered if it was him at the door, but he never knocked.  Well, not unless he thought she might be changing.  He’d learnt that one the hard way; wandering in on her in her underwear, the poor guy had been so caught off guard that, instead of running his smart mouth, he’d turned tato red and nearly smacked his nose on the door when he spun back around.  

Ivy pulled her flannel shirt into a more respectable position and swung her legs off the edge of the bed - bare skin instantly goosebumped by the touch of cold air, she dragged the blanket to cover them.  As a second thought, she lifted her pistol off the bedside table and tucked it under the blanket, pointed at the door.  

“Who is it?” she called across the room at the now incessant knocking.

“Blue, it’s me.  If you don’t open up soon, Vadim is gonna think you’re up to something disgraceful.”

Piper Wright.  Diamond City’s version of trouble incarnate - if you were a corrupt official at any rate.

“It’s open, no need to bust out those fancy picks.”

“I would never,” the reporter grinned at her, slamming the door and leaning back on it.  

In Piper’s hand were a couple of beers – they were probably warm, and flat, but there wasn’t much more to be hoped for two hundred years after brewing.  She raised an approving eyebrow when Ivy withdrew the gun and tucked it back on the table.  

Hazel eyes, keen with the spark of a bored investigative journalist took in the dingy room;  rifles tucked under the bed, packs stowed by the unused chest of drawers, notepads strewn across the table next to a full ashtray and some nuka cola bottles, and a discarded pile of blankets on the sofa where the occupier had kicked them off.  Piper frowned, but resisted the urge to lean closer and read the notes.  

“So, Blue, what’s kicking?”

“Ha. Ha.”  Ivy rolled her eyes, sticking her bruised and swollen ankle out from under the blanket.  “You know, not much at the moment.”

Piper ditched the beers on the coffee table, then on second thought used one of them to prod the blankets out of the way from MacCready’s makeshift bed on the couch.  With some effort, she helped Ivy hop over to sit in the space she’d made while she took the armchair.  Passing Ivy the blanket beer, Piper kicked her feet up onto the table and twirled her own bottle in her hand, watching the flat liquid regain some of its fizz before taking a sip.  

“I heard a rumour you were back in town.  Thought I’d check in on you, see if there was any news from Nicky.”

MacCready had promised to check for her when they got back to Diamond City, but the meeting had yielded little more than Mac’s frayed temper snapping at Valentine.  Followed by a surprise apology from the mercenary.  Maybe that was the gossip Piper had come for.

“I’m sure you’d have heard before me if there was,” Ivy huffed.  

Passing Piper the photo of the Carrolls, she sank back into the cushions of the sofa and hugged her knee to her chest.  “No, not a damn thing.  It’s hardly surprising, if anything, my memory’s getting fuzzier.”

Piper stroked her fingers across the glossy picture, a sad smile half-tugging at her lips.

“They look so happy.”

“They were.”

“Still nothing?”  She glanced up at Ivy.  

There was less hope and more resignation in her eyes every time she asked the question.  Back when Nick took her case, both he and Piper had tried to talk her through ways of recalling information, even small details, ways to look past the trauma.  

None of it had worked.  

“Just the voice.”  Smug and malicious.  Calling her the backup.  “His face is still just blurry.”  Even though he’d leant right in and tapped on the glass like Ivy was a goldfish.  Bastard.

“It’s not your fault, Blue.  You’d already been through so much.  That kind of trauma--”  The look Piper gave her ached with pity, despite her attempt at an encouraging smile.  “You found - you rescued - Nick.  If anyone can help, he can.”  

“I made a promise, it just doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“You’re doing so much!  We got the article out there.”  

Ivy shifted uncomfortably.  “All that’s gotten me so far are commiserations.”

“I know saying you were his mom didn’t sit right with you--  I should have warned you.”

Piper reached out and squeezed her hand - it was an apology that came every time they saw each other following that first interview.  A more extreme attempt to make it up to her, had been the trip across to Boston Common which had resulted in them fleeing to Goodneighbor back in October.  

“I don’t know if you noticed, Blue, but this world is kind of selfish.  Honestly, I think people will be more likely to help this way.”

“I know… I know.”

“By the time we’re done, there won’t be a person in the Commonwealth who doesn’t know who Shaun Carroll is.  We’ll get him back, I promise.”

“Thanks, Piper.”

The reporter awkwardly cast around for something else to do, and settled on straightening out the notebooks; eyes that didn’t miss a thing, skimmed the scribbled maps and notes that Ivy had carefully taken down as Mac tried to describe Mass Pike from memory.  

Ivy flicked the book shut when that questioning gaze fell on her.

“Not to bring up the elephant in the room…” Piper tried a subject change instead and nodded to Mac’s ‘bed’ on the sofa. “But weren’t you meant to be ditching the hired help once you found Nicky?”

“I never said that.”

“So what?  You’re keeping him around because you like the stink of cigarettes and, I can only assume, wet dog.”

“Piper Wright, play nice!  I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but MacCready watches my back.”

“He watches your butt, Blue.  Or what is it you Brits say?  Bottom?  Bum?”  

Ivy tried to sound outraged but she was laughing too hard at the plumy queen’s english that just left her friend’s mouth.

“Piper, he does not.”  

Liar.  She bit her lip, unable to keep the colour from her cheeks.

He did watch her ass, she’d caught him more than once.  Sometimes he wasn’t even ashamed of it, although it was far more fun when he was.  And maybe she did put a little more sway into her walk now and again, or lift with her back instead of her knees every so often. But what was the harm in that?  

“I should have expected you’d stand up for him.  My sources tell me you two showed up in town with him carrying you like a couple of honeymooners.”  The reporter crowed smugly.  

“Because of my leg!”  Ivy cried, responding to Piper’s dramatic spouting of mock-marriage announcement headline, with a playful shove.  “And I know your ‘sources’ are Danny.  I saw him gawking.”

“Speaking of Danny, he said your mercenary--”

“Not my mercenary--”

“Whatever.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Danny said he saw MacCready head out this morning.  Didn’t see where he was headed though.”  Piper paused, scrutinising her between sips of beer, before her expression softened again.  “You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I’ve not seen him since first thing when he said he was going out.  I never even thought he might leave.”

“Leave,” Piper scoffed and chugged the last of her beer.  Slapping her hands on her knees, she sprang to her feet.  “You know what you need, Blue?  A distraction.  And something stronger than beer.”

After making Ivy swear she’d get up and showered, and watching to make sure she downed the last of her own beer, Piper left in as much of a whirlwind as she’d arrived, with a promise that she’d be back in twenty minutes with a change of clothes and Ivy had better be ready.

--x--

Nothing says welcome like the stench of urine soaked garbage, MacCready had once complained to Ivy on one of their trips back to the inner city settlement, but despite the ever present smell of tomcat, Goodneighbor still felt like the closest thing to home he’d found in the ‘wealth.  He wouldn’t go so far as to say he got no sidelong looks, but fewer than any other settlement he visited, and at least these were somewhat based in fact.  

Despite the ache in his head from where a board had hit him, his dumb yet ingenious - if he did say so himself - plan to return to the re-supermutant infested library had paid off.  Stowed safely in his pack was a pre-war map that covered the whole area around the Mass Pike Interchange.  With it, they could plan a route to take on the Gunners without a repeat of their last disastrous attempt.

MacCready had slipped past the raiders and the mutants en route across Boston, tracing a route that he knew by heart from the months he’d spent there before meeting Ivy.  It was late afternoon by the time he sauntered through the gate to Goodneighbor, whistling past the cigarette hanging from his lips.  Other than the surly presence of the neighbourhood watch, the streets were quiet;  the night owls weren’t up yet and the day drinkers had already shambled off to the Third Rail to dull whatever pain they kept tight-lipped about.  

That meant he wouldn’t have to wait for a quiet spell to drop in and see Daisy.  It’d been too long since they’d stopped by Goodneighbor and he had a pile of caps burning a hole in his pocket, just waiting to be shipped back to the Capital Wasteland.  Not to mention a desperate hope for news from home.  

“MacCready, long time no see.”  Daisy leant across the counter of the discount store, beaming when she saw him.  “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little corner of the Commonwealth.”

“How could I forget about you, Daisy?”

“Nice try, kid.  Don’t think I don’t know why you’re really here.”

She reached under the counter and produced a lockbox which clicked open with a key kept around her neck.  MacCready grinned, its contents might be cargo precious to no one but him, but Daisy understood.  

He took the letter that had been locked safely away, dragging a thumb over the crayon doodles that covered the envelope before he tucked it securely into his breast pocket to read later when he got a moment of privacy.  

The old girl had always been good to him, ever since he staggered into Goodneighbor without a cap to his name, a wild look in his eye and Gunner blood on his face.  She’d treated him like family with no explanation other than he reminded her of herself when she was younger – a fuck up too, he’d guessed at the time.  

On the anniversary of Lucy’s death, after more than a skinful, Mac had broken down and told her everything.  Daisy let him cry it out, never passed judgement, and once his sobs had settled she told him the caravans owed her more than a few favours, handed him a pen and paper and said write to your boy.  I’ll get it to him.

So now, more than six months later, MacCready paid her back as best he could - by dealing with trouble - and she kept him afloat with a lifeline home.

“Here on your own?”  

“Yeah, the boss is laid up.”

The word ‘boss’ tasted odd on this tongue.  It’d been a while since he’d used it to anyone other than strangers.  It hadn’t felt like Ivy in a long time, but it was easier not to try and fumble his way through that explanation.  

Carefully checking they were still without an audience, MacCready emptied out every last cap he had - digging deep into his pockets and tipping out bags to make sure every last one was accounted for.  Daisy wrapped them tightly in fabric to stop the telltale tinkle of metal on metal, adding more as he discovered them squirreled away in various places.  

“Laid up, huh?  Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she chatted idly.

“Just ran into some trouble on the way to take out some old trash.”   Trouble, with any luck, they’d avoid next time.

“Gunners, huh?”  Nothing got past Daisy.  “Those boys might not be the brightest, but they’ve got numbers.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Daisy.”

“And what about your boss.”  

Nothing got past Daisy.

“She sprained her ankle.  Doc says she’s got to keep the weight off, that’s all.”  His explanation appeared good enough for now.  

Next for the package were two envelopes; battered from being repeatedly crammed in pockets before anyone could see him writing, opened and reopened as he added more news while waiting for his chance to get to Goodneighbour and send them off.  One was covered in messy scrawl addressed to Carys, the other he’d lovingly and carefully addressed to Duncan and was filled to the brim with adventures he wished he could tell his son in person, and a promise that daddy would be home soon.  

“Anything else?”  Daisy asked, taking the toy car out of his hands and wrapping it with the caps.

MacCready patted his pockets down and felt the hard glossy sheen of a photograph that had remained stowed in his duster for longer than he’d care to admit.  

On their first trip to the library for Daisy, Ivy had found a working camera and he’d damn near blinded himself with the flash.  After some ill advised chemistry experiments, her and Sturges had managed to develop a single unscathed picture;  he was squinting, caught off guard by the sudden light, and tucked into his side was Ivy, smiling over at him like she wanted to laugh.  The look had recently started to make the air catch in the back of his throat.  

He turned the picture in his hand, half of him wanting to send Duncan something more than words or toys to remember him by, but the other half didn’t want to let the picture go.  

“Wait.”  

Taking the cap stash back from Daisy, he removed 200 and tucked them back into his pack - it was about time he stopped hiding behind their initial arrangement.  As much as he hated debt, he disliked the idea of Ivy thinking he was just there because she paid him, more.  

But speaking of debt.

He sighed and pulled out another 300.  At least he could finally afford to pay off Whitey’s tab in something other than favours, even though he’d rather send the extra caps home.  

“Before you go wandering off with the look of a man who’s lost at cards, I’ve got a little something to send along to Duncan,”  Daisy smiled.

She produced a couple of packs of gumdrops and one of snack cakes, and, most impressively, a pristine teddy bear.  MacCready stared, speechless.  Daisy had obviously gone to a heck of a lot of effort to clean up the toy and get it into good condition.  He’d never have admitted it when he was a kid, but he’d have killed for something like that.  

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the threat of tears at the thought of Duncan’s face lighting up at the sight of it, and instead ducked around the counter to press a sloppy kiss to Daisy’s temple.

“You’re a doll, you know that right?”

“I know.  Now get out of here.  I’m sure you’ve got plenty more important things to do than entertain an old ghoul.”  

Barely making it out of the doorway on his debtors traipse to the Third Rail, Daisy called him back.

“I think you forgot something.”  She slid the photo across the counter to him, but had the grace not to tease him.  “You be careful out there.”

--x--

“Gunners.”  Ivy swayed gently on her barstool, carried on a breeze of cheap vodka and weak beer.

The Dugout Inn was a whole world away from the far shadier, but infinitely friendly Third Rail.  That evening the bar was filled with its traditionally grumbling clientele, mostly spaced so that they wouldn’t be forced to interact with anyone they hadn’t specifically come to see.  It was about as congenial as her old Metro commute - although commuters these days were more likely to eat you than glare if you tried to force them to converse.

The pair had been getting scornful looks from the second Piper half-lifted Ivy out of her room and to the bar, and that was a good few hours, and a bad few drinks ago.  

Dragging the sleeve of her rather too large t-shirt back up onto her shoulder, Ivy knocked back another shot of vodka and pulled a face at the burn in her throat - she’d assumed it would ease with regular applications of the spirit.  Her theory was not panning out.  

Piper grabbed Ivy by the knees and twisted her so they were facing.  The sharp movement nearly knocked her own shot flying, luckily the practiced hand of Vadim - who had learnt from the number of spillages caused by Piper’s over excited limbs - caught the drink before it had a chance to topple.

“Are you nuts, Blue?  Why the hell would you go after Gunners?”

“Shh shh shh.”  Ivy patted at her friend’s mouth, bemused at her lack of understanding.  “They were bothering him.”  

Realisation slowly dawned across Piper’s as one hand fished around for her drink, eyes not leaving Ivy’s.

“It’s those big bastards from Goodneighbor, isn’t it?  Damn, Ivy, you’re running around on that mercanar— mermenar—” Piper growled at the word that refused to untangle from her tongue.  She threw back her rescued shot instead and tried again.  “That merc’s vendetta?  You remember you hired him, right?”  

“Yes, I remember I hired him.  It set me back 200 caps.”

“Out of a grand.  You sold that shiny laser rifle, remember?”

Ivy patted more frantically at her friend’s mouth in an attempt to stop her loudly spilling any more secrets, especially money related ones.  

With the stalls around the market closing and the rumbles of another encroaching winter storm bouncing off the stands outside, a fresh wave of patrons huddled into the muggy gloom of the increasingly packed Inn, bringing with them a cold, damp breeze that channeled straight to the bar each time the door opened.

“Miss Wright!”  

This latest wave had apparently washed up Doc Crocker, who greeted Piper from somewhere behind Ivy.  The man was a disconcerting sight at the best of times, smiling away like a used car salesman from under a pair of goggles he never seemed to take off - apparently not even in the darkened bar.  He beamed across at Piper while he waited to be served.

“Doc.  What brings you here?”  she asked with the strained patience of a woman who had probably had this conversation many times before.  

“Well, I must admit to a small vice,” he tittered away to himself, as though answering questions they’d not heard asked.  “A quick drink after work!”

“And the jet,”  Piper muttered into her glass so only Ivy could hear.  

“You have marvellous bone structure.  Beautiful…”  Suddenly Ivy was trapped like a rabbit in headlights under the focus of those bug-eyed goggles.  “But not perfect.  You should stop by the Mega Surgery sometime.”  

The surgeon picked up his drink and wandered off to the couches to comment on somebody’s nose.  

Ivy prodded at her cheekbones and gave Piper a bemused look.  “Well that was charming.”

“Oh, he’s harmless, Blue,” the reporter chuckled, reaching across to smush Ivy’s cheeks.  “Aren’t you tempted by a little nip and tuck?  Impress your mer--”

“Stop it or I will push you off your stool.”  Ivy muffled through her forced pout.

“Come on, Miss Kendrick, a statement for the press…  You can’t tell me you’re helping him for no reason.”

Piper didn’t see it, but MacCready was in trouble, Ivy knew that much for sure, but the extent of which was anyone’s guess.  Trying to work out what was going on with the guy was like trying to put together a thousand piece jigsaw of throwaway comments, far off looks and names he’d whisper as he tumbled out of bad dreams, except she was missing the lid and all the pieces were baked beans.  

“I’m helping him because he asked.  That’s basically all I’ve been doing for people since I defrosted, isn’t it?  Build me a house, fetch me this paint, get that body out of the water supply.”  Ivy ignored the horrified look on her friend’s face and topped up their glasses.  “Isn’t it enough that he asked?”

“For you maybe, Blue.”

“Do you want me to call back Crocker?  See if we can get your eyes fixed?  Your hunger for a story is making you hallucinate, Miss Wright.”

“Fine.  Go after your Gunners if you must.”  She raised a shot with Ivy and waited for her to drink.  “All I’m saying is when you get round to it, the sex better be worth it.”

Ivy choked, spluttering on the alcohol that threatened close off her airway.  She turned, slack jawed to her friend, fully aware from the hairs pricking up on the back of her suddenly overheating neck, that the entire queue at the bar had turned to look as well.

“Piper--”  A hoarse chastisement was all she could manage.

Vadim’s booming chuckle cut across the bar before Ivy had a chance to gather herself enough to clamp her hands over her friend’s mouth.  The women managed to glare him away before he was able to comment.  He strolled off, still laughing to himself, to serve the last waiting customer - one of Diamond City’s security guards, a rare sight without a helmet on.

Poor MacCready had already been the butt of far too many of the bartender’s jokes about the amount of time she’d spent shut away in their room.  Mac had given up trying to explain himself and by day three of her convalescence he was practically running through the bar to avoid the insinuations.  This was going to make things a thousand times worse.  

Their reprieve was short-lived; Vadim reappeared with two glasses of good whiskey and a smirk that threatened to split his face in two.    

“From a not-so-secret admirer.”

The bald security guard, who was obviously the sender of what Ivy fully intended to be her last drink of the evening, made no move to come and talk to them.  He just raised his glass and gave them a nod - his expression unreadable behind dark glasses.  

Ivy and Piper raised their glasses and nodded in return before huddling conspiratorially.  

“You’re going to give me a reputation, Piper Wright.”

“Renting a room for a week with that mercenary is going to give you a rep--admittedly I’m not helping...”  She gave Ivy a cheeky little grimace.  “Ugh, Blue, why is there nothing interesting to write about?  McDonough is shutting me down at every angle.  So much for freedom of the press.  I just want a decent story!”

Still hovering nearby, the bartender seized his moment to make a bid for 15 minutes of fame.  It wasn’t happening.

“So, Piper, you have finally decided to come publish Vadim’s latest tale of heroism, yes?”    

“That’s not news, Vadim.  We all heard about the nudity.  And the coolant.  Earl spread that one faster than a town crier,”  Piper snorted.  

“See what I mean?”  she sighed when Vadim had been successfully shooed away to the opposite end of the bar.  “All I get are people telling me stupid stories like that.  Whenever I publish the real deal.  The truth about what’s going on in Diamond City, everyone looks at me like I’m mad.”  

There was something so miserable about seeing Piper dejected.  Stuck in a room filled with her critics, not even managing to get a hint of gossip out of her friend.  Ivy hadn’t been out drinking with a girlfriend since college, and the more she thought about it... Piper had braved this place with its bad beer and bitchy clientele to keep her company.  The least she could do was throw her a bone, after all, two centuries is a long time to go without gossip and a giggle.

“You got me thinking and I have a very serious question.”  Ivy downed the rest of her whiskey, which in hindsight was not supposed to be drunk that way.  

Piper perked up in an instant, leaning in close as Ivy beckoned her forward until their foreheads were practically touching.

“What is it, Blue?”

“What if sex changed in the last 200 years?”

Piper’s snort was worth everything Ivy was going to have to endure.  It was the loudest, most undignified, joyous noise, and set Ivy off cackling too.  

“I knew it!  I knew it!”

“What?  Shut up, I’m asking for a friend.”

--x--

On the other side of town, it was getting to that time of night where MacCready needed to catch himself before knocking ash into his whiskey and picking up his ashtray for a drink.  A good time of night.

“Not me, brother.”  Hancock shrugged, leaning back on one of the tattered sofas in his rooms in the State House.  “You think I go around paying off tabs?  You’d drink me out of house and home.”

“You know it wasn’t that kind of tab.”  

Mac shifted uncomfortably, glancing across at Farenheit, who lurked in the gloom, leaning against the doorframe, her unimpressed expression lit by the glow of a cigarette.  He’d been convinced it was Hancock when Whitey refused to give him a name.  

“I know, but I’d rather Charlie didn’t have to dispose of too many Gunner corpses either.  They might decide it’s actually worth starting shit.”  MacCready might have earned his place as a friend of the mayor, but Hancock wasn’t going to risk Goodneighbour to the Gunners.  “Sure you aren’t missing the obvious?”

“Positive.  She wouldn’t have,” he scoffed.  “Ives had way too much of Charlie’s swill to remember my tab.”  

“I should be insulted,” Hancock drawled, without the slightest hint of offense taken.  “Your doe-eyed vaultie talked Charlie into coughing up 400 caps for my warehouse job.  You sure she was as drunk as you remember?”

“You shoulda seen her at the Rexford,” MacCready settled back into his sofa, wrapped in the warm embrace of a whiskey induced haze, a far away smile sneaking onto his lips.  “One minute she’s swaying on her feet, the next she’s got old Fred to offer 500 caps for a trip to Hallucigen.  She just smiled and told him it was hazard pay.”

A lazy grin spread across Hancock’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, man.  Just nice seein’ you something other than drunk or sour.”  He got up and meandered over to the cabinet, fishing out a bottle to replace the whiskey they’d finished - an action that didn’t fail to get Mac’s attention.  “How is the new job working out?”

“Hope you’ve got enough of that to go around.”  Without bothering to lean forward, he toed his empty glass across the coffee table for a refill.  “Hate to admit it, but i’m actually enjoying the work.”

The ghoul raised an eyebrow at his mucky boots draped across the wood, but filled his glass anyway before kicking his own feet up.  “Just the work hmm, nothing to do with the company?”

You don’t know the half of it.  

MacCready had been doing a damn good job of keeping things professional - harmless flirting didn’t count - but admittedly it was getting more difficult, and a badly timed return to their room had only complicated matters.  In a matter of seconds, keen eyes usually trained to spot weakness and danger, had read details of his half-naked partner’s life that he hadn’t earned the right to see.  She had three tattoos - knowing Ivy they had stories behind them, a couple of old bullet wounds had left superficial scars across her upper arm, not to mention the surprisingly distracting dusting of freckles.  

All things he shouldn’t hope to study slowly and in infinitely more detail.  

“The work is good.”

“Ha.  I knew it.  Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” Hancock chuckled.  “She’s not as sweet as she seems.  You’d never have stuck around otherwise, not unless you got to play bad influence.”

“She’s an angel.”  MacCready smirked at the nickname that used to be taunt.  He shook his head as an irrepressible grin cracked across his face.  Damn whiskey making him loose lipped.  And damn half-empty pack on Mentats - the ghoul was on the ball today.  “But you should see her pick a lock.  Those hands--”

It had come as a shock, but a heck of a pleasant one, that Ives could work a lock faster than some professionals he’d run with.  But the image that caught in his head was the way she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when she concentrated, deft hands delicately coaxing the locking mechanism open.  

Once he’d cockily asked her if she could do it blindfolded and without missing a beat she’d told him she could do a lot of things blindfolded - it had made for a distracting fight through the rest of the raider camp.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth and concentrated on lighting his cigarette to avoid making eye contact with Hancock.

“Hey, distractions are good, man.  You gotta enjoy your time on this earth,” the ghoul shrugged.  “I admit, we half-expected to see you back here by now.  The boys had a sweepstake on how long it’d be before that sweet boss of yours sent you packing.”

Of course they did.

“Oh yeah, who’s winning?”

“Yours truly.  Everyone else thought you’d be back by now.”

MacCready laughed.  If you asked around Goodneighbor about him, most people would tell you “good shot, bad attitude”.  Didn’t matter if they’d met him or not, word travelled fast and reputations tended to stick.  He’d been a defensive son-of-a-- well, his attitude hadn’t won him any popularity contests.  

“Sorry to disappoint but you’ll be waiting a little longer for your payday.  We’ve still got jobs planned.”

“I heard you were looking to make a move on the Gunners.”

Mac had given up long ago being surprised by the things Hancock heard on the grapevine.  

“That’s the plan.  Why?  You’ve not had any more trouble from them, have you?”

“Not since you left.  They’re watching, but then they’re always watching.  It’s the super mutants that are giving us more trouble these days.  Gotta say, we miss your gun on the defences.”

MacCready grinned.  What little work he’d managed to get out of Goodneighbor, despite his Gunner background, had been from people seeing him in action during those raids.  Although drifters and drug dealers didn’t bring in the steadiest or best paid work.  

Leaving Goodneighbor with Ivy had been a longshot, but then again those were his specialty.

“Any news from home?”  

Daisy wasn’t the only one who knew what drew him back to Goodneighbor so often.  

MacCready fished the latest letter from his breast pocket, running a calloused thumb over the doodles on the envelope.  “Carys says he’s ‘pretty stable’ - whatever that means - and he misses his daddy.”

She’d said other things too, mostly shit he didn’t understand like the boils had spread from his axillae and groins, but she was keeping an eye on them and they weren’t causing more issues.  Yet.  And that Duncan was still on his feet, but it was taking a lot of physio and he was hating it.  He throws the kind of tantrums baby you would be proud of, MacAttack.  

“And he still wants a puppy.”

MacCready bowed his head, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his finger and thumb, like that was ever gonna stop the tears prickling his eyes.  Carys - or the ‘lone wanderer’ as she was known to people who never bothered to get to know her better - was the only doctor he’d trust anywhere near his son.  She and her wife hadn’t hesitated to open their home to his little boy, to look after him while MacCready headed north.  But Carys was never one to mince her words.  She’d told him in no uncertain terms that leaving the Capital Wasteland meant that there was a risk Duncan could die without him there.

“So.”  Hancock wasn’t one to mince his words either.  “You made any progress on that cure?”

“You think I’d be sitting here getting drunk with you if I had?” he snapped, then sighed.  “Without Sinclair’s password it’s fuh-- it’s pointless.”

Trust issues and desperation were an ugly combination, but he’d had them in spades when he’d landed in the Commonwealth.  Sinclair and his partner had looked no better than kids wearing pots and pans as homemade armour.  Freaking useless.  There was no way he was going anywhere with those amateurs, but that hadn’t stopped him trying to beat them to the prize, only to realise he’d never get through security without a password - one Sinclair had neglected to mention when they proposed the team up.  The hoards of ferals were just the icing on the cake.  There was no way in hell he was getting in there alone.  

On the brightside, if there was one, there was no way they’d have made it through those ferals if he couldn’t.  So the cure was still there, just waiting for him to find a way in.    

“You know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.”  Hancock took a long drag of his cigarette then folded his arms, black eyes studying MacCready intensely from under the shadows of his hat.  “You were saving caps to hire some guys to get you into that lab, but you’ve got a partner who - from what it sounds like - would help you for free.  What’s stopping you asking?”

“I nearly got torn apart last time I went there.”  

He slammed his glass down, a wave of amber liquid sloshed across the wood.  Shame reared its ugly head as he tried to forget that he had tried to get Ivy to Malden.  And he’d lied to her to do it.  But that was before she was more than just a job.  His alcohol fogged mind drifted back to the tears that spilled from earnest brown eyes when she told him she thought she’d got him killed.  

His voice cracked, “I can’t watch it happen again.”

MacCready stood suddenly, the room giving an indignant whiskey induced spin.  Once his eyes could focus again, he checked his watch: 1am.  “I should get back.”  

At the door he turned, remembering his manners.  “Thanks for the drink, Hancock.  Sorry about the…” - he waved vaguely - “everything.”  

“No harm done,” Hancock smiled calmly.  He was always hard to rile, not to mention better at holding his drink than the mercenary.  “Hey MacCready, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

—x—

It was late - or possibly early - when MacCready finally made it back to the Dugout.  On the brightside, he was in one piece, having luckily skirted round any trouble while crossing Boston under cover of night.  On the downside, he looked like he’d swum up the Charles rather than walking - the storm that had finally broken when he was halfway back, and even the brim of his cap was sagging under the weight of water.  

He found his partner fast asleep, still fully dressed - in clothes he didn’t recognise - curled up on top of her covers.  She hadn’t even stirred when he kicked the door shut.  The bottoms of her feet were grubby like she’d been out of the room barefoot - must be what Vadim looked so entertained about when he wandered through the bar.  

Smiling to himself, he dragged a free corner of the blanket over her before kicking off his boots, ditching his sodden coat and hat and collapsing back onto the couch.  If his luck remained, maybe he’d sleep through any potential hangover.

[tirednotflirting]

i’ve got a secret for the mad (in a little bit of time it won’t hurt so bad)

i was sad last night and this just happened. (baby’s first time writing lashton pls be nice)

Luke wakes up in an odd position, his long limbs tucked up onto the couch, an ache in his neck but also a pair of lips press against where the pain begins (something oddly poetic, he would reflect on later during a writing session that only he and Calum attended). Ashton's body is half on top of his own, the drummer’s calloused fingers pressing against his ribs under the t-shirt Luke had thrown on after showering in the venue the night before hopping on their bus.

The night before they had finished up their last Texas show which meant the long drive from Houston to Denver for the next show was on the agenda for the next couple of days. The show that night had felt a bit weird, Luke found himself thinking as he rummaged through the fridge in search of a few beers and a bottle of kombucha as he was the one who had been sent back to grab drinks for a movie night. Not that it hadn’t been a good show but at times he had found himself feeling some kind of tense energy during certain songs. Like a lack of fluidity he normally felt jamming with the guys for an arena of 10,000+ people.

He brushes it off pretty easily for now though, assuming it was maybe the lack of sleep or dehydration (the latter thought causing him to grab a bottle of water for himself as well) and shrugs to himself as he gently kicks the fridge door closed before wandering back to the lounge. Michael was standing in front of the TV, one hand on his hip while the other pointed a remote to the box, flipping through Netflix options. Calum stands just behind him, his chin resting against the blonde’s shoulder, softly adding comments about different titles he was finding he might be interested in.

Luke pulls a couple of the beers out from where they were cradled in his arms and passes one to each of them, the two boys turning and smiling their thanks as Luke continues walking past them toward the couch where Ashton was seated, his thumb swiping across his phone screen and his legs covered with a fleecy throw.

“Grabbed you a hippie juice,” Luke says quietly to him, trying not to startle him as he took a seat on the free end, his arm reaching over Ashton's shoulder to hand him the glass bottle of the pinky beverage. The comment would normally result in a giggle from the older boy along with some faux complaint at Luke making fun of his current drink of choice. Instead he is met with silence from Ashton, the mumblings of Calum and Michael trying to decide on what to watch and the hum of the interstate being the only sound to meet his ear.

Luke pouts as he let the bottle fall into Ashton's lap. As his eyes stay glued to the screen in front of him, his fingers now tapping against the glass, Luke was starting to have an idea of what might have felt off earlier in the night. He nudges his shoulder between Ashton's shoulder blades and let his head drop to his shoulder, the back of the couch keeping Luke from falling back as he looks up a bit at his cheek. Tired and somewhat sad hazel eyes met Luke’s blue as he felt Ashton sigh. “What is it, Luke?”

He immediately returns the question with another. “What’s bugging you?”

Ashton's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth before his eyes lift to the ceiling and he takes a deep breath. Just as he’s about to respond, they both lift their eyes to the sound of footsteps toward the door that leads to the front of the bus as Mikey starts to speak. “Got a text that we’re stopping at McDonald's before we get too far out from anything. You guys want to join?”

Luke looks up to Ashton's face just as he’s looking down toward him with eyes pleading with him to not move. Luke lifts his head for a moment to respond for both of them. “Think we’re all good for now, you guys go ahead.”

The two of them shrug and wander toward the front, Luke watches them meander past the bunks as the lounge door slips shut again. He settles further into the plushy couch and Ashton scoots up some before letting his head drop into Luke's lap. He sighs gently again, this time against the knee closest to his face as he faces away from the pouting blonde. “Miss home. miss the sunflowers out back, miss that cat I started feeding out on the front porch.”

It was pretty routine for Ashton to hit some kind of slump around the halfway mark of a tour. Everyone was tired, everyone was missing the comforts of their own beds and kitchens. Being the first tour back after not being able to be out on the road for so long, Luke was honestly surprised it had taken this long for the boy in his lap to reach this point. He knew that by the end of it, Ashton had grown incredibly fond of his mornings watching the flowers he had been tending to dance in the breeze, of really taking his time to make his coffee in whatever fancy way he had read about trying recently.

Luke lets his fingers run through Ashton's black dyed curls (the longer style he had sported out of necessity summer 2020 was one he decided he wanted to keep for a while). The attention causes Ashton to turn some so he can look up into the eyes of the boy he’s cuddled himself onto. The action was one he had been hoping for, feeling and watching Luke wrap the dark hair around his painted fingers being one that brought him an almost odd sense of calm (a feeling he had found himself scribbling into song lyrics in his journals). 

Just as Luke’s about to respond, to offer some kind of comforting something to try to make Ashton feel even a little better (he really hates to see him so upset and stuck in his head), he speaks up again. “Which like, I know is bullshit. Because I know I spent probably a collective three weeks on FaceTime and stuff whining about not being able to be out on the road with you guys and seeing the fans and stuff but—“

He stops as Luke reaches out his free hand to the one Ashton has resting against his chest. The younger boy tangles up their fingers and squeezes against his palm. “You don’t have to try to explain yourself to me. Come on, I get it.”

Luke rhythmically taps his fingers against the knuckles of the other boy, hoping to get him to focus on the pattern to relax him as he continues. “You think I don’t miss Petunia? Or spending nights out in the backyard around that fire pit we decided to finally build to jam around? Or watching you make breakfast in the morning after we all ended up falling asleep around my place after hanging too late?”

Ashton feels his cheek press into Luke’s thigh as he smiles, remembering the image of a sleepy, bleach-blonde Luke sitting on the counter beside the stove, a cup of coffee cradled between both hands, his eyes tired but happy as he watches Ashton flip pancakes and cut fruit. He’s pulled out of the summer-sun soaked memory when Luke keeps going. “But we’re lucky. Because we get to go out and make people really happy making music that we’re proud of when honestly, I was worried we would never get to do it again like this.”

And of course he’s right. Ashton knows that. He suddenly thinks of another memory from the end of the previous summer also in Luke's kitchen. It was after another night with everyone in his backyard. Michael and Calum had just left (Michael deciding to drive a giggly, clingy Calum back home with promises to make sure they were both on time to the writing session at Ashton’s in the morning) and Luke and Ashton were cleaning up when Ashton suddenly heard a sniffling from the opposite side of the kitchen island. Luke faced away from him toward the cabinets but upon turning him around with a gentle hand against his shoulder, Ashton was met with red, glossy eyes before Luke tucked his face into the somewhat shorter man’s neck, his arms wrapping around his waist. He spoke quietly of his fears of never getting back out on the road so as to avoid a full blown meltdown. 

And while Ashton knew the wine Luke had sipped throughout the night was definitely heightening his emotions, he also knew the fears the boy in his arms confessed were ones shared by all four of them. Lacking the words to help dismiss those fears at the time, Ashton had just held Luke for a while in the kitchen, eventually waddling them both down the hall to the bedroom. He let the blonde cuddle into his side to fall asleep before sneaking out to finish cleaning up the kitchen and grabbing his keys to head home. 

(Before returning back to the present moment, his mind sits for a minute on how the night actually ended - he had one foot out of the door when he heard a sniff from across the living room, Ashton turning to see Luke in the pajama pants and t-shirt he had managed to get him to change into, the curly boy’s lips pouted as he blinked over at him. Ashton sighed with a smile as he dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, clicking the lock back into place before toeing off his boots and following Luke back to the bedroom, agreeing to play as the big spoon until the morning.)

Ashton feels Luke poke at his cheek and he screws his eyes shut and shakes himself back to where he’s currently at, staring up at the sweet smile and golden curls just above him. “All of that to say,” Luke starts as he draws figure 8s through the black curls and Ashton finds himself leaning back into his hand. “You’re allowed to be home sick. Especially after being stuck at home for so long. It’s not often we’re allowed to get used to what it feels like. Being at home.”

The drummer turns then to face the ceiling again as he nods slowly, knowing there wasn’t much of a solution to his current feelings aside from just waiting for them to pass. It's then that Calum and Michael return to the back lounge on the bus, giggling as they find places to set the food on the far too tiny coffee table in between the two couches. Michael informs the two that had stayed behind that they got them fries and Luke smiles brightly as he thanks them. Calum is typing into the search bar the name of whatever comedy the two of them must have decided on while waiting for their food.

Luke is preparing to ask what they’ve settled on as he continues to listen to the two of them laugh while Calum types in each additional letter, when the weight in his lap is lifted. He watches wordlessly as Ashton gets up off the couch and plants himself on the opposite side of Luke, his legs then tossing over the blonde’s lap and his head moving to rest where Luke’s shoulder meets his neck. He wonders if Ashton can feel the warmth of the blush that he’s sure is now painting it’s way up the back of his neck and cheeks. He pulls his left arm out from where it's been squished into the couch cushion and moves to wrap it around Ashton's waist, an action that provides him the reward of the black haired boy nestling a bit closer toward his chest. 

He finishes his question to Calum, who, upon turning to answer him, rolls his eyes as a smirk forms against his lips. He bites his tongue to avoid calling attention to the current arrangement his bandmates have placed themselves in since he was able to tell during the show that something was keeping Ashton stuck up in his head. Calum turns back to the TV and clicks play then and the title of a comedy from their childhood flashes onto the screen and Luke finds himself chuckling to himself just as the other two had before. Calum hits the light by the door and throws himself onto the other couch causing Michael to jokingly whine as the bassist lets his legs fall over his lap.

As Luke wiggles some to settle more into the couch, Ashton lifts his head in response, his eyes meeting Luke's with a questioning gaze. Luke rubs away the worry between the other boy’s brows that he can see from the white-blue illumination coming from the TV screen and squeezes Ashton’s hip so as to encourage him to settle back into his side. He misses hearing it over the dialogue from the characters on screen but feels a contented hum from Ashton as he cuddles into his neck. It's not fifteen minutes later that Luke catches soft snores in between the hushed laughter from the other couch.

*

He doesn’t remember ever stretching out and falling asleep on the couch. He's wondering how they managed the unconscious movement as he feels the lips against his neck pout some. Luke is still half asleep as he feels a smile stretch lazily across his face when he feels Ashton wrap his warm fingers more around his chest, obviously awake now but still chasing after the last moments of rest. 

Luke's eyes lift from where he’s looking down at the boy against his chest to the door as he hears it slide open, Michael wandering in with a couple of Starbucks cups. “Hey cuddle bugs, time to get up,” he announces in a voice loud enough that both of them groan as he places the cups on the coffee table. “We need to be out at the car to go to those radio shows in an hour.”

He slips out then, giving a similar message to Calum who likely was up in his bunk. (Luke finds himself wondering when Michael suddenly became the morning person of the bunch.) Luke moves to sit up then, attempting to wrap an arm around Ashton so as to avoid letting him fall to the floor with the movement, but he is met with a frustrated noise and Ashton attempts to push his weight more onto him.

“Ash, we gotta—”

“No, five more minutes.”

Luke laughs gently and lets his back fall back against the cushion, deciding the attitude was somehow a good sign. 

“Still feeling homesick?” he questions, his free hand moving to play with the ends of the black curls tickling his cheek. 

“Not anymore,” Ashton mumbles back against his neck. The response is punctuated with him further cuddling into Luke's chest, somehow making the short answer feel like so much more than two little words. 

Luke smiles and makes a mental note to run out between interviews to find where he can buy some sunflowers as he lets his eyes flutter shut once again.

*

[hellcaster901]

The Wedding pt 4

Summary: Y/N is getting married in a few months, and its something that she’s been looking forward to for a while. But she runs into an old coworker, one that she just can’t help feel a connection to. Not only is her best friend not helping, but she’s trying to figure out now what she really wants.

Warnings: Fluff! Some strong language

Author’s Note: I am so sorry for the delay on this series, but I promise you I am going to be right on track with uploading! Enjoy this chapter! and yes, there will be smut in the next chapter

Masterlist

“What?” I launched myself at the phone, Negan handing it to me with furrowed brows, watching as I took a deep breath, accepting the call. “Hey!”

“Where are you?” He snapped over the phone, his voice was frantic and nervous.

“I told you, I’m with Mary I-”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” He chuckled awkwardly. I heard a low voice talking to him, Adam’s attention obviously on whoever was talking.

“What are you doing?” I asked, placing a hand on my hip, trying to make out whatever this person was saying. After a few seconds, there wasn’t any response. “Adam?” I heard him whisper back to whoever was talking a ‘hold on a second’. “Who are you with?” I asked

“What?” Adam answered finally. 

“Who are you with” I felt Negan stare at me, wondering if he should leave the room to give me privacy, or waiting until I was done. I glanced at him, giving him an awkward smile.

“What? Oh, I’m just with the guys.” he laughed it off.  “I’m going to go over to Michael’s place, just gonna hang, so whenever you get home don’t wait up on me.” he rushed. “I’ll talk to you later, love you.” He rushed again, hanging up before I could even respond. I scoffed, pulling the phone away from my ear, staring at the black screen. 

“Is everything okay?” Negan asked, I glanced at him, his hands in his pockets, shirtless and sexy as ever. I sighed, throwing my phone on the messy bed. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I smiled, messing with the hem of his shirt. I suddenly grew nervous, chills running down my back. “I should get going.” I rushed out, reaching down and grabbing my pants. 

“What?” Negan scoffed, watching as I gathered my clothes, frantically unfolding the clothes. “Stop, what’s wrong?” He asked, watching as I slipped his shirt off, grabbing my bra and fixing the straps. “Y/N.” He snapped, grabbing my wrist, turning me to him. “Stop.” He barely registered the fact I was barely wearing clothes in front of him, holding my wrists in his giant hands, staring down at me with those gorgeous eyes. “Calm down. Just take a deep breath.” He spoke softly to me, taking in a deep breath with me, both of us exhaling at the same time. We stood there staring at each other, taking breaths in and exhaling. It was calming, but not as calming as it would’ve been if I had a shirt on. He must’ve noticed the slight discomfort, grabbing the shirt I threw on the bed nodding his head letting me know to lift my arms. He slipped it over my head and down my arms, dressing me again. I know I’ve only known this man for a short period of time, even after working with him, but this man knew exactly what to do and say at the right moments. “Are you going to go home?” he whispered to me, letting go of my wrist. Without any hesitation, I shook my head, feeling in my gut that this was what I really wanted to do. He gave me a warm smile, walking away from me and to his dresser, grabbing a black tee and two pairs of sweatpants. He tossed one to me, a smirk on his face as he pushed his pants down. I blushed, the instinct in me to look away, but he gave me a sly smirk, pulling the grey sweats up and tugging the black tee down. “Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.” he smiled, coming up to me and placing a quick kiss on my lips.

It felt so intimate, even after we screwed each other’s brains out, the small simple kiss. He walked out, sending me another glance before going downstairs. I stood there like an idiot with the pants in my hand, my brain racking with thoughts of both men. I unfolded the pair of pants, tugging them up my legs. I took a deep breath, fixing my mess of hair and followed Negan. There wasn’t any use in freaking out about it now, this was something that I was only going to have to worry about later.

I laughed lightly as Bear heard me coming down the stairs, his nails clicking against the floors, his smiling face greeting me at the bottom of the steps, tail wagging. I felt nervous as my feet hit the cold wood, Bear watching me with excitement as I tiptoed towards the living room. A small breath of relief left my body as I saw the empty couch, our glasses gone from the coffee table. I gingerly sat on the couch, sitting on my right leg, pulling my left leg to my chest, the arm of the couch supporting me as I sank into the cushions. I heard a few cabinets opening and closing, Negan’s footsteps hitting the floor softly as he walked around the kitchen. I nervously played with my phone, flipping it in my hands, trying to distract myself from the fact that I’m still in this man’s house, and we currently aren’t fucking. I watched as Bear walked around the coffee table, the solid dog staring at the empty seat beside me, then back at me before he jumped up with a huff. I watched with amusement as he turned in a few circles before flopping down next to me, resting his head on my foot. 

My phone buzzed against the palm of my hand, the vibrations running up my arm as I flipped the phone over, Mary’s pretty face on the screen. I quickly answered the phone, lifting it to my ear. I pushed myself off the couch, scratching the back of Bear’s ear before I went across the room. 

“Hey.” I smiled, wrapping an arm around my waist, basically backing myself into a corner. 

“Y/N? How’s it going?” Mary asked, obviously waiting to hear the hot details. I could just imagine her laying on her bed, feet up and crossed, a finger twirling a strand of hair as she waits for the gossip.

“Mary, I have no idea what’s going on.” I whispered harshly. 

“What’s going on?” She was concerned, I could hear it in her voice. “Do you need me to come over there and beat him up?”

“No.” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Just… Adam called.” The line was silent, the only thing I could hear was her soft breathing.

“What did Adam have to say?” She asked.

“He just wanted to know where I was, told him I was with you.” I shrugged, looking over my shoulder, seeing Bear staring at me from the couch, Negan still nowhere to be seen. “He was really weird. He said he was with his friends and then hung up.” I heard Mary sigh, and I knew she rolled her eyes.

“Y/N, I’m not asking about what’s going on with Adam. How is it going with Negan?” I grew silent, not really sure if I wanted to talk about such a subject when he was in the other room doing whatever he was doing. “Y/N?”

“It’s great.” I blurted out. I took a deep breath, trying to rack my brain on what I was feeling with Negan, and how all of it actually felt. “It’s really great actually.”

“What’s going on right now? Did I interrupt something?”

“Jeez, now you ask.” I joked, running a hand through my hair. “He’s in the kitchen, and I’m out in the living room. I was gonna leave after the call with Adam, but…” I jumped when I saw Negan walk through the doorway into the living room, two beers in his hand, and a bag of chips in the other. He gave me a small smile, his face changing as he noticed the phone. “Hey look, I have to go, I’ll text you later.” I hurried, ignoring Mary’s frantic words as I hung up.

“Is everything okay?” He raised his eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the phone in my hand. 

“Yeah!” I chuckled, waving my phone lightly. “Mary just called, wondering how things were going?” Negan raised his eyebrows, setting the beers down on the coffee table with a small defeated sigh. 

“Is this your way of getting out of here?” He mumbled to me. I was taken aback at how bold he was, his hands going into his pockets. “If it is, you don’t have to lie to me. You can just tell me.”

“What?” I scoffed, shaking my head. I shoved my phone into my pocket, taking a few steps towards Negan. “No, no that’s not what that was.” I laughed lightly, shaking my head. “Mary was just calling to see how things were going. That’s all. Just checking in.” Negan had an unreadable look on his face, staring down at me. “If i really wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be here right now, in your sweatpants and shirt.” I smiled, tugging at the oversize clothing. “I want to stay. I want to drink that beer, eat some chips, and do whatever you were planning on doing.” A small smile spread on his lips. I grabbed one of the beers, sitting back on the couch, watching as Negan shook his head slightly, grabbing a beer and sitting down next to me.

I watched as he brought the bottle up to his lips, his thin lips wrapping around the glass. I could barely take my eyes off of his throat as I watched him tilt the bottle, watching the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed the drink. I must’ve been drooling, I felt like I was drooling. I turned away quickly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand quickly, hoping to god there wasn’t any drool. 

“I’m sorry if things are awkward.” He chuckled lowly, throwing an arm on the back of the couch, turning his body towards me. “I’ve never been the… other man.” I groaned loudly, lifting a hand to my forehead, hiding the blush from him. I felt his body move, his laugh sending waves through my body, all the way to between my legs. “I’m not fucking judging if that’s what you think.”

“No, that’s not what I think at all.” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead, refusing to look up at him. “I’ve never been in this situation before either. It’s all new.” I shrugged, taking a quick sip from my beer. “If it’s not what you want, then we don’t have to-”

“No Y/N.” He moved, positioning himself closer to me. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he placed his beer on the table, his attention fully on me. “That’s not what I’m saying, what I’m saying is this is new to me just like it is to you. Fuck Y/N, you’re an engaged woman. This is new fucking territory for me.” He joked, running a hand through his hair. “If this is just for fun and you get married I’m totally fine with that.” He smiled at me, the look melting my heart,

“And what if it’s something else.” I whispered, turning myself, resting my cheek on the back of the couch, looking up at Negan. I honestly didn’t know what this was between us, I don’t think he did either, the look on his face just gave me his answer. He was processing my words, I could literally see him go over them. “What is this? For you, I mean.” I held my breath, trying not to get my hopes up. I really shouldn’t. I shouldn’t hope that he says that this means the world to him, to have me in his home, wearing his clothes, sleeping with him, being near him. I’m engaged to a different man. This was just… fun for us. “Or is that too deep of a question for tonight?” He gave me a lopsided grin, reaching for his beer again. I shamelessly watched him take a sip, the cold liquid coating his throat. My eyes widen as a few droplets split from the glass, and down the side of his mouth. Without hesitation I reached forward, wiping at the beer, the alcohol coating my thumb. Negan lowered the drink as I kept my thumb on his chin, our eyes connecting for a long, intense staredown. I pulled away quickly, rubbing the drink onto my fingers. 

“What do you want this to be, Y/N?” His deep voice rumbling from his chest. 

“I don’t know.” I whispered, taking in every perfection and imperfection of this older man. “Maybe this should just be for fun. No feelings attached.” I suggested. He nodded slowly, listening to my words. “Maybe something fun between us, no feelings, either one of us can end it whenever we want.”

“Is that what you want?” He questioned me, looking me over as well. His eyes looking at every inch of my face. “Just something fun between us.”

No.

“Yes.” I lied, biting the inside of my cheek. He set his beer down, turning towards me and holding a hand out. 

“To something fun.” He smiled, “Why the hell not.” I smirked, feeling my gut twist, knowing I was getting myself into something deeper than what I was thinking. But I ignored it. I figured this is something I’ll deal with later on down.

“To something fun.” I agreed, slipping my slender hand into his large one. With a quick tug he pulled me forward, sealing our deal with a kiss. I giggled against his lips, scooting closer to him on the couch. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. I blushed as he tucked my under his arm, my head resting under his chin, his chest pressed tightly against my back. It was an intimate position, but a position I wanted to be. We sat like that, taking sips from our beer, just enjoying the time together. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He mumbled, his beard scratching the top of my head, I slapped his thigh, a small chuckle coming from him. “What is it?”

“If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.” I started, “But, what happened with you and your wife?” I bit my bottom lip, wondering if I pushed it too far. But he sighed against me, his body tense for a few moments before he relaxed. 

“Things got too… crazy.” He explained, shifting his body. I leaned forward, looking over my shoulder as I watched him get up. He pulled a drawer open from the coffee table, pulling a red blanket out. He settled himself back behind me, tossing the blanket on my lap before grabbing my hips. I giggled as he tugged me back against him, finding a comfortable position for the both of us. I helped myself with unfolding the blanket, making sure to cover his mile long legs, tucking it under my chin. “Do you really wanna know?” he mumbled, chills went down my back as I felt his chest rumble against my back. I nodded, resting my head back. “We just grew apart. Partially it was my fault.” He went on. “Acted like a dick, took her for granted, basically had my own intentions on my mind than hers.” My eyes drifted to his arm he had placed on the cushions of the couch, his thumb moving over the stitching. I reached up, lightly tracing the veins along his forearm. “She cheated on me.” I froze against him. “Can’t blame her after the way I treated her. She’s with the guy now, happy and looking better than ever.” He chuckled, lifting the beer back to his lips. I resumed my tracing, wondering what he really thought about me cheating on Adam with him. 

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.

“Don’t be. It’s my own damn fault.” I trailed my finger along his arm, reaching his wrist and up to his hand, my finger tip tracing over his knuckles, down to the tips of his fingers. He was watching me, his fingers flexing under my touch, moving each finger as I moved onto the next one.  When I got to his pinkie he turned his hand over, letting me trace his palm. “Do you mind me asking you a question?” I thought for a moment, trying to think of what  questions he could ask, and I shook my head. “What happened that night, at the bar? Was there a fight that happened between you and Adam?” I took a deep breath, tracing along the lines on his palm.

“Nothing happened that night,” I answered, thinking back on when this all started. “Adam was with some friends of his, and Mary thought we could use a night to just… unwind.” I tried think about what made me go into that bathroom that night, made me loose my mind and fuck a guy who wasn’t Adam. And thinking about it, it wasn’t the drinks, it was simply Negan being himself and being there that night that made me sleep with him. 

“So you’re saying you were just drunk, that’s what made you go to the bathroom?” He teased, I chuckled, shaking my head against his chest. “What was it then?”

“You.” I answered truthfully. “If I didn’t see you at the mall before, or even see you at the bar, I wouldn't have gone in that bathroom.” Might as well be honest while I’m here. “I was on the fence about it, whether or not to go back there, whether or not to give you that look, and Mary convinced me it was a good idea.” When I got to his thumb, Negan closed his hand around mine, my hand stopping all movements as he stayed there. Even after deciding this was just for fun, it felt like more. I moved my hand slowly, intertwining my fingers with his, testing the waters as he stayed still. A blush rose to my cheeks as he closed his fingers around mine, giving me a small squeeze of reassurance. “If I’m going to be honest,” I huffed, mentally jumping off a cliff, “I always wanted to sleep with you when I was substituting.” 

“I fucking knew it.” He laughed, “I always knew you wore those skirts to mess with me.” I rolled my eyes, laughing with him. 

“I always felt so slutty afterwards, trying to get the attention of a married man.” I explained, turning my head and looking up at him. He looked down at me, laughing softly. 

“I liked it.” He smiled, leaning down and placing a kiss on my nose. “Always turned me on.” I smiled up at him, not believing we were even talking about this. “Never really understood why they didn’t give you a job when your substitute gig was up, from what I hear those kids had the best testing scores from you than they did with that old crow.” I blushed, turning back to staring at our hands. 

“You’re just saying that.” I snorted.

“I’m serious! Would I fucking lie to you?” He exclaimed, “Mark was all pissy when you left, wondering why James even came back after his surgery, if anything that man should’ve stayed home for the rest of the year, maybe see teaching really wasn’t his calling.”

“Oh but it is for you, Coach Negan?” I teased, he raised an eyebrow at me. “I saw the way you yelled at those kids. If I remember correctly, you made a few kids cry.” 

“Those kids fucking love me.” He smirked. “They know it’s all fun and games.” I scoffed, thinking back at seeing Negan standing there, yelling at these poor kids as they ran laps. “I’m happy with my position now, at the high school.” I added, “The kids aren’t so bad.” Negan hummed behind me. “Do you think things would’ve turned out differently if I stayed?” It was a risky question, but a question I had to ask. I heard him sigh against me, his hand squeezing around mine.

“Who knows. It probably would’ve.” He wondered. I think things definitely would’ve been different. I don’t think I would’ve ever met Adam, never gotten engaged, maybe even been with Negan. It’s probably a huge step to think that’s what would've happened, but… we’ll never know. 

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