#i need some guy to give him the nest night of his life and buck watch this as a taken man thinking ITS SHOULD'VE BEEN ME!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

homerforsure · 3 years ago

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Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing.

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna.

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day.

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest.

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse.

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need.

And that shout is heard.

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties.

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.”

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound.

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone.

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night.

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different.

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak.

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing.

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?”

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared.

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest.

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad.

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair.

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow. A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay.

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep.

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm.

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him.

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall.

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again.

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.”

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car.

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck.

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car.

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes.

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to.

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs.

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him.

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape.

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live.

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground.

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.”

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen.

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks.

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost.

“No,” he answers.

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs.

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom.

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open.

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight.

It’s Eddie.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.”

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.”

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck.

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time.

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.”

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone.

And then Buck wakes up.

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nightingaelic · 4 years ago

Note

POODLES IN THE WASTELAND

i jest I jest

But 👀

What about pets? Either ones companions would have or a very uncommon one that someone wouldn’t think was a good pet, BUT IS. Deathclaws you can ride like a pony, mole rats that want belly rubs, cazadore’s as cattier pigeons! What are your thoughts?

Or like, Danse or Piper or Fawkes with something hilarious Idek ignore me

Oooookay, here’s my comprehensive list of companions - ALL companions, across Fallouts 3, 4, New Vegas and 76 - and their (headcanon) choices in wasteland pets. I’ll give a little explanation for each - particularly as many of these companions are transients and don’t have the luxury of owning a home to keep pets at. Also, I feel like most of the companions, while they might not necessarily like pets, would be somewhat fond or at least respectful of the pets of the Lone Wanderer/Courier/Sole Survivor/Vault Dweller, like Dogmeat and Rex.

Bighorners

Lily Bowen: Everyone’s favorite super mutant grandma is already an experienced shepherdess in Jacobstown, and she’s more than willing to tear some night stalkers apart to keep her herd safe. If that’s not love beyond the norm for wasteland livestock, I don’t know what is. She’s probably given all of her bighorners names after the characters in the television reruns she used to watch on holotape in Vault 17, like Grace and Audrey and Lucille.

Brahmin

Raul Tejada: Actually spent a decent part of his pre-war life living on a ranch, so he knows that most brahmin don’t deserve being labeled “irritable” just because people don’t know how to read their body language. I think he’d follow wild brahmin herds around a bit on a whim and keep them from coming to any harm, especially the little ones. He gives them names like the cattle he grew up with, Corazon and Gordo and Blanca.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Doesn’t truck with the wild herds, but she knows that part of the success of a caravan lies with how well they treat their pack animals. All of her caravan’s brahmin have names - Penny, Magic and Sprinkles - and she’s careful to pair them up with drivers who are patient and work well with their various personalities.

Cats

Butch DeLoria: While Butch ultimately decided to leave Vault 101 behind, I don’t think he would ever truly lose his fear of radroaches after what they did to his mom. Having a little friend to warm his bunk in Rivet City and pounce on intruders would probably set his mind at ease, maybe a black tomcat with one ear named Pepper. He might even gift his mom a kitten when he next comes to visit.

Star Paladin Cross: I don’t think Cross much sees the use of an animal that doesn’t contribute to the community it lives in, like most of the Brotherhood of Steel. Cats, however, are excellent at pest control, even if the rats are bigger nowadays. I think she’d give the resident cats at the Citadel some pets in passing, and she’d smile when she has to extract playful kittens from inside her power armor frame. She’s especially fond of the cat colony’s matriarch, a scarred old tabby named Gemma.

Curie: Upon her transition into a synth body, Curie is overjoyed with most animals and their new willingness to approach her for attention. She especially loves cats because she can pick them up and better feel their fur and purring. Her favorite cat is an orange stray in Diamond City that she calls Claude.

Piper Wright: A companion for Nat when she’s out adventuring, an unbiased friend to bounce the latest opinion piece off of before going to print, and a lap-warmer for when you’re typing up the latest article about the exploits of the Minutemen - what’s not to like? The Wright family cat is a slippery, elegant calico named Sugar Bomb.

Preston Garvey: While the Minutemen forts and settlements definitely lean more toward keeping dogs around for security purposes, I think Preston likes his pets quieter and less likely to bowl you over in excitement. The one most likely to sleep with him in his bunk at Sanctuary is a grumpy gray gentleman named Anchovy.

Deathclaws

Veronica Santangelo: If anyone is crazy enough to swipe a deathclaw egg from a nest and try to hatch, rear and train a personal killing machine named Izzy, it’s Veronica. This will probably just alienate her from her Brotherhood chapter even more, but I’m sure she would take special care to make sure that her usual Mojave Wasteland haunts take a peek through a scope to see if the approaching deathclaw has a human on its back before taking a shot.

Dogs

Clover: I don’t think Clover gets out beyond Paradise Falls much, so the only animals she’s used to are the dogs the raiders bring around when passing through. She probably has favorites among the usual visitors and enjoys tossing them bits of meat when she’s allowed to get away from Eulogy and Crimson. If liberated, she’d probably get at least three of her own dogs to watch over her while she sleeps: One small dog to carry with her, a Pekingese or Pomeranian descendant named Coco, and two large dogs to follow through on intimidation and protection, a mastiff named Rock and a Doberman descendant named Roll.

Jericho: Jericho doesn’t deserve a dog but he’d probably have one around anyway to sniff out caps caches and hidden loot after he’s shot everyone in the vicinity. Some slinky beagle mix named Dewey, probably.

Fawkes: I don’t think Fawkes would be picky at all about what kind of dog he’d have. He strikes me as the type who would adopt any half-friendly mutt he ran across. I do think he would have a bit of a soft spot for friendlier mutant hounds, though, and maybe view their mutated circumstances as similar to his own. He’d also be absolutely amazing at playing fetch. Just imagine how far he could lob a stick or ball. All of his dogs would have literary names too, like Byron and Agatha and Edgar.

Craig Boone: Though he’s a bit of a prodigy at sniping, Boone knows his limitations when it comes to spotting hidden enemies on the horizon. I can see him having a hound dog at his side to find the more elusive ones and help him get rid of them faster. Maybe a bloodhound mutt named Bravo.

Cait: Doesn’t like people, but she adores dogs. Having had the life where she’s been abused, exploited and forced into slavery, she’s keenly aware that those like the ones who took advantage of her treat dogs much the same. She’s very protective of any dog she encounters and is very likely to punch you in the face if you so much as look at one wrong. She’d probably name any pup she adopted Lucky.

Hancock: Honestly, he’s just a fan of any animal that is happy to hang out with you whether you’re drunk, high, fighting raiders or patrolling downtown Boston. The Goodneighbor strays know him as the guy who always has mirelurk jerky in his pockets. His favorite is a rough-and-tumble, black-and-white spotted cattle dog descendant that he cheekily calls King George.

Robert MacCready: He’s not quick to trust dogs, but once he’s sure they’re not a threat, they’re one of the few critters around which he’ll relax completely. He’s still a little wary of them around Duncan, but any dog that’s a part of his family is more or less his son’s permanent babysitter.

Nick Valentine: Dogmeat is also basically his dog. The two have a history of working cases together, with Dogmeat just turning up whenever a trail goes cold and leading Nick to the evidence he needs to reopen his investigation. Nick doesn’t know how or why Dogmeat does it, but he’s not about to ruin a good thing.

Strong: I don’t think he would turn down a ferocious mutant hound as a friend. He’d probably feed it mole rats and call it something like Killer.

Foxes

Beckett: This former raider has a love-hate relationship with a fox that keeps going through his trash. He affectionately calls him Lil’ Bastard.

Sofia Daguerre: Having crashed back to an earth she doesn’t recognize, I think Sofia would be tickled that the foxes of Appalachia have basically stayed the same despite the bombs. I can see her leaving dinner scraps out on her porch for one that she sometimes spots in the foliage, and slowly coaxing the critter to come into the light. She names her Scarlett once she finally convinces her to eat out of her hand.

Mega sloths

Settler forager: I would not be at all surprised if this man ran into a mega sloth in the Mire and decided to try befriending it. The creature, probably surprised at this old guy’s nerve, decided to accept the handful of leaves he offered and grew slowly more fond of the guy’s persistence. It doesn’t know its name is Fergus but it does know that if a human is wearing overalls, it’s probably not a threat.

Mole rats

Deacon: Alright, hear me out. Deacon has a fondness for underdogs, and mole rats are about as underdog as they come. I think Deacon thinks these little guys are cute despite their wrinkles and buck teeth, and I think he sees the value in having a tunneling pet that likes to collect shiny things. One of his deep cover hideouts is in an old tunnel system in the northern Commonwealth, where he hangs out with a young mole rat named Henry.

Owls

Raider punk: This radio operator got wind of an abandoned nest of owlets in Appalachia early on in his career and, being the nearest to the report, decided to rescue the little guys. Now he has three owls that occasionally drop in at his camp to hoot and accept handouts: Nona, Decima and Morta. While he’s still fond of them, he’s usually disappointed that they aren’t the Mothman coming to visit.

Rad chickens

Yasmin Chowdhury: Ever the opportunistic cook, she picked up the practice of raising chickens from the settlers at Foundation and has four hens of her own: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. The “ladies,” as she refers to them, give her a constant stream of eggs for omelets.

Ravens

Settler wanderer: This gal has an affinity with birds, who are always on the move like her. She admires their ability to be untethered and let the wind take them far and wide. Nevertheless, she likes to scatter corn when they come close to her on the road, and formed a sort of friendship with a particularly handsome specimen that she calls Tornado.

Wolves

Old Longfellow: This guy is the epitome of the meme about dads not wanting pets and then instantly falling in love with whatever animal enters their life. He probably found an injured wolf pup in his travels around the island and took pity on it, nursing it back to health in his cabin. It’s still got a bit of a twisted paw, but follows him around and listens like any other dog and answers to the name Lamoine.

Yao guai

Porter Gage: I bet this guy adopted an orphaned bear cub and raised it by hand. Now it’s so big that even if Gage thinks he’s an easy target for other raiders due to his age, he’s much less likely to get singled out than he thinks because he has a yao guai following him around like a puppy. The bear’s name is Fuzzy Wuzzy. It has no hair.

No pets, thanks

Charon: Too likely to accidentally wind up in the line of fire.

Sergeant RL-3: Too easily corrupted by Communist influences.

Arcade Gannon: Too much time spent getting in your way.

Codsworth: Too likely to make messes.

Paladin Danse: Too many wasted resources.

X6-88: Too much of a liability.

Ada: Too easy to lose when on the move.

Solomon Hardy: Too unsanitary.

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thatslikely · 4 years ago

Text

Fred Weasley’s Day Off (Part 1) - F.W.

Fred Weasley’s Day Off- Fred Weasley x Gender Neutral!Reader [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU]

Warnings: only occasional mild language

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this is Part 1 of my new 5 part series, Fred Weasley’s Day Off! You can find the series masterlist here. This part is going pretty similar to the movie, but as the story unfolds, I promise it isn’t a carbon copy of John Hughe’s masterpiece. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, Y/L/N is Your Last Name, and thoughts are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @probably-peeves @horrorxweasley @weasleywh0r3s

if you want to be added to be added to my general (or this series!)’s taglist, send me a dm or ask!

If you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day off or just need a refresher, HERE all all the scenes included in this part in chronilogical order! I HIGHLY reccomend giving these a watch, for they make the situations a lot easier to understand (and they’re hilarious).

----

It’s a beautiful day today, temperatures in the upper 70’s. You can expect plenty of sun and not a cloud in sight. Right now, it’s 75 at lakefront, 74 at Midway, 73 at the O’hare.

“Arthur!” Molly Weasley screeched, beckoning her husband to Fred and George’s messy bedroom. The walls were plastered with large posters of their favorite bands and sports teams (mainly Fred’s), and an expensive computer sat on the desk in the corner. The door to the room was ajar, a frantic mother feeling a haggard Fred Weasley’s forehead.

“What's the matter?” Arthur asked, briefcase in hand.

“It’s Fred, for Merlin’s sake look at him!”

Fred laid slumped under the hand-knitted quilt like a corpse, his hair tousled and his chin unshaved. She continued, “he doesn’t have a fever, but his stomach hurts and he’s seeing spots!” Fred peeled his pained, umber eyes open, his weak gaze pointed to his suit-clad father.

A sympathetic Arthur reached for Fred’s cold and clammy hands, feeling them with a shudder. He’s got a bad cold, he thought, poor boy needs to stay home and rest.

“I’m fine, I’ll get up. I have a test today.” Fred leaned up slightly, his stuffy nose attempting to breathe. His baggy eyes drifted around the room, glazing the empty bed parallel to his’. “No!” Molly and Arthur Weasley stated firmly in unison, pressing his aching chest into the soft bed.

“I have to take it. I-I wanna go to a good college, so I can have a fruitful life.” Fred kept attempting to get out of bed, only for Molly’s gentle hands to guide him back down.

“Oh fine, what’s this? What’s his problem?” Ron leaned against the untidy bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed, his face donning an unamused expression tinged with jealousy. He was looking daggers into Fred, who reciprocated nothing but a wink.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Molly stated, not pleased in the slightest with Ron’s distasteful demeanor.

“Yeah, right,” Ron rebutted with a scowl. The tips of Ron’s ears seared with resentment for his brother and anger at his naive and biased parents.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” Fred asked, his blurry vision making the outline of his brother near indistinguishable from the rest of his room. “Ronnie? I can’t see that far.” Fred leaned up in an attempt to see his brother, before falling backward with a dramatic moan.

“Dry that one out, you could fertilize the garden,” the younger ginger spat, tapping his toe furiously.

“Ronald, you get to school!” Molly demanded, vehemently gesturing for him to leave.

“You’re letting him stay home? If I was bleeding out my eyes you’d still make me go to school! This is so unfair.” Jealousy oozed from Ron’s clenched jaw like venom.

“Ron, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful,” Fred said coolly. His eyes remained glinted with mischief, causing a furious Ron to storm off in a huff.

The concerned mother and father turned back to a wheezing Fred. Molly tucked him in tighter, cooing, “Now listen, I’ll be showing that new family some houses today, so I’ll be in the area. The office will know just where to find me if you need anything, okay?” A wave of gratefulness swept over Fred’s face.

“It’s nice to know I have such loving, caring parents. You’re both very special people.” Molly caressed Fred’s ashen cheek before planting a compassionate kiss on his warm forehead.

“G’bye champ,” Arthur said to his son before carefully shutting his door and walking to the garage.

They bought it.

Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second. Fred peeled back the curtains blocking the beautiful view from his large windows with a smirk. He looked out the panes, admiring the gorgeous weather. How could I be expected to go to school on a day like this?

This is my ninth sick day this semester; it’s getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I’ll have to barf up a lung, so I’d better make this one count. Fred carefully adjusted his extortionate stereo, his fail-proof plan slowly piecing together.

Fred then stepped over to his desk, reaching for an old, hefty soccer trophy of his and some rope. The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. He started knotting the rope around the shiny golden award methodically. A lot of people’ll tell you to go for the old ‘phony fever’, but if you’ve got a nervous mother, you could wind up in the doctor's office. That’s worse than school.

“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”

He scrupulously placed the trophy contraption behind his door with a satisfied nod, proceeding to the bathroom dressed in his grey and maroon striped bathrobe. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Fred undressed and stepped into the steamy shower, quickly shampoo-ing his ginger mop into a spiky mohawk. He gave some thought about his plans for the leisurely day before removing the showerhead, gripping it like a microphone, serenading an imaginary audience, “I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore your dress, what a mess, I must confess…”

----

“Spinnet?” A greasy Mr. Snape drawled, spectacled eyes darting around the dingy classroom, illuminated with corporate fluorescent lights. “Spinnet?”

“Here!”

“Smith?” Silence. “Smith?”

“Present.”

“Weasley?” Snape asked, scanning the room for any signs of the irresponsible redhead.

“Weasley?” he repeated, uninterested and monotone. “Weasley?”

“Um, he’s sick,” a perky Cho Chang cut through the tense silence with a smile, “my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy, who knows this kid who saw Fred pass out at Florean’s last night! I guess it’s pretty serious.”

“Thank you, Cho,” Snape said impassively.

“No problem, whatsoever!”

----

A robotic ring emitted from the phone next to Lee Jordan’s bed, disturbing the perturbed ambiance of the inert bedroom. The hypochondriac occupying the sheets clicked the silver ‘answer’ button with a shallow sigh.

“Hello?” George Weasley asked, his voice deep and groggy.

“Georgie, babe, what’s happening?” Fred’s exuberant voice questioned from the other end of the line, starkly contrasting his twin’s nonbelligerent energy.

“Very little,” he responded in a trance-like state, eyes spacing out at the blank ceiling, his mind nearly detached from his aching body.

“How do you feel?”

“Shredded.” Half-empty pill bottles and antihypertensive drugs lined the bleak nightstand to his left.

“Get dressed and come on back home. I’m taking the day off,” Fred imposed. He sat in a lounge chair, next to the turquoise pool, soaking in the bright morning sun, which starkly contrasted George’s dark atmosphere. He held a Brick to his ear, sipping an iced Hawaiian drink from a swirly straw. The only thing covering his body was a pair of floral swim trunks; plastic sunglasses rested in the ginger nest atop his head.

“I can’t stupid, I’m sick. I think I got food poisoning from Lee’s awful cooking.”

“It’s all in your head, George, come back home,” Fred said more firmly, taking another sip of the fruity drink in the souvenir cup.

“I feel like complete shit, Fred. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now come on over here so I can have a fun day off!” Fred demanded, hanging up the phone promptly. “Sheesh.”

George remained stiffly on the sheets, still as a statue, muttering, “I’m dying.” The phone chimed again with another call. Click.

“You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do!” Fred’s voice echoed through the dimly-lit room before the tone of an ended call took its place.

“Pardon my French,” said Fred to no one in particular, “but George is so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond.”

Fred quickly abandoned the pool deck, instead continuing random antics around the vacant house, whether it was (horribly) playing his centuries-old clarinet, or prank calling gullible freshmen claiming he had an impending kidney transplant. This was the life.

“I’m so disappointed in George. Twenty bucks says he’s sitting in his car debating whether or not he should go out.”

Fred had hit the nail on the head. George sat in his four-wheeled hunk of junk for minutes, muttering to himself, “He’ll keep calling me. He’ll keep calling me until I go home. He’ll make me feel guilty. This is ridiculous! Okay, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” He turned the key of the run-down car, only for the engine to cough and heave. “Goddamn it!”

----

“Molly Weasley,” Molly introduced herself to the caller from her desk at the local real estate office. She held the landline phone in one hand, the other scratching numerals and figures onto some spreadsheets.

“This is Dolores J. Umbridge, Dean of Students. Are you aware that Fred is not at school today, Miss Weasley?” she asked punctually, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yes, I am. Poor Fred is home sick.”

“Are you also aware that Fred does not have what we consider an exemplary attendance record? He has missed an unacceptable number of school days.” Umbridge looked icy and collected on the outside, but deep down she was fuming with anger. “I have no reservation whatsoever about holding him back another year.”

“This is all news to me,” Molly replied, taken aback by Umbridge’s blunt threats.

“It usually is.” Dolores turned her attention to the hunky computer opposite her, ready with Fred’s academic profile, scanning the pixels signifying his number of absent days. When she finally opened her jaw to announce the number to Mrs. Weasley with a devious grin, she was horrified to see the number of days slowly ticking down to two.

“I asked for a car, I got a computer,” Fred said with an unamused but smug smirk as he typed lines of code into his computer back at the Weasley household, “how’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“I can appreciate how this time of year, children are prone to taking the day off. However, in Fred’s case, I can assure you, he’s a very sick boy.” And with that, Dolores hung up on a sympathetic Molly, her tight brunette curls gradually frizzing from aggravation.

“I don’t trust this… Fred Weasley,” Umbridge confided to her secretary, Augustus Filch. “What’s so dangerous about a character like Fred is that he gives good students bad ideas. The last thing I need is fifteen-hundred Fred Weasley disciples running around these halls. He jeopardizes my ability to effectively govern this student body.”

“Well, he makes you look like a bitch is what he does, Dolores,” Filch said with a smirk.

“You’re wrong,” Dolores asserted, fiery gaze piercing through Filch’s soul.

“Well, he is very popular. The sportos and motorheads, geeks, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adore him. They think he’s some righteous dude,” Filch said astutely.

“That is why I’ve got to catch him this time. Show these kids that you can’t just skip school nine times a semester like he has and get away with it!”

----

Mr. Binns, a prehistoric-looking man with novel-thick glasses, stood at the head of the classroom, giving his usual dull lecture. While he etched utter nonsense onto the chalkboard, you couldn’t help but release a bone-cracking yawn.

After years of sitting in your uncomfortable plastic chair, drowning out Mr. Binn’s boring babble, your saving grace arrived in the form of a grave Nurse Pomfrey.

You quickly slipped on your pale, leather jacket and stuffed your blank notebook into your backpack at the sight of the frail woman donning white scrubs like a dove, eager to escape class. Nurse Pomfrey had on a solemn face as she quickly whispered something into Mr. Binns’ ear before announcing to the uninterested class, “Y/N, Y/L/N, may I have a word with you?” You painted a look of surprise on your face before stepping into the hallway with the disturbed grey-haired woman.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings,” she said sorrowfully once out of the earshot of the small lecture hall, “your father called. Your grandmother has just passed.”

Your eyes welled with artificial tears, face drenched with heartbreak.

----

The landline echoed through Umbridge’s dreary, pale pink office.

“Dolores Umbridge,” she said pseudo-cheerfully into the handset held by her thulian claws.

“This is Phil Y/L/N,” a middle-aged man said, his voice slathered with a thick Chicago accent.

“How are you today, sir?” Dolores asked suspiciously.

“Well, today we’ve had a bit of bad luck. It’s been a tough morning,” he croaked, “now if you wouldn’t mind excusing Y/N, we have a lot of family business to attend to.”

“I’d be happy to, just produce a corpse and I’ll release Y/N. I want to see this ‘dead grandmother’ firsthand.” She peeled the phone away from her face, smiling valiantly at a mortified Filch, saying slyly, “It’s okay, it’s Fred Weasley. I’m setting a trap for him.”

“Dolores, I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to see a body?” an ill-tempered Mr. Y/L/N questioned in disbelief through the speaker.

“Yes. Just roll her old bones up here and I’ll gladly retrieve Y/N for you. That’s school policy.” Dolores looked so pleased with herself, a devilish smirk resting on her lips. The telephone in Filch’s office chimed, and he quickly dashed to answer it.

“Hello, Dolores Umbridge, Dean of Students’ office,” his gravelly voice answered.

“Hi. This is Fred Weasley. Can I speak to Miss Umbridge, please?” Filch’s mouth went desert-dry in horror, his aged, grey eyes bulging out of his skull. He dashed to a taunting Umbridge, jumping and waving for her to shut up.

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like my policies, you can come down here and kiss my-”

“Fred Weasley’s on line two, Dolores!” Umbridge’s eyes went as wide as saucers; her whole face, even her bright fuchsia lipstick, turned as white as a sheet.

She was quick to switch to line two, listening to Fred Weasley’s voice which filled the otherwise silent room.

“Miss Umbridge, I’m not feeling too well today,” Fred started, a smug and valiant grin on his face. He adjusted his clean and gelled hair, which perfectly complemented the perfectly-tailored suit he donned. “Would it be possible for Ron to bring home any assignments from my classes? Have a nice day.”

The only sound left in the office was the droning disconnect tone.

The ‘line one’ buttoned flashed bright red like a siren. With a shaky, wrinkled pointer finger painted with a coat of magenta nail polish, she hesitantly pressed the button, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Y/L/N, I-I think I owe you an apology,” she said, mortified.

“I should say you do!” the deep voice on the other line boomed. Umbridge peeled open her lips for an apology, only to be cut off with, “Well I think you should be sorry for Merlin’s sake! A family member dies, and you insult me! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“W-well I really don’t know. I didn’t think I was talking to you, I thought you were someone else,” Umbridge barely managed to spit out. “You know I would never deliberately insult you like that!”

“Find out where she is!” Umbridge hissed to an idle but nervous Filch, her palm covering the phone’s mouthpiece. He promptly scrambled around the surrounding metal filing cabinets, reaching for various binders and manilla folders.

“This isn’t over yet, do you read me?” The infuriated voice’s threat yelled into the frantic principal’s ear.

“Loud and clear, Mr. Y/L/N!” she responded while scouring the various sets of drawers for Y/N’s schedule.

“Call me sir, goddammit!”

“Yes sir!”

----

“That’s better. Mind your P’s and Q’s buster, and remember who you’re dealing with!” an exasperated George Weasley shouted into the kitchen’s phone, his voice at least an octave lower than usual. His look of fury was soon replaced with a smile from ear to ear, quite proud of the convincing-ness of his impression.

A dashing, suit-clad Fred Weasley soon strutted into the lemon-yellow kitchen, charismatically introducing himself, “Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

George held his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, asking, “I’m scared. What if she recognizes my voice?”

“Impossible. You’re doing great.”

The self-conscious redhead brought the phone back to his ear, shouting “Umbridge!” furiously. Groaning echoed from the other end of the line. “Umbridge, calm down!”

“I don’t have all day to bark at you, so I’ll make this short, and sweet. I want my child outside of the school in ten minutes by themself!”

Fred gave George a harsh tap on his shoulder, hissing, “That’s too suspicious! She’ll think something’s up!”

“You do it then!” the other twin whispered back.

“Talk.”

“You!”

“Talk.”

“Fine!” he fizzled. “Umbridge! Pay Attention!” The magenta-suited principal was scuttering around her office, frantically searching for your schedule and something to repair the escalating situation.

“Umbridge! Changed my mind. I want you out there with them, I’d like to have a few words with you!” Fred swiftly slapped the phone from George’s clutches, causing it to fall on the tile carelessly. The identical gingers both scrambled for the phone, ending up in George’s grasp once again.

He yelled to the mouthpiece rapidly, “On second thought, we don’t have time to talk right now! We’ll get together soon and have lunch!”

Fred kicked George’s rear hard, causing a small yelp to escape George’s lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he spat at Fred, who quickly slammed the phone back to the base.

“Where’s your brain?” he harshly asked his irritated brother.

“Why’d you kick me?” George retorted, hurt.

“Where’s your brain?”

“Why’d you kick me?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“I asked you first!”

“How are we gonna pick up Y/N if Umbitch is out there with them?” Fred rhetorically asked, seething.

“I- I said for them to be alone and you freaked,” George stated, reverting back to his timid tendencies.

“Now, I didn’t… I didn’t hit you. I lightly slapped you.”

“You hit me.” Tension sliceable with a butterknife filled the kitchen.

“Look, don’t ask me to participate in your stupid antics if you don’t like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed. You make me come over here. You made me make a phony phone call to Dolores Umbridge? That woman could expel me, expel us, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings!”

“No… I didn’t deliberately hurt your feelings,” Fred said, his words tinged with guilt. “What’re you doing?” George grabbed his red hockey jersey and keys that previously laid on the island.

“I’m going back to Lee’s, Fred. I need some rest. Have a nice life.”

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t do that, George,” Fred pleaded ruefully, “George, come back. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry.”

“You serious?”

Fred gave a slow and sincere nod. George swiveled back around, setting his belongings back on the counter, his face lightened slightly.

“Now, to fix the situation, we’re gonna have to do something you’re not going to like.”

----

Fred and George peeled the sliding glass doors of the luxurious garage apart, revealing the interior, which was mainly lined with thousands of dollars worth of vintage car memorabilia, save for the treasured vehicle in the center.

“The 1961 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe,” George said, his eyes pointed down at the prized pompadour blue car resting idly in front of the duo. Fred's eyes were also fixed on the vehicle, though his’ were illuminated with awe and mischief.

“Dad spent 3 years restoring this car,” he continued, hands behind his back, not daring to leave fingerprints on its shiny surface, “it is his love, it is his passion…”

“It is his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” Fred smirked, sauntering around the exterior of the automobile, slobbering all over the surface like a dog with fresh meat.

“Fred, what are you talking about?” George asked nervously, already knowing what Fred was plotting, “Dad loves this car even more than he loves you!”

“Fred, no.” Fred swiped his fingers over the perfect coat of paint, occasionally posing with the car as if he was a model on the front cover of a magazine.

“Que Bella!” he said with a chef’s kiss, still drooling over the car’s magnificence.

“Remember how insane he went when I snapped my retainer? And that was a tiny piece of plastic!” Fred paid an anxious George no mind, instead continuing his admiration for Arthur’s most valuable possession.

“George, I’m sorry, but we can’t pick up Y/N in that piece of scrap. He’d never believe Mr. Y/L/N would drive something like that!”

“It’s not a piece of scrap.”

Fred opened the driver’s side door, slowly sitting down in the comfortable cushioned seat, his umber eyes never breaking contact with George’s identical ones.

“He knows the mileage, Fred.”

“Look, this is real simple. Whatever miles we put on, we’ll take off.” Fred said, barely giving George the time of day.

“How?”

“We’ll drive home backwards.”

“No,” George said firmly, almost like a mother. Fred turned the key of the Anglia, its restored engine roaring ten times better than George’s hunk of junk’s.

“How about we rent a nice Cadillac, my treat!” He yelled as Fred slowly drove away, the revving of the vintage engine drowning out his voice. George stood frozen in disbelief, before Fred slowly backed up, beckoning George to join him.

With a heavy heart, George warily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. And with that, Fred floored the gas, speeding off towards the Shermer High.

----

“I had a grandmother once,” Umbridge awkwardly stated, in an attempt to soothe your heart overcome with (fake) grief. “Two, actually.”

The suburbs outside of the Windy City lived up to their name today; Umbridge’s frizzy brown curls swayed in the strong breeze. The temperature today was the best it had been since last Autumn; it was a given that Fred would skip.

You patiently waited on the concrete steps outside the school, Umbridge continuing her “comforting” words, attempting to stitch the wounds caused by your grandmother’s staged death. You weren’t focused on the thulian tyrant, however, instead, your eyes waited on the road for the sight of a ruby-red-haired boy.

“Between grief and nothing, I’d take grief,” Umbridge said flatly.

“Great,” you replied softly, eager to shut the toadish old lady up. She opened her magenta-tinted lips to add something else, but she decided against it, promptly shutting her mouth without a sound escaping.

The stentorian roaring of the engine residing in cerulean Ford Anglia filled the silent air and idle parking lot, lightening your spirits instantly. While you didn’t doubt that Fred would’ve shown up eventually, his timing was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that he showed up in a killer ride, either.

A tall, lanky man drenched in a long beige trench coat, horn-rimmed sunglasses, and a businessman-looking fedora, which masked his fiery orange hair, emerged from the car, leaning against its body.

“Oh Y/N honey, hurry along now,” the stranger in disguise bellowed, his voice slightly higher pitched than ‘Mr. Y/L/N’s’ from the phone, a thickly-slathered Chicago accent present nonetheless.

“I guess that’s my dad.”

You grabbed the annoying principal’s wrinkly, cold hand, reciting, “Miss Umbridge, Dolores. You’re a beautiful woman, I wanna thank you for your warmth and compassion.”

A furious Ron watched from the scene play out from the large front windows of the school, immediately recognizing Fred and his infuriating antics with a scowl. Why should he get to skip while the rest of us have to stay? I’ve gotta catch him.

Umbridge looked near disturbed at your counterfeit words on thankfulness, before you eagerly stepped down to the car, giving ‘Mister Y/L/N’ a quick hug.

“Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” Fred jokingly asked with a smirk.

“Are you kidding?” you replied, leaning into his soft lips for a passionate kiss, which maybe would have escalated a little further if he didn’t drag you in the passenger seat of the Anglia.

“So that's how it is in their family,” Umbridge uttered as she watched the nearly-French kiss perched from her spot at the top of the stairway. She swiftly pivoted around walking to the front entrance to the school, when Fred floored the Ford again, its loud engine roaring off into the distance.

“Hi Georgie, you comfortable?” you asked, eyes towards the crampted back seat.

Once the three of you were out of Umbridge’s eyeline, a compact George sprung up from the lonely backseat, saying, “Hi, Y/N. No.”

“So, what're we gonna do?” you asked the dashingly handsome driver next to you with a smile.

“The question isn’t: What are we going to do? The question is: What aren’t we going to do?”

“Don’t say we’re not going to take the car home. Please don’t say that we’re not going to take the car home,” George mumbled, hopeful that Fred would comply, though he already knew that Fred would be doing the exact opposite.

If you had access to a car like this, Fred mentally narrated, gesturing to the amenities-rich Anglia, would you take it back right away? Me neither.

And with that, Fred recklessly rounded the bendy road, speeding off towards downtown Chicago.

103 notes · View notes

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Rough Night

Bucky Barnes x (f)werewolf reader

Summary: Your life is already so weird, thankfully Bucky loves you through it all.

Warning: fluff, reader being a sass master w/ no filter

side note: couldn’t think of any cool avenger powers and then brain went werewolf so here we are

Masterlist

If you had a dollar for every time you’d ended up in the woods with ripped clothes and no shoes, well, let’s just say you could probably afford a real nice two bedroom apartment in some real pleasantly fancy building with a great view and all. Too bad green doesn’t just rain down from the sky every time the full moon comes round to knock you back into another world of blurry confusion.

You won’t lie to yourself, being what you are is strange and not very common in the slightest, obviously. It’s even weirder that you weren’t bitten one night and turned just like that, oh no, all passed down through the bloodline of other strange relatives. So you’re gifted with the curse, forced to inevitably change into a furry beast every single full moon, so what you’re still a mostly pleasant individual.

Well luckily for you, being born with the gift does happen to have its perks which do come in handy. For instance, you’re incredibly strong, quick on your feet, and have heightened senses, plus the ability to shift on command. It’s not all bad, well......most of the time.

Honestly you truly thought life couldn’t get much stranger for you and your whole hidden secretive situation, until low and behold some random red head found your little hideaway in a remote mountain side village far off in the Himalayas.

Everything was completely fine and under control and then BAM, she showed up with some important documents and something called an Avengers initiative and well shit, guess some time spent with the real world couldn’t hurt. I mean come on, some more friends seemed like a nice idea and uh, somehow they knew who you were so too late to run and hide.

Also at the time, considering you lived like a recluse on the edge of the village and of course for good reason, but damn if the red head didn’t just hand you an open invitation for some real adventure. Who were you to say no?

Fortunately for you, all seemed to go in your favor and fantastically enough, they had a nice big strong cell for you on nights when the wolf was inevitably bound to come out. A fridge full of plentiful snacks, a training room to lay off some steam, and a big safe and secure room all your own. It was perfect. Only problem was, there happened to be a very attractive and very wary of you super soldier who undoubtedly caught your attention.

How could you not, he smelled divine, muscles for days, thick thighs that could make a girl swoon, and he just seemed like the best goddamn hugger alive. Okay listen, maybe you were touch starved and deprived of human affection but dammit if your little monster heart didn’t skip a beat every time he was near you.

And yes, the few months it took to get him to crack was just down right torturous. But with some coaxing from Steve and encouragement from Sam, the winter soldier at long last did talk to you. Turned out he thought you were scared of him all along, how hilariously ironic you thought when he told you that.

But as time progressed and you both opened up more and more, a blossoming relationship sprouted forth, eventually evolving and manifesting into a big beautiful flower called love. Cheesy yes, but you couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.

And seriously, he wasn’t freaked out about your whole hidden hush hush secretive gift that usually either goes in your favor or ends up causing you major legal trouble. The man himself, Bucky Barnes, thought you were a marvel to behold, so odd and fantastic that he couldn’t stay away even if he tried.

And for that you could love him forever, especially now after a full moon while you’re out in the middle of nowhere. Hoping that the team will send your hundred year old boyfriend out to find you in the brisk dark morning after a grand unrememberable adventure. Which would be very nice of course, considering you have not a damn clue what you’ve done.....or where you are.

Cracking your back, you stretch your hands up to the dawning sky as a tired yawn escapes you. It’s been a long night and you look like a wild woman with your hear a fluffy nest and your clothes ripped in various unrevealing places thankfully.

Your surroundings are simply trees and small scraggly bushes, green grass underneath your bare feet and a small stream flowing in the near distance. With a second to listen, you can hear a highway a couple miles away to the east, guess that’s a start.

Rubbing your eyes you set out in that direction for about twenty minutes before a blue and gold Mercedes comes into view from the side of a country back road, it stops when you guess the driver spotted you from the tree line. Keeping a wary eye on the fancy sports car, you keep walking towards it until a figure gets out and leans against the passengers side door all cool and casual, then on further inspection you realize the driver is Bucky.

Yes! My knight in shining armor is here!

Trudging through the grassy field in the dewy morning light, he watches your every move, eyes crinkling in amusement as you come to stand a couple feet in front of him. Undoubtedly looking a bit wild, and very tired as you fold your arms underneath each other, giving your dark haired lover a shy almost fangy smile.

“I know I look like a hot mess.” You mutter with a shrug, biting your lip as you dart your eyes to the fields behind him, slightly embarrassed of the current disheveled state you’re in.

Bucky smirks before pushing himself off the car and engulfing you into a big Bucky bear hug to your pleasant surprise, “Y/N I’m just glad you’re okay and nothing bad happened to you.” He mumbles into your shoulder as you press yourself closer to him, letting yourself have this wonderful moment to relax and feel at ease.

Slowly pulling back to look up at him, you smile, “Aww Buck you were worried about me?”

He returns the grin, leaning down to press his head flush against yours, “We all were, me more then anyone else of course...and maybe for the general civilians nearby.”

You laugh nervously, “Oh right, yeah. Well hey, I didn’t destroy anyone's car this time. I think I’ve made progress.”

He pauses for a brief moment indicating he’s not sure if he should tell you something and this does make you nervous before Bucky finally lets out a little laugh, “You ate a whole cow Y/N.”

Snorting in surprise you quickly pull your head from Bucky’s, “What? Did I? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Yeah, uh I wish.” He admits with a casual reassuring squeeze to your arm, “We tracked you with Sam’s suit tech, yunno Red Wing, and uh....you seemed to be having fun.”

Mentally and just about physically cringing at yourself, you purse your lips together in slight embarrassment, “Shit. Was it gross?” You ask, making a face that causes him to chuckle.

“A little.” Adds Bucky with another casual shrug to make you feel less terrible.

“Is the farmer going to see everything, I mean shit they’re gonna be so pissed.” You worry, biting your lip anxiously as you break eye contact from him. “Why am I like this.”

“Uh, that’s not going to be a problem.” Inquires Bucky causing you to find his blue eyes once again.

Eying him up suspiciously you raise a brow, “And why’s that.....Bucky what did I do?”

Taking a breath he gives you a small apprehensive smile, “Y/N...you uh, kind of ate......everything.”

“I what?” I did not! No way, right?

Giving you a quick kiss on the cheek he smiles affectionately, “I’m going to be honest with you here it looked like a kid with a piece of cake who has no impulse control, and loves cake....like a lot.....Rodney almost puked.”

Rolling your eyes you fake glare at him, “Oh god who all watched my little horror show?”

“Mostly everyone.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s like a car crash Y/N, we don’t want to watch but we can’t look away. Sorry doll.” He confesses apprehensively, though honest and sincere knowing you do feel bad for what you do when out of it.

“No.” You say honestly, pausing for a moment, “It’s fine. Seriously Buck, I’m just relieved you guys keep taps on me while I’m out, god knows I can’t help what I do and where I go. It’s nice to have people making sure I don’t injure any innocent bystander.”

“Yeah I guess so huh...alright Y/N/N,” Chirps Bucky with a beaming grin as he attempts to shift the mood to a less dull one, “let’s get out of here, I mean unless you want to sniff around the place for awhile...it is a nice forest over there and all but I guess we can stay and I’ll let you...”

“Alright Barnes, can-it or maybe I’ll bite you.” You tease with a playful squeeze of his bicep before breaking out of his strong grasp.

“Depends on the context maybe I’d enjoy it.” Adds Bucky sarcastically, side eying you with a half smile as you move to open the car door.

Shaking your head in playful disapproval you lightly shove him aside, “Believe me you wouldn’t.”

——

The ride back to the Avengers base or headquarters or facility, who the hell knows at this point, was actually quite smooth and peaceful. Then again you fell asleep as soon as Bucky made it onto the highway, and continued to catch a much needed nap for the next hour ride home.

No one ever said you were easy alright, but let’s be real, Bucky would let you put him through anything and he’d be happy about it.

After parking and walking down the sidewalk past some early morning trainees catching a run, the two of you made it into the Avengers official HQ where all your rooms and other luxury’s are located. But of course not before walking past the facilities giant living space and huge kitchen.

Just keep looking forward, keep walking, walk faster you idiot!

“Y/N!” Shouts Sam in that stupidly peppy obnoxious early morning voice of his, no doubt gaining the attentions of Steve and Natasha who are seated at the kitchens bar talking about some mission report.

Pausing in the large doorway that’s not giving you or Bucky a whole lot of hiding space, you take a deep breath before turning to acknowledge him, “You’d think people would be sleeping considering it’s only six in the morning.”

Chuckling, Sam raises his protein shake, “Weird,” He says while giving you a knowing smirk, “we missed you during training this morning.”

Nat and Steve conceal their amusement as you simply roll your eyes, “Yeah well it was a long night.” You mutter unenthusiastically, earning the tiniest laugh from Bucky which causes you to throw him a glare. Knocking that smile right off of his handsome stubbly face.

“Well we got all these shakes here if you two love birds want one. Hate to have em go to waste.” Adds the smiling man with a nod, if he doesn’t just love seeing you looking like shit. No Sam I do not accept this invitation for you to tell me how crazy I look.

Sam means well of course, but damn he loves teasing you in front of Bucky for a fun reaction out of him. And it’s kind of working, but not on Bucky.

“It’s fine Y/N, you don’t have to have one if you don’t want to.” Calls Natasha before taking a sip from her mug. “Just ignore Sam, he’s been annoying since the gym.”

Before Sam’s even able to speak you quickly narrow your eyes at him, holding up a finger before making hasty steps across the room. Stopping right in front of him, “Give it.” You deadpan.

Brows raised in surprise he glances from a confused Bucky, then back to you again, “Listen I only made so much, Y/N this is my breakfast okay you can’t just...”

Ignoring his rushed rambling you pull out the whole glass blender full of protein shake before taking a step back as the whole room goes quiet, then never breaking eye contact you heartily drink up the whole entirety of its cold contents without missing a beat. Yeah, definitely needed that.

After you’re finished you lick your lips in satisfaction, taking a step closer towards a speechless Sam as you set the blender back in its place. Giving him a satisfied smirk before walking back over to Bucky where you tug on his jacket to follow you down the hall and away from everyone else.

Sometimes you can’t help but be a little dramatic.

——

Laying sprawled out on yours and Bucky’s giant mattress, you stare up at the ceiling as he folds your clean and freshly scented laundry, your mind swirling with thoughts of what duties you have to be apart of today. Blah, work.

Sighing gently you glance at Bucky to see if he heard you, not getting anything from him you sigh again with more grandeur this time. Nothing. Rolling your eyes you suck in a deep breath before practically soft yelling out your exhale like the dramatic little beast you are.

Glancing over to Bucky, you watch as he turns around to put some of your pants away in a drawer. Okay then, that’s how it’s gonna be. Quickly sitting up, you smirk a devilish grin before silently reaching over to pick up a small pillow, once in hand you don’t think twice before launching it at full speed directly headed for the back of his head.

But before your decently soft projectile can smack his precious flowing locks does a metal arm swiftly reach up to catch it mid flight. Oh, shit. Bucky’s head turns to you, brow raised at you before tucking the pillow underneath his arm, and going back to his usual domestic duties for the day.

Okay, killer of fun Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frustrated from lack of a reaction out of him, you stand up on the bed like a warrior about to give a great battle cry. Eyeing his cute butt up for a moment, you smirk once again before launching a sneak attack pillow right for his head. It sails magnificently across the room before a metal hand stops it in its place.

Well, shit.

This time he gives you a proper look, full of mischief and a new profound playfulness that sends an excited thrill throughout your entire being. As fast as one of Thor’s lightening bolts does the pillow soar in your direction, but conveniently for you he’s forgotten just how quick you can really be. This is just what you wanted.

Dodging to the left you watch in almost slow motion as the fluffy cloth just misses your face, instead opting to smack against the back wall with a loud thud. Snapping your attention back to Bucky he narrows his blue eyes at you suspiciously while you let out an admittedly scary villainous chuckle.

Let’s party my love.

He hands you a smirk right before shifting his body to the right, arm cocked back and thrust forward just as quickly, launching his second pillow attack without an ounce of mercy. You see it coming a mile away and as graceful as a dancer do you flip off the bed, landing perfectly on the carpeted floor just as the pillow smacks hard against the door. Thwack!

Slowly standing, eyeing him up like a lioness to her prey, you give him a satisfied smile, “Missed.” You tease.

Letting out a breathy laugh, Bucky takes a cautious step in your direction as he tests the waters, “Y/N what are you doing?”

“Getting your attention you ass.”

Chuckling he takes another step forward, “Was I ignoring you?” Duh, that’s why I, oh wait he’s playing you.

“Well you certainly weren’t doing anything interesting.” You sass as he steps again closer, this time about an arms length away.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, “Okay that’s fair, but was the pillow really necessary?” He asks, though his tone is still humorous.

Not falling for his alluring charm you tilt your head to the side, a knowing smile breaking out across your face as he tries to register what your true intentions are. “Yes, and so is this.” You quip before dropping to the floor for a side sweep of his legs, in an instant he’s on the ground and looking wide eyed up at you.

God he looks beautiful. No, focus.

“Y/N!” He whines breathlessly, brows furrowed as he holds himself up by his elbows, “Now you’re gonna get it!”

Taking a quick step back you snort, “Oh really now?”

And he’s fallen for the plan.

“Yes, and when I get you, you won’t be laughing anymore.” He grumbles, trying to keep himself from laughing as well.

“Alright then hot stuff try and bring me down.” You snap back playfully as he rises to his feet, “First one pinned has to run with Sam later, and we both know how much fun he is to run with.”

Bringing his arms up into a defensive position he readies himself for an attack, “Yeah, I’d rather not be his jogging buddy today. I mean it is raining outside, but I know you’d look real nice after a wet run.” Teases Bucky with a smirk.

“Touché you smartass.” His lips twitch into a grin as you ready your own stance. “Now let’s dance.”

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #The Avengers #the avengers imagine #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x you

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 4 years ago

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Boys are raised to be men. Part 2 - Facts of life

Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Things are different outside the city. When Bucky moves out of the city to live closer to his father’s best friend, Steve, he meets a peculiar girl from a strange family. She’s loved by everyone in the village and like him, she’s missing a limb. And, to Bucky’s surprise, she’s determined to make him part of her life.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 3368

Author’s note: I am not disabled and I couldn’t ever imagine what it’s like. If you have anything to not about that aspect of the story, please send me a message so I can fix possible mistakes or misunderstandings in upcoming chapters. Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates.

The street the Parker/Stark family lives on is a lively one. Most people have known each other since birth with a few odd ones out. When Peter first came to their street at four years old he adored the small village. He liked the way the end of the street leads to a meadow, he liked the playground across the street, and he liked that his sister was there to show him everything. Though most get rebellious around their teen years, you liked showing your little brother around. You were always a peaceful girl and you enjoyed having someone to take care of. That’s also how your spring Saturday group came to be. When Peter started making friends, you took it upon yourself to supervise them at least once a week so they could play in the meadow. And when Tony came into the picture, you would drag him along. Your mother adored seeing the three of you together in the meadow as it seemed to put all of you at ease. You never stopped doing your spring Saturday group. Not even when you lost your mother. You found comfort in seeing the children play. You dragged Peter along in hopes it would cheer him up as well but it never did. He found other ways to mourn. The one thing that you did do together every single year, without fail, is watching the cow dance. Watching the cows come outside for the first time after winter and seeing them buck and gallop in joy is the most wonderful thing to see. It gives a hopeful feeling. After every winter comes spring.

‘Y/n! Two men are waiting outside! Hurry up,‘ Tony yells up the stairs. ‘Don’t yell! I’m almost done,‘ you yell back as you check yourself in the mirror. Your red lipstick looks decent enough, you have done it better but you have done it worse as well. Hair, well, it’s still a bird’s nest but at least it looks nicer than it normally does when you throw it up in a bun to keep it out of your face. Leg? Feels good, seems to be on right, and on full display under your navy wrap dress. You wanted to put on a pair of pants but opted for a dress to make sure Bucky wouldn’t feel like the odd one out. The door to your room flies open and Peter rushes in, jumping straight onto your bed. ‘So you’ve got two toy boys now?‘ ‘Bugger off Peter, I don’t have toy boys,‘ you snap back, hopping on your good leg as you try to put a sock on your metal leg. Not that you need it. It’s just the normality in it. ‘So whatcha think about James?‘ You roll your eyes and sit down on the bed with him to put a sock on your good leg. Hopping on your metal leg isn’t exactly the most comfortable. You ruffle a hand through his hair as you get back up. ‘Why are you interested? From what dad told me, you almost ran when you saw him.‘ Peter pushes your hand away and huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a little child. ‘Don’t blame me. The man looks like a damn gangster with his missing arm and all that.‘ You laugh. ‘I’ve got a missing leg. Am I a gangster now?‘ ‘He rides a motorcycle.‘ ‘First of all, I doubt that. Secondly, so do Thor and Natasha.‘ ‘They’re intimidating too,‘ he yelps, slightly offended at the notion that his own sister is not taking him seriously. ‘Thor couldn’t even hurt a fly if he tried. Okay, I’m off,‘ you chuckle, ‘don’t miss me too much.‘ You walk out of your room with Peter running after you. You close the door behind him while he stomps his way down the stairs. ‘Pick up your feet Peter!‘ ‘Yes miss Potts!‘ You come downstairs after him and do a little twirl for your dad and Pepper who are seated in the living room. ‘What do you think?‘ ‘Oh, you look stunning dear,‘ Pepper awes at you. Tony seems a little less satisfied. He’s used to your normal jeans and shirt combo that you had started to wear more and more in the past few years. Somewhere in his mind, he knows it’s to hide the leg but when you suddenly show this much skin he can’t help but be worried. Though, getting with someone was never a problem for you. Not even in your old jeans and worn-out t-shirts. ‘Yeah, I don’t like it. I don’t want another man sneaking out of my house in the morning, go change,‘ he tells you, gesturing you to go back upstairs. Pepper hits him in the chest with a surprised look on her face. ‘Tony, how dare you? She looks beautiful and I think she’s old enough to decide those things for herself,‘ Pepper defends her. ‘Thank you, Pepper,‘ you smile. ‘No problem dear.‘ ‘Fine,‘ Tony sighs, ‘but just go with the guy instead of bringing him here.‘ You laugh and wave them goodbye. You put on your tennis shoes in the hallway and your winter jacket as the nights can still get quite chilly. ‘You got your phone and keys,‘ Tony yells after you. You do a quick pat-down of your jacket. ‘I do!‘ ‘Have fun!‘ ‘Thanks, dad!‘ You open the door and skip over to the two men waiting for you. They don’t notice you being too deep in their conversation until you step between them and hook your arms around each of theirs. ‘Gents, ready to go?‘ ‘Always,‘ Sam grins at you. ‘Whatever you say doll,‘ Bucky smiles. He looks a lot more at ease in your opinion. You knew he would like Sam.

Crocker’s Folly is an old bar. The kind of bar that you go to, to drown your sorrows in a glass of whiskey while the barmaid shoots you knowing glances. It had been a while since Bucky went to a bar like that. Mostly because the people are friendly and tend to ask too many questions. When he lost his arm he didn’t want to be asked questions, so he’d rather drown his sorrows at home than at a bar. Though this is a nice change of pace. With the nicer spring weather, it seems the bar has opened its outside seating again and a group of people has already pulled some tables together to sit close to a fireplace that would surely be turned on when the night gets colder. You let go of the men by your sides and runs over to the group, throwing yourself around the necks of the two redheads sitting side by side. They cheer as they see the three arrive. Bucky feels a bit out of place. Sam notices and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Everyone, this is James Barnes, he goes by Bucky. Don’t ask me why because I do not know,‘ Sam tells the group, ‘Bucky, that’s Wanda, Natasha, Vision, don’t ask, Thor, Pietro, and Loki.‘ ‘You’re seriously going to introduce me with that embarrassing nickname but not the others,‘ Vision asks Sam. ‘Victor isn’t any better.‘ Vision sighs and leans back in his chair. Bucky can’t help but be a little confused at the display. Yet, he doesn’t ask any questions as he is bracing for questions about this arm but they never come. Instead, Thor and Pietro go to work on putting another table with the two they already have to widen the circle while Loki grabs the new arrivals some chairs. ‘Is everyone ready for another round? On me,‘ you announce as you make her way to the door. The group cheers in agreement. You slip inside, leaving Sam and Bucky with the group. Bucky decides to take the middle chair, leaving the chair next to the girls empty as Sam takes a seat next to Loki. ‘When’d you move here,‘ Pietro asks the guy in a thick, Russian accent. ‘A few days ago,‘ Bucky answers, ‘had to get out of the city.‘ Pietro lifts his, almost empty, glass at Bucky as if to accept his answer. He throws the last sip back and puts his glass back on the table. ‘You live next to old man Steve, right,‘ Natasha asks him, leaning forward a little to get a good look at him. Bucky nods. She nods at his nodding and leans back again. “What a strange woman,“ Bucky thinks. But before he can much more of an opinion, you come back outside with a man behind you who’s holding a tray of beer. You help him pass the beer around before you take a seat next to Bucky. ‘To our growing group of degenerates,‘ Sam jokes. The group calls cheers and brings their glasses to their lips, all taking a big sip. After that, it takes the group less than a few seconds to start chatting around. You happily explain everything that needs context to Bucky as the night progresses. ‘Are ya’ll going to the cow dance Saturday,‘ Thor asks the group, ‘not you Y/n, I know you’re taking the kids to see it.‘ ‘The kids,‘ Bucky asks. “Does Y/n have kids?” ‘I take the children in the village out to play every Saturday afternoon,‘ you quickly explain to him. ‘And the cow dance?‘ ‘When the cows come into the fields for the first time after winter,‘ you smile, ‘it’s fun. You should come.‘ ‘There’s a party at the pub after,‘ Sam whispers to him, ‘that’s the only reason all of us go.‘ ‘That’s no true,‘ you yelp in a laugh, ‘you’re all just “too masculine“ to admit you enjoy watching cows frolic.‘ ‘Okay, fair point,‘ Sam admits, ‘but the drinking is fun too.‘ You sigh. ‘Fine, yes, the drinking is fun too.‘

The later the night gets, the more the group divides into smaller groups. Thor, Loki, and Pietro have gone to sit with a group of girls in a darker corner. Wanda, Vision, Natasha, and the bartender, aka Bruce, are sitting on a few couches together and being all cute and couple-y. Sam got lost somewhere. And Bucky and you are still seated next to the heather. Bucky notices how you shoot glances at Pietro who is very obviously flirting with another girl. ‘Are you two a thing?‘ ‘No, it’s just sex,‘ you tell him straight up, ‘but there’s a rumor that that girl has an STD. I don’t like to believe rumors but I am wary when it comes to my sex life.‘ Bucky almost spits out the sip he just took because of the blunt words leaving your mouth. You laugh. ‘Oh come on, you didn’t think I was that innocent.‘ ‘Honestly, I did think that,‘ Bucky tells you between coughs. You smile and take a big swig from your beer, finishing it. ‘You’d be surprised how many people aren’t who they seem,‘ you tell him and get up, ‘you want another one?‘ He nods and watches you go inside. Wow. Little miss “I take the children in the village out to play in the field every Saturday“ isn’t innocent at all. Who would’ve thought? While you’re gone, he takes a second to scan the area. Wanda and Vision are obviously a couple and so are Natasha and Bruce. Then there’s Loki who, according to Y/n, wouldn’t be able to keep a stable relationship if his life depended on it. Thor, who is in love with a farmer’s daughter who doesn’t want him at all. From what Y/n just said, Bucky thinks Pietro is just trying to fuck the whole town. And then there’s Sam. It’s obvious to Bucky that Sam sees Y/n as a sister but he doesn’t seem to have any interest in other women. In fact, he doesn’t seem interested in anyone. Maybe he’s got a girl at home, maybe he’s interested in Y/n, maybe he’s just not interested. Sam raises his hand to greet Bucky and walks over, leaving the conversation he was having with another group of people to come sit with him. ‘Did the little lady leave you,‘ he teases, taking her seat on the opposite side of the table. ‘Nah, she just went to get drinks.‘ Sam takes a peek through the glass doors to see the girl standing at the bar, chatting with the bartender that’s still on shift. ‘You know, I see the way you look at her,‘ Sam tells him, ‘and I get it.‘ ‘I’m sorry?‘ ‘You like her, right?‘ ‘Well, yeah, but not like that,‘ Bucky tells him, ‘I just feel a bit closer to her because of the-‘ ‘The arm, leg thing. I get it,‘ Sam nods, ‘just know that she won’t want to talk about it, but I don’t think you want to talk about it either.‘ The look in Sam’s eyes is brotherly and protective like he’d do anything to keep Y/n happy. Bucky nods, shrinking in his jacket again. ‘Sam, don’t bully him,‘ you call over as you see the two, ‘and you took my chair.‘ The seriousness disappears from Sam’s face as he looks at you. ‘Don’t worry princess, I’ll get you another one,‘ Sam says and clumsily reaches over to an empty chair that is juuuuuust in reach if he leans over far enough. You roll your eyes and put the beers on the table, walk around Sam to grab the chair yourself. ‘Oh, beer,‘ Sam grins and takes one of them. ‘Don’t you dare birdbrain,‘ you snap at him in a joking way as you sit down on your chair. He slowly lifts the glass to his lips. ‘I swear to God, I’m going to castrate you.‘ Bucky laughs quietly. ‘Steve’s going to keep you to that,‘ he tells you. ‘As he should,‘ you reply and manage to snatch your beer from Sam’s hand before he can take a sip, ‘get your own beer you leech.‘ Sam pretends to have been hurt, putting his hand to his heart and crying in pain. ‘On princess, such cruel words from such an innocent mouth,‘ he whines out. ‘Oh shut up, you know my mouth isn’t innocent,‘ you jab back, making Bucky choke on his beer once again. ‘Dammit,‘ he coughs, ‘why do you have to be like this?‘ ‘You haven’t even heard half of it,‘ Sam laughs, ‘you’ll be dead before she’s done if you’re going to react like that every time she says something raunchy.‘ ‘Shut up,‘ you laugh, knowing what’s coming. ‘Am I lying though? Am I?‘ You playfully hit his shoulder. ‘Bucky, ask her how she got Pietro in her bed.‘ ‘Wha- I don’t want to.‘ ‘I don’t want him to either,‘ you chime in, starting to lose control over your laughter as you think back to that night. Jeez, you weren’t okay. Sam turns to Bucky, holding up his hands to be ready to tell this story as big as he can. ‘She grabbed a bottle opener from the bar, put it on his table, and she-‘ ‘No, don’t,‘ you beg, starting to laugh loudly. Your stomach already hurts. ‘She asked him what that was,‘ Sam says and gestures over to Bucky to tell him to answer the question. ‘A bottle opener.‘ ‘Exactly,‘ Sam says, a chuckle through his words, ‘and then she asked him what he was.‘ He takes a second to calm himself down. ‘Don’t say it,‘ you beg him, ‘I was so, so drunk.‘ ‘You weren’t, you had one beer,‘ Sam argues and turns back to Bucky, ‘she told him he was a leg opener.‘ Bucky bursts out in laughter louder than he imagined he would while you pull your legs up to your chest, hiding your face behind your knees as you wrap your arms around them. But you’re not ashamed, you’re just wheezing. ‘Please say it’s a joke,‘ Bucky begs you through laughter-induced tears. ‘It isn’t,‘ you manage to tell him. ‘Oh please tell me this happened when you two were alone.‘ ‘Nope, she did it right when we all sat down,‘ Sam tells him, ‘the man barely had a drink.‘ ‘I was horny okay,‘ you yelp in defense, setting your feet back on the ground. ‘You’re always horny,‘ Pietro yells from his seat. ‘Shut up, this ain’t about you,‘ you yell back. He laughs. ‘Tell them how you made me climb down the drainpipe to get out before your dad woke up,‘ he yells back. Bucky can’t help but be surprised at how open people are with sexuality in a village this small. You don’t seem to care that he just screamed that for everyone to hear and, from the looks you two get, everyone already seems to know.

Around one in the morning, everyone says their goodbyes. Though you told him it wasn’t necessary, Bucky insisted on walking you home and so you’re walking down the street together. At first, it was the whole group but as you got further down the street, more and more people dropped off. Now it’s just Bucky and you. ‘Say, I’ve been meaning to ask,‘ Bucky suddenly says. Your heartbeat rises. What is he going to ask? About your leg? About your family? ‘Why is everyone so okay with being sexual here?‘ You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He gives her a confused look but you don’t address it. ‘Well, we don’t have many choices in partners,‘ you explain, ‘and since we are all friends, no one really cares who does who. Of course, people who are together are off-limits, but like with me and Pietro we do have casual sex but I’m not his only partner and he’s not my only partner.‘ ‘You have multiple partners?‘ ‘Not at the moment,‘ you tell him, ‘I was kind of starting to look for someone to settle down with but I was kind of coming to the conclusion that the one for me isn’t here. This is me.‘ They stop in front of your house. ‘So what’s next for you?‘ You shrug. ‘I don’t know. I might go work in the city for a while, see what’s there for me,‘ you smile slightly but your smile tells a million words. You don’t want to leave but you also don’t want to be on your own her whole life. You’re nearing the second half of your twenties and you’re still living at home because you hate to be alone. ‘How about you? Are you single?‘ ‘I am,‘ Bucky tries to suppress a smile, ‘never quite been in a relationship either.‘ Either the alcohol or this man’s presence pushes you straight into a flirty mood. He is quite handsome. You grin at him, pushing his chest playfully. ‘I’m sure you’re quite the ladies’ man. You’ve got the looks for it.‘ ‘Well, I used to be,‘ he smiles nostalgically, absentmindedly trying to cross his arms while having just one arm. He seems to catch himself in the act and tries to make it look like he was going to scratch his shoulder but you already noticed. ‘I get what you mean,‘ you say with a smile that’s just as pained as his, ‘took me a while to act like me again as well, but at least I win every game of hopscotch. Got enough practice when I didn’t have my prosthetic.‘ ‘And what would I excel at?‘ You stare at him for a second, biting your lip as you think. ‘Do you want me to be PG?‘ ‘Just go for it.‘ ‘Well, you do everything with one hand, so I’d say you’d be pretty great at pleasuring a woman.‘ ‘Okay, never mind, that’s it, that’s my limit,‘ he laughs, starting to move to walk away. You just give him this devious smile, this smile that could mean nothing good. ‘Sure, I’ll be here when you want to test my theory,‘ you wink at him. ‘Let me take you for dinner first doll,‘ he teases back. ‘Now you’ve gone too far,‘ you chuckle, ‘I take free food very seriously.‘ He laughs at your response, finally starting to walk away. ‘Good night Y/n.‘ ‘Night!‘

Taglist: @nickkie1129

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 4 years ago

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Easy Company as One Direction Songs

~ These are my headcanons inspired by 1D songs. I’d love to hear your thoughts :) ~

Dick Winters - I SHOULD HAVE KISSED YOU

“It's all that I can think about Oh, you're all that I can think about”

Mr. Perfect who’s always in his own head. Winters is calm and collected and almost cold in a first encounter. However, after his initial attraction, he will proceed to dissect every moment for what he could’ve and should’ve done. The only thing that will satiate him is getting to know the person he’s just found himself falling for.

Harry Welsh - OLIVIA

“I live for you, I long for you, Olivia I've been idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia”

The majority of the lyrics in this song isn’t very Harry Welsh-esque because he truly is such a subtly steadfast lover. It’s the general tone that encapsulates his initially facetious manner, and once you get into the lyrics you see how much he truly cares.

Lewis Nixon - MIDNIGHT MEMORIES

“Tell me that I'm wrong but I do what I please Way too many people in the Addison Lee”

This vagabond bachelor-wannabe is here for a good time not a long time. Nixon can fall in and out of love in a single night. At his core he knows who he is and doesn’t need anyone to “save him”, so he’s just playing the most enjoyable version of this game, life.

Ronald Spiers - FOOL’S GOLD

“But I know in my heart, you're not a constant star And yeah, I let you use me from the day that we first met”

On the surface, Spiers seems eager and reckless. But on a deeper level he invests himself completely in his companies, his missions, and eventually his wife. His fervent looting seems to be a desperate lure to keep his wife who eventually defaults back to her first husband.

Carwood Lipton - WHERE DO BROKEN HEARTS GO

“All the rest of my crimes don't come close To the look on your face when I let you go So I built you a house from a broken home”

Lipton is the first to discount himself. He is constantly striving to better and never realizes the impact he actually has on those around him. Lipton is the guy to sacrifice a love he underestimates for duty, for career, then immediately realize the mistake he made. He will spend the rest of his life making up for that.

Floyd Talbert - ALIVE

“I asked the doctor, "can you find out what is wrong with me? I don't know why I wanna be with every girl I meet”

Floyd has this incredible likability that allows him to get away with what would be offensive if anyone else did it. He’s a huge flirt (and then some) and even resigns his position as 1st sergeant all while maintaining the love and admiration of all that know him. If this were high school, he’d be the kid who always kicked his feet up on his desk, “just chillin’”, and graduates salutatorian.

George Luz - STAND UP

“I would walk through the desert, I would walk down the aisle, I would swim all the oceans just to see you smile, Whatever it takes is fine”

Luz is nothing if not persistent. He’ll shoot his shot until he runs out of bullets. And for all of his comedic charm, he is hopefully devoted to his partner like he is devoted to living life for all of its joys and pleasures.

Joe Liebgott - STORY OF MY LIFE

“Leave my heart open But it stays right here in its cage”

He talks about finding a wife and having lots of little Liebgotts but there’s a sharp edge to Liebgotts heart that hurts him as much as it protects him. He wants to be open to love but he can’t seem to push past the walls he has up. His sharp tongue defends himself with cheap remarks and dark jokes.

Don Malarkey - HOME

“I was stumbling, looking in the dark with an empty heart But you say you feel the same, Could we ever be enough?”

Clearly he is just wrecked by the end of the war. However, we’re reminded of the happy-go-lucky kid who sat down to chat with an enemy soldier when he pops champagne in the Eagles Nest. This song is simply Malarkey; an acknowledgement of heartbreak with tentative hope for a simple, yet satisfying, love.

Joe Toye - LOVE YOU GOODBYE

“Oh, even though it's over you should stay the night, If tomorrow you won't be mine, Won't you give it to me one last time?”

Just imagine Toye as a deeply passionate romantic. He’s this gruff, most badass soldier but it’s revealed (especially in Malarkey’s book) that he is incredibly sensitive. He won’t grovel or protest; but his flame is only extinguished, it doesn’t burn out as embers.

Bill Guarnere - THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT US

“Oh, they don't know about the things we do They don't know about the I love you’s”

Guarnere is the cock of the walk who confidently charms any lady who passes him on the street. He’s the kind of guy to flirt high and low but always return home to his partner. Guarnere would never truly hurt or betray the one he loves.

Buck Compton - READY TO RUN

“Then there's me inside a sinking boat, running out of time Without you, I'll never make it out alive”

At his best, Buck is a grand ol’ time. At his lowest, his empathetic love for all his people takes him to a dark place. Buck is ready to escape the pain of the world and live life vivaciously with whoever will take him as he is.

Skip Muck - STEAL MY GIRL

“She be my queen, Since we were sixteen We want the same things, We dream the same dreams”

Skip is the kind of guy to have a high school sweetheart. Imagine him knowing his partner’s family so well that he can just walk into the house, kiss his partners mom on the cheek, and help himself to the fridge. He’s the kind of guy to help his partner’s dad with housework before going home to shower only to return to take his partner out to the movies. Such a wholesome kind of love that is unwavering and constant.

Doc Roe - STRONG

“I'm sorry if I say, "I need you" But I don't care, I'm not scared of love”

It takes a minute for Roe to get there with people; he has carefully constructed boundaries. But once he’s in, he’s in. He has seen too much pain, too many soul crimes, to not find strength in true love when it’s right there in front of him.

Babe Heffron - FIREPROOF

“I roll, and I roll 'til I'm out of luck Yeah, I roll, and I roll 'til I'm out of luck”

This song’s feel good beat is Babe; it’s an unperturbed rhythm singing about a steady kind of love. Babe probably didn’t see this love coming but picked it up so seamlessly as it came along that it was as if it always had been.

Frank Perconte - TAKEN

“Now that I finally moved on You say that you missed me all along”

Perconte is the type to fall victim to the on again-off again love. Often times, he is underestimated for what he has to offer. Unfortunately, his presence is missed only when it’s gone - a gap. He has a hard time saying goodbye once he’s attached because he loves so purely. But inevitably, with time, those idealist dreams of a traditional romance will be tainted by inexperience and indecision.

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florenceandthemachine · 5 years ago

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BROKEN TUMBLR ASKS PART ??: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

@boys-love-or-bust-19507 asked: I LOVE your buddie fics! Can yo write a fic where Buck has a really tough day and Eddie and Chris take care of him?

“Alright, Special Agent Christopher, target is almost in sight. Are you ready for action?”

“Yeah!”

Eddie grinned down to his son, basking in the childlike excitement mirrored back at him for a hot second, knowing that very few things would ever compare to these moments again. He had never seen Chris click as well with anyone as he had Buck—even Carla was a close second to that, not that Eddie was about to tell her that—and honestly, there should have never been any question in his mind as to what Chris would say when Eddie told him Buck needed some help.

His smile only softened as he looked around the house—there was dinner in the oven (courtesy of Carla) and Chris had taken the initiative to pull out some of his favorite board games, stacking them neatly on the counter. Eddie had asked Bobby to rearrange their schedules for the week, and they were both going to be off the next two days, to give Buck plenty of time to recover; Chris had pulled nearly every pillow and blanket they owned into the living room, creating a huge nest with surprising skill.

The past few months had been… rough on the 118, between the bomb, the lawsuit, the accidental robbery, the list just kind of went on and on. As bad as things were for the house, though, they all weighed ten times heavier on Bucks shoulders—not for no reason, but fuck if it felt like the poor boy couldn’t catch a break.

The most recent issue had resurfaced about a month ago. They had just been wrapping up a 24 hour shift, idly shooting the shit, and Chim had mentioned that he and Maddie had a group therapy appointment. The 118 were no stranger to therapy as a whole—Eddie had gone through it, Bobby was still in it, Hen and her old life coach still met once a month after they re-connected.

“Eh, therapy doesn’t really work for me.” Buck had said, kicking his feet up and over Eddie’s lap, a move that Eddie secretly loved even if he wasn’t about to mention it. “But then again, the one session that I actually had wound up with the both of us on her couch before she would clear me to return to service, so…”

You could have heard a pin drop in the moments that followed, and Buck’s easy grin was quickly tightened into something more serious, more nervous, like he wasn’t aware of what he had said.

“Buck…” Hen spoke first, her voice low and slow, like she were talking to an animal about to flee—and if the sudden tightness of Buck’s legs beneath Eddies hands meant anything, it showed how close to the truth that analogy was. “Buck, are you saying that your therapist made you sleep with her before she cleared you?”

Buck looked honest to god confused, and Eddie just wanted to shake him.

“I mean, she didn’t force me, it just kind of… happened. That was during my Buck 1.0 days, though. You guys know I’m better than that now, Buck 2.0 is here to stay. Right? You… You guys know I’m better now, right?”

“Buck, he, no.” Eddie spoke now, his hand gently squeezing Buck’s good leg, shaking his head slowly. “If I’m understanding this, that is not on you. She took advantage of you like that, that’s… that ain’t right.” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. Before he could speak again, offer some reassuring words, Bobby spoke up, his face tight with concern.

“Buck, why didn’t you tell any of us about that?”

Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

Eddie felt Buck tense up like a snapped rubber band before he pulled himself back into an upright position, and though he missed the warmth across his lap, he was far more concerned with bracing for whatever was about to happen. Buck snorted, shaking his head, his voice clipped as he stood up, a sure sign he was in defensive mode. “Bobby, you had fired me the week before for… my indiscretions while in uniform. Forgive me if I didn’t feel like I wanted to risk my job again.”

“Buck, hang on, I didn’t mean—Buck, come back! Eddie!”

Buck had turned on his heel and almost ran out of the loft, and Eddie was quick on his tail, keeping a safe distance until they were both in the locker room. Buck whirled on him when the door closed, the anger drained out of his face, leaving a shell of panic in its place.

“Eddie, cmon, you know that I’m not like that anymore, right? I don’t do that! I’m good, I promise, I—“

Any other words were drowned out when Eddie pulled him into a hug—a risky move in and of itself, but he knew that Buck was one of the most tactile (and touch starved) people on the planet. His gamble paid off, thankfully; he immediately felt Buck’s arms encircle him, body going lax against his chest. “Buck, no one is blaming you. I’m sorry that it might seem that way. I wasn’t even here for Buck 1.0 but I still know that was not your fault, okay?”

Eddie paused, waiting until he got a muffled sound out of Buck to pull back from the hug, looking at him dead in the eye.

“Listen… Buck, I really think you should report this. She’s a doctor, she can’t just continue on like that. What she did to you wasn’t just bad, or wrong, it was illegal.”

In the end, five other men and two women had stepped forward after Buck made his complaint. Two cops, four firefighters, and one paramedic, all with similar stories and similar outcomes.

The only good thing about it was because they were all state employees, they were able to opt for a closed door hearing, investigation, and trial.

Buck had spent the day behind closed doors, giving his statement to a camera, then to the prosecutor, then in a closed courtroom, in front of a jury, a judge, and a very unhappy looking Dr Wells… well, Ms. Wells, now that she had her license revoked.

Eddie knew that a lot had happened, but he also knew Buck and knew that the last thing Buck would want to do all day would be continue to talk about it; so between he and Special Agent Christopher, Eddie felt sure they had a way to keep Buck’s mind far from the past all night long.

“Target inbound!”

Eddie shook away his thoughts as he heard Chris’ little voice wavering with excitement—sure enough, Buck’s Jeep had parked out front, and while they were both fully obvious from the curtains, Eddie still turned his head and made a big shushing gesture to Chris, who started to giggle.

Once they heard Buck’s key turning in the lock (yeah, Eddie had given him a key, so what?) they both pulled back, and Eddie almost burst out laughing at the faux look of shock on Buck’s face when he and Chris both yelled “surprise!”

The shock may have been fake, but there was no pretending when Buck smiled at them, the sheer joy on his face making Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief. He looked a little tired around the eyes, maybe, but he was glad that Buck was still Buck, and that this hopefully wouldn’t be weighing on him for much longer.

Chris was off, immediately, talking a mile a minute while he started to set up one of his favorite board games, and Eddie had to smiles he took Buck’s coat, resolutely ignoring how good the other male really looked in a suit. “Sorry. The only way I could really get him on board without telling him the full details was telling him you needed a surprise party to make you feel better.”

Buck put his hand up on Eddie’s shoulder, and while Eddie could have basked happily in the glow from his smile for an age and a half, he lit up like the Fourth of July when Buck leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Fully aware he looked like a love struck teenager, Eddie rose a hand to his cheek when Buck pulled away, the smile on his lips shocked but pleased all at once. “What was that for?”

“For this. This is perfect, Eddie. Thank you for… well, just thanks.”

They had made it a few rounds into whatever the card game that Chris had picked out—Eddie still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, but Chris and Buck seemed to be having a good time—when the oven chirped, signaling the start of dinner; and just like that, the game was forgotten. Chris basically launched out of his chair and into the living room, announcing that it was Movie Time, and far be it for Buck or Eddie to disagree with him.

Eddie scooped out some of the baked pasta in to three different bowls while Buck raided the pantry for movie snacks, and by the time that they made it to the living room, Chris was 90% buried in blankets and pillows on the floor.

It wasn’t easy to get settled in behind him, but by the opening credits to The Incredibles were rolling, Eddie and Buck were wedged in behind Christopher in the blanket pile, relaxing against the couch, snacks disbursed between them. Chris was lost to the world outside of the movie, but Eddie could almost feel Buck tensing up beside him, winding himself back up like a spring, and well... that wouldn’t do at all.

It was amazing how much they could say without saying anything at all. Eddie raised one of his arms and gave Buck an expectant look, to which Buck shook his head, looking at Eddie like he was crazy (and blushing too, and wow, that was a treat). Eddie only rose a brow, gesturing to his now open side, and Buck stared at him, before giving up with a sigh, slowly rearranging himself as to not disturb Chris.

He slotted himself in against Eddie’s side like he fit there, and Eddie felt more than just a smug sense of victory as he put his arm around Buck, tugging him closer, gently leaning their heads together. Once Buck started to relax, he leaned in—knowing full well that Buck’s attention was anywhere but the movie—and kissed his temple, right above his birthmark.

“You did a really hard thing today, and it brought a lot of good into the world. I’m really, really proud of you, Buck.”

Buck didn’t respond—not verbally, anyway, but Eddie could feel the thousand degree stare Buck gave him when he turned his head, like he was going to stare directly into Eddies soul, search for any sign he was being sarcastic, or patronizing, not that Eddie cared. He was being completely honest, and he could see Buck’s expression falter as he realized that.

Eddie’s smile only grew as Buck scanned over his face again, though it was his turn to look surprised when Buck pulled a hand up to rest against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leaned into it instinctively as he felt his eyes half lid, because Buck was moving again, pulling himself closer, and it was all Eddie could do to remain perfectly still, give Buck the chance to move closer or pull away, even if he wanted to flip them over right now and kiss Buck within an inch of his life.

As it was, their first kiss was perfect—Buck in his arms, Chris buried in blankets, and Edna Mode in the background. And even if the road to get there was rough, Eddie wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

#911 #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #buddie #fic #buddiefic #911fic #christopher diaz #flospeaks #fluff fic #I love two (2) dumb firefighters and their son

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sunmoonandeddie · 6 years ago

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best friend’s fuck buddy

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,255

summary: Bucky is really bad at dealing with feelings. Like, ‘I’m gonna fuck my teammate who happens to be your best friend to try to ignore my feelings for you’ kinda bad.

chapter warnings: Some h*ckin’ words. Mentions of sex.

a/n: So like. Saw a post today that said “yeah sex is great but have you ever been in love” and this just kinda blurted it out. Just something quick and fun. Let me know what you think!

“We can’t keep doing this.” James sat on the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he stared down at the floor. The room still smelled of sweat and sex and Natasha’s perfume and he just… couldn’t do it anymore. He’d dragged his briefs back on the second they were finished as guilt overtook him.

And it was ridiculous. Because he was single as shit and therefore, he had every right to sleep with a hot woman, even if he wasn’t necessarily attracted to her. Sure, he could appreciate Nat’s whole… aesthetic, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

She wasn’t who he craved. She wasn’t who he had been imagining under him just minutes before.

And her name definitely hadn’t been the one that had fallen from his mouth just seconds before.

“We’re really going to do this right now?” Natasha asked as she slipped out of the bed. She pulled on a large t-shirt—Bucky was sure it was Steve’s at one point, but the girls on their little team had a habit of stealing everyone’s shirts to sleep in—and a pair of shorts. She raised her eyebrows at him, and after realizing he was serious, said, “I guess it’s only fitting, since you moaned the wrong name while being balls deep inside of me.” At his flustered look, she smirked. “At least give me a minute to clean up.”

“Natasha,” he said slowly, watching as she moved to the bathroom attached to his room, as flashbacks of another life came to mind. Memories of late-night trysts when they were both in HYDRA’s chains. The 90s had been a wild time for the both of them.

But it never meant anything. It was always driven by the need to feel something, even if it was just someone else’s skin in a situation that didn’t involve getting rid of a body. Raw lust clouded both of their minds and the sex that happened was primal, urgent.

Kind of like it was now.

Granted, they had much more time to fuck now, but it was still just a way to get rid of tension. Like an extra workout.

“Bucky,” the redhead replied in a slightly mocking tone as she came out of the bathroom, tying her hair up. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t worry. I knew what this was when we started up this whole thing again. I was under no illusion that it was any different than when we first met.”

And that still made him feel like shit because back in the 40s, he hated guys like him. He might’ve gone on a lot of dates and slept with a few, but he never kept a girl around just to fuck. He’d never used someone like that before. But Natasha had made it easy to do exactly that, because she was doing the same thing to him. She had definitely been avoiding her feelings for a certain green monster, though she’d never admit it.

“Stop it with the kicked puppy look,” she said with an eyeroll. “Y/N might find it cute, but not me.”

His cheeks went a dark red as he stared down at the floor. He knew there was no need trying to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for you. That had gone out the window the second he moaned your name.

“You’ve really got it bad for her, huh?” Nat laughed as she observed the man in front of her. He was the world’s deadliest assassin—behind her, of course—and all it took was a girl to bring him to his knees. “Are you gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?” He asked, rubbing his hands on his briefs nervously.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you.” She walked over to him, resting her hand on his arm. “Bucky, if you care about her as much a I think you do, you need to tell her.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, guilt clouding his mind. Nat and him had been through a lot together, and it felt disrespectful, ending things because he was in love with another woman. Her best friend, of all people.

And she just laughed again, already reaching for the door. “I’m not jealous of her, Buck. Really.” She turned back to look at him, her green eyes glimmering in the dim light. “Y/N is one of my best friends, and one of the best people I know. If she makes you happy, you need to go for it.”

He stared at her with those puppy eyes of his again, though he wasn’t even aware that he was doing anything. “What if I ruin her?”

“Ruin her?”

“Yeah,” he said with a scoff as he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “She… She’s this… good person. Like you said, one of the best, and I…” The look in his eyes broke her heart a little. “I’m me.”

“Bucky,” she said slowly, letting out a huff. “You’re a good person, too, you know. You deserve someone who love’s you just as much as anyone else.” She chuckled, the sound reverberating through the otherwise silent room. “Maybe more than anyone else.” Nat turned back to the door, opening it. But she paused and glanced back towards him once more. “Don’t push her away just because you’re scared.”

And then she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

Bucky fell back onto his bed with a groan. He even went as far as grabbing a pillow, holding it to his face, and screaming into it. It didn’t help, though he supposed trying it meant something, whatever it was. Steve was big on that, telling him that trying was always better than not trying. Even if it was something as stupid as screaming into a pillow.

He had avoided it for so long, the feeling in his chest, but Nat’s words just made it all the more real.

He was completely, stupidly in love with you.

He was so in love with you that he couldn’t even fucking orgasm without thinking of you, no matter how icky and creepy it made him feel. He had to close his eyes while his dick was inside Natasha fucking Romanov because it wasn’t you, and had even gone as far as moaning the wrong fucking name. Men would kill to screw her, and he had—dozens of times—and yet, he didn’t want her.

He wanted you. Had since the first time he’d seen you, if he was being honest.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, knocking on his door. “Living room. ASAP.”

The man in question grunted as he pulled himself out of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. It was their one day off and all he wanted to do was sleep. But the punk he called his best friend seemed to be determined to not let it happen.

And as much as he wanted to just ignore him, he knew that if he ignored Steve he’d just come barging into Bucky’s room and drag him by his ear to the living room.

His hair was a bird’s nest, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t give any less fucks than he did in that moment. He didn’t even care that Sam would give him shit about it. The sooner he got to whatever was happening in the living room, the sooner he could get back to his nice, warm bed.

He dragged his feet all the way to the living room despite knowing that it annoyed the living shit out of Tony. Whatever the reason was that Steve had dragged him out of his little safe haven, he was sure that the billionaire had a hand in it.

But he froze in his tracks the second he stepped into the living room.

He was sure that he was dreaming, because there’s no way someone as beautiful as you actually existed. He’s sure that somewhere out there an artist is missing their muse, that you’ve stepped out of the Greek myths of Aphrodite, a goddess taking human form.

The second your eyes turned to him, he remembered his horrible case of bedhead, and subsequently decided that he wanted to throw himself from a bridge. Maybe the one he’d seen Steve on when he was still HYDRA’s puppet.

Yeah, that one would work.

“Hi,” you said, holding your hand out for him to shake as you walk towards him, your heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “I’m Y/N.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just sat there staring at you like a fucking codfish. Your bright e/c eyes were staring up at him in concern, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, and he wanted to scream. He’s sure there’s gotta be some kind of law against being so god damn pretty.

Steve smirked as he moved to stand beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Y/N, this is Bucky Barnes. Bucky, this is Y/N.” He raised his eyebrows at the brunet, the smug bastard. “She’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but she’s going to be our resident doctor.”

“Resident doctor?” Bucky repeated, and if it was possible, his eyes widened even more.

“I’m here for when one of you guys gets fucked up,” you said, shocking the man with your language. “I’ll be going on missions with you and staying here at the compound.”

He nodded dumbly, still staring at you.

It wasn’t until you giggled that he realized he was still shaking your hand. He quickly dropped it, his face going dark red as he pointed back towards the hallway. “I’m, uh, I’m just gonna—Yeah.”

He quickly disappeared down the hall, groaning at how badly he had just embarrassed himself. Here he was, meeting the prettiest dame he’d ever seen, and he can’t so much as get his name out. He finally made it back to his room and after shutting the door, let his head rest back against the wood.

He was royally fucked.

And even as he stared at his ceiling now, he has the same thought.

He was truly, thoroughly, royally fucked.

The shower he took to wash away the smell of the redheaded assassin was far too long. He spent most of it with his head against the wall and the water hot against his back. He’d tried for months after first meeting you to ignore you, ignore how he felt, but it was to no avail. Within just six months of first meeting you, he was entirely yours.

Even if you didn’t know it.

After his shower, he doesn’t think, and just lets his feet take him where ever. Most of the time when he did this, he always ended up in the same place—outside the medical wing. And whenever that happened, he’d always come up with some excuse to see you. Usually it was something simple, like a migraine—even though he didn’t get those, thanks to the serum—but one time he had gone as far as detaching his arm just so you could reattach it.

So he’s truly not surprised to find himself outside your work space. From the wall of windows, he can see some Will, another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, talking to you, clearly love struck as you wrap his wrist. It had become a normal occurrence, agents doing whatever they could to visit you. One agent, Adam, he thinks, even went as far as having another agent punch him hard enough to break his nose.

You’d never noticed, though, because you were so sweet and so focused on taking care of everyone that you didn’t even realize that everyone looked at you as though you’d hung the moon and the stars.

And he didn’t even think. He didn’t think about the possible consequences as he burst into the medical wing, because all he could focus on was how the way that Will looked at you made his blood boil. Your eyes flick to where he’d entered, the agent immediately moving away from you and making himself scarce.

Sometimes it paid to be intimidating.

“Hi, Bucky,” you said, but the soft smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes. Something was bothering you.

And he froze. He stopped in his tracks, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the doors closing behind the long-gone agent. “Uh… I…”

“Are you okay?” You asked as you moved from where you’d been typing up a medical report to stand in front of him. Your hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and he loves the way your white doctor’s coat makes you stand a little taller.

He stared down at you for long moment, swallowing. He had to do this. He had to do this because for the past year, he’d been fucking one of his best friends to try to get rid of his feelings and it hadn’t worked. Because for the first time in almost seventy years, he wanted something. Because dreams about you had interrupted his nightmares, and he’d been sleeping better since meeting you.

“I really want to kiss you,” he said, breathless and shaky.

You stared up at him with confusion and what he thinks is anger, your eyebrows furrowing. You bit your bottom lip, and he fought the urge to gently tug it free. “What about Natasha?”

Fuck. He didn’t think you’d known about her.

“What do you mean?” He asked, trying to feign innocence even though he knew it was pointless. You weren’t exactly stupid.

You raised your eyebrows at him, your hands on your hips. “Bucky, I’m not blind,” you said, your voice faint. “I can hear when she leaves her room in the middle of the night and comes back a few hours later.” You stared down at the floor, shuffling your feet. “I can also hear you when you two meet in her room.”

Fuck, he wanted to slam his head against the wall. Of course, you’d heard him. He thought that Stark would’ve made the walls thick enough and you wouldn’t hear his nightly activities with your neighbor, but apparently he was wrong.

You snorted as you stared at something off to the side, your eyes slightly glazing over. “Sometimes you two go until four the morning, in case you didn’t know.”

“We… ��We, uh,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nat and I… We aren’t a thing. Not exactly.”

“James, I know what friends with benefits is.”

And the fact that you called him James just told him how much you were hurt. His cheeks were a dark red as he stared down at his shoes shamefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” You asked, turning to organize all the shit you had gotten out to wrap Will’s wrist. There was a little bit of force in the way you put things back into their proper place, and it made him wince. “You two are adults. You can do whatever you want.”

“Please talk to me,” He said quietly, taking a step towards you. “I can’t fix things if you don’t talk to me.”

You were facing away from him, your shoulders tensed as you stared down at the gauze in your hands. “I just… I don’t know.” You placed the gauze back in its place, rattling the other contents of the cabinet. “It really hurts when the guy who’s sleeping with one of your best friends flirts with you, and makes you think that you could possibly have a chance. But then he just keeps fucking your best friend—who also happens to be your neighbor—and you can’t help but think it’s some kind of game.” Your hands gripped the edge of the counter. Your knuckles went white. “Like you only flirt with me because Natasha’s not around to keep you entertained.”

Bucky shook his head, reaching out for you desperately. “No, no, no. It wasn’t a game, I swear,” he said, turning you around. “Nat and I… We… We have a history.”

“James, it’s fine. Forget I said anything,” you muttered, trying to turn your back, but his grip on your arm prevented it.

“Y/N, it’s not.” He took in a deep breath, knowing that if he did this, there was no going back. “Nothing between Nat and I was about feelings, not even when we were still under HYDRA’s control.” He let go of your arm, rubbing the back of his neck. His mouth was dry as the Sahara, his palms sweaty. “And I know this is going to make me sound like a dick, but I only started messing around with Natasha after I met you.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tried to move away from him again, but he pleaded, “Please listen to me. Give me…” He glanced at the clock, biting his lip, and turned back to you. “Give me two minutes. And if you don’t want to talk to me ever again, you don’t have to.”

You stared at him for a long, heavy moment, before nodding, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Y/N, you are the first person I’ve wanted in a long, long time. And not just for sex.” He swallowed down the lump in his throat as his eyes stayed locked with yours. “At first I thought I was just lonely, which is why I went to Nat, but it wasn’t. It was because you’re you and everything you are is brilliant and amazing and so, so good and everything I’m not.” Bucky rubbed his hands on his sweats, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” You opened your mouth to say something, but he held up his hand, glancing back at the clock. “I still have thirty seconds.” He took the way you laughed as a good sign, and continued, “I’m not good at saying how I feel. I’m not good at opening up to people. I’m stubborn and more than a little rough around the edges, but I want to try for you.” His eyes watered as he stared at you. “Please.” After a long moment of you not saying anything, he added, “My two minutes are done.”

“Are you and Natasha completely done?” You asked, sounding so small.

Bucky nodded, taking a step towards you. “Yes. Yes, we’re one hundred percent done. And, uh…” He blushed a little as he looked down at his shoes. “She’s the one that told me to get my shit together and tell you.”

“What made you end it?”

“What?”

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “What made you end it with her? I assume something happened.”

And God, the last thing he wants to do is tell you what happened just a little before, but the look in your eyes told him that you wouldn’t relent. “I, uh…” He coughed, growing more and more embarrassed. “I moaned your name.”

You snorted, smirking a little as you turned back to your organizing. He stood there for so long that he was sure that you had forgotten him, that you were done with him. But then you paused in your organizing with your eyes locked on your hands. “Dinner. Tonight. Pick me up at seven.”

He can’t stop the grin that spreads over his face and he nods, forgetting for a second that you can’t see him. When he remembered, he said, “I’ll be there at six fifty-five.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 5 years ago

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Ceasg - Challenge

Steve Rogers x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: To keep the peace between the people, once a year the competition to catch the magical creature is held. Every year Steve Rogers and his crew ignore it but not this year. The price is too high to just look away this year.

Warnings: Course words, angst and fluff at the end

A/N: This is yet another of late challenges. This time is for the amazing @waiting4inspiration and her challenge :) I’m so sorry it took me sooo long to write it :( I hope you will still read it.

I have made my own version of the legend, if you guys do not mind :)

Steve really hated all those who called themselves ‘Cathers’. All those that were proud of all the poor magical creatures in this part of the world. Every year the waters were opened for this ‘competition’ to take place. Every worst category of a man took part in it. Mostly for money, but also fame and pride. All those amazing creatures were in danger for a whole month, only because some bastards needed to boost their fragile egos. Last year it was golden fish that was caught and of course ‘by accident’ killed. This year was a mermaid. A ceasg. He only heard stories of mermaids, and never truly seen one. But what he heard made him realise why someone like Pierce wanted to catch one. Three wishes to be granted for someone so awful as Pierce would not end up well.

This is why this year Steve and his friends decided to take part in this awful tradition. And if it was possible, catch the mermaid before Pierce and help the poor creature to live at least one more year.

“You look pissed, Stevie.” He looked back at his best friend since childhood, leaning over his doors to the cabin. Rogers new that his friend has a similar way of thinking. He hated the solemn idea of having those amazing creatures as a target. But Barnes’ hate towards Pierce was way past that stupid competition. They both still remember the time Alexander’s people attacked him in the corner of a town because he helped a lady that was annoyed by Rumlow. The bastard that always thought every girl belonged to him.

“I just don’t like the idea of our team even being a part of this jungle…” Steve sighed looking at the map. It started a week ago already and no one has yet found the mermaid. He feared the moment ceasg gets in Pierce’s hands.

“I know, but we need to… For this poor mermaid.” Bucky walked to the little bar that Steve had in his cabin and poured him and his friend some whisky. “If Pierce or Brock got their hands on this poor creature…”

“You don’t have to remind me…” He hid his tired face in his hands and sighed. “We need to find her, Buck.” The brown-haired man smiled and pushed the glass towards the blonde.

“Any idea what you’d ask for?” Rogers chuckled and shook his head. “I heard the three wishes are obligatory and they don’t harm the mermaid. It’s good to think of it before we catch her.”

“We should have a crew meeting and think together.” Bucky nodded, happy with the answer. This was why Steve was the Captain. There was never just ‘him’ there was always a team. The family, as he called them. Or the Avengers as Pierce named them. If Bucky was being honest. He liked the name. By finding this poor creature before Brock and Alexander, they would avenge all the previous creatures. “I need some sleep” he growled taking a sip of his drink. “Can you ask Clint to take care of the night searching with Nat? We should probably have some rest before we start over again tomorrow.” Bucky nodded and patted his friend on the shoulder before he left.

Steve got up and walked to the small window, looking at the horizon.

“Where are you, ceasg? Please stay safe, before we find you.”

Shouting and commends woke Steve up. He was actually having a decent sleep when Natasha’s voice make him come back to the world of the livings.

“We got her, Stevie…” He jolted out from the bed when Bucky stormed into his cabin. He quickly put on some clothes and walked out with Bucky meeting the whole crew. He smiled at everyone and his eyes landed on the mermaid, and his heart started to beat faster. His throat dry, so were his lips. You were stunning. He heard stories about mermaids and especially about ceasg but he would never imagine seeing someone as beautiful.

His heart broke a bit when your eyes landed on his. The fear in them was making him sick. Is this what humans did to the poor creature. The once strong and amazing magical creatures, were now petrified of mere humans?

“Hello, I’m Steve”, he started, slowly walking to the terrified girl. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to get as far away from his as possible. He froze in one place and sighed. “Please, there is no reason to be afraid of us”, he looked at Nat who let go of the nets. Your eyes travelling from one person to another, trying to find a way out. “Water…” Steve stated, looking at your dry tail. “Do you need water?” You shook your head. “Ok… Am… Can I get closer?” There was something soft and welcoming in his smile, which made you nod your head. His smile grew bigger and he kneeled in front of you. “We are here to protect you. Humans…” He sighed defeated. “We created this sick competition that every year for a whole month the waters are completely opened and whoever catches the particular creature, wins. This year, however, it is you.” Your eyes widen, and you started to panic again, which only made Steve get a bit closer to you. “Please, we’re not after the price.” You stopped and looked around at the people, who were nodding and smiling in a friendly way. “There is an awful group of people who would use your power for their sick ambitions… We… We needed to sign up for this stupid thing and get to you before they would.” Saying that he looked around and smiled when his eyes landed on the youngest member of the crew. “Peter please let the judges know we caught her.” The boy nodded and left the main deck. “Catching you should end this stupid thing and you will be free to go to the waters…”

“No…” They all tensed when you spoke, the first time since they got you. “I cannot come back home…” Steve frowned and looked at his friend, confused. “When a human caught one of us, we need to give him the wishes we have and then we die…” The man froze and felt sick, again. “I mean…” You took a deep breath and looked into those blue eyes. “We die as a mermaid and we are forced to live as humans on the land.” Everything went quiet. You were able to hear Steve’s heartbeat. Felt his pain, the guilt building inside of him.

“I… I didn’t know…” He whispered looking down at his knees. The finger clenching angrily at his pants. “I’m so sorry!” He got up and turned around, leaving everyone behind. Your eyes followed him until the doors from his cabin closed.

“Are you hungry?” You looked up to see the man that was by Steve’s side. His eyes were almost as sympathetic as his friend’s. He kneeled and smiled. “Forgive us. We just wanted to help. There is so much, us mere humans are unable to understand. I’m sorry.” There was the same softness and guilt as you heard in Steve’s voice.

“Do you have fish?”

It has been a couple of hour before Avengers ship moored to the land. You haven’t seen Steve since then, only talking to Bucky and the other crew. They all seem nice. Peter, the youngest boy was energetic and wanted to know everything about the life of the sea. Asking the weirdest and the funniest questions. Tony was curious about the solemn idea of magic and how originated. Bruce was mostly listening adding his words or two from time to time. Natasha was making sure that you weren’t hurt, same as Wanda. Clint didn’t speak much. THrowing a sarcastic comment from time to time, from his little nest on the top. Thor was weird but very likeable. He was as energetic (or even more) as Peter, but he’s questions made you feel weird at the beginning. Starting about the fertility of the mermaids and ending with what kind of weather mermaids prefer. Rhodey didn’t really speak at all, arguing with Tony from time to time. And Bucky kept to himself. He sent you a little smile, almost as if encouraging you to meet his family.

“We will need to put you in a vessel to be able to travel to the judges…” You heard the anger in Bucky’s voice. The unspoken apologies could be seen in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard stories of human from my parents.” You stated, smiling at the man. “We were told to avoid your kind no matter the cost. Others told us that you are all cruel and dangerous. But it’s not true.” You looked around the crew, who was slowly preparing to leave to the land. “You care and feel sorry. You worry and laugh at the weirdest things. You are curious but never rude. You feel pain for something you shouldn’t.” Bucky smiled knowing exactly who you refer to.

“Steve always blamed himself for many things that weren’t his fault. It’s in his nature.” You chuckled and Bucky had to admit that this was one of the sweetest noises he heard. Mermaids really were beautiful.

“From I what I remember Sharon used to call that a charm.” You both looked to you right, where the topic of your conversation stood. “Come on, crew lets go and leave this awful island.” The Captain, as they all called him, walked to you with the same look of guilt as before. With no words he lifted you and with so much gentleness put you into the transport vessel. You were sure to hear him whispering other apologies before he went off the ship.

“Who is Sharon”, you asked and could see a little smirk on Natasha’s lips.

“She is his ex. She is a part of a crew that we work with once in a while. They were together for a while but broke it off in friendly terms.” You nodded, and have;t asked anything else when the crew lifted you. There was something in the air. Something uneasy, something that made you anxious.

There were people all around the room, staring at you. Eyes full of anger and jealousy. Those people were so different from the Avengers. They seemed cold and frightening. If you were about to get caught at least you were happy for the Avengers to be the first once.

“Well, well, Rogers.” A man that voice brought you shivers, stood very close to your vessel, licking his lip in a disgusting way. “If I knew mermaids were so beautiful I would focus more on the job.”

“Step back, Rumlow!” Your eyes widened hearing Steve’s hiss. The softness of his voice disappearing, when he stood between you and the man. “Get your dirty hands off her, I warn you.”

“Mr Rogers, no need to get defensive”, another man walked closer, pushing Rumlow.

“Keep your dogs on the leash, then we won’t have to”, Bucky chimed in and you couldn’t help but smile at the remark.

“Well, Mr Barnes it’s good to see you healed all well”, you frowned seeing Steve tense at older man’s words.

“What do you want, Pierce!” He asked, the sternness and anger in his voice still visible. the older man, Pierce, as Steve called him walked towards you with a sinister smile on his lips.

“What a beautiful monster…” You bit your lip nervously but kept on staring right into his eyes.

“She ain’t a monster!” Steve growled, making your heart warm at the affectionate way the man tried to defend you. “The only monster I see is you. You and your team that force those creatures to fear us, humans! For what? Your fragile ego? You hunt, not carrying what happens to them.”

“Well, that’s selfish coming from you.” He turned towards the blonde and grinned. “Did you know the mermaids die when they are captured and give away their three wishes?”

“You knew?” He barked, taking a step towards the man. “You knew and still hunted them!”

“Well, but look at that. How ironic, the protector of the creatures will kill the most amazing one!” He laughed, and patting him on the shoulder, turned around and walked away.

“Relax Steve!” Bucky hummed, making the man take a deep breath. He glanced a look at you and smiled sadly. Almost as he tried to apologise for his behaviour. You wanted to tell him there was nothing to apologise, that you were thankful to him for all those nice words, for defending your honour.

“So it is true!” The room went quiet when two people walked in. A man with a patch on his eyes and a young woman by his side. “I wanted to believe that the Avengers would not take part in this sick competition.”

“A competition you agreed on, Fury!” Steve growled, anger boiling inside of him once again.

“To keep all the sides happy.” He answered, looking at you. “So they do exist.” He came closer and frowned. “They are truly beautiful.” There was something about this man, that didn’t scare you. You were sure to see some kind of guilt in his eyes. “When I agreed to that, I was hoping you were just legends. I am sorry.” Your eyes widen and you looked away. Humans were really weird species. Every each of them was different. “For the competition to be over, we need to see the power of the magical creature.” Your stomach twisted, as this was the time for you to say goodbye to your old life. You weren’t a magnificent mermaid anymore. You will become human, the same kind that captured you. You turned towards Steve and smiled at him.

“What are your three wishes, Captain Rogers.” He looked around the people and sighed. They didn’t really have time to discuss, but he felt like they trusted him to make the right decisions. He kneeled and put his hand on the glass, looking into your eyes.

“I want the competition to stop here and the magical creatures to not be bothered by humans ever again.” You heart melted with his words. You could hear anger around the room and the doors shut. Most of the people left, not caring to see what will happen next. “Second. I want my crew to always be happy. I want my family to never struggle with life.” You smiled and nodded, unable to believe at his kind heart. “And third.” He gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you have ever seen. “I want you to be happy.”

“It has been two months since that day. You granted him those three wishes and as the legend said, your tail disappeared and the legs of human appeared. pierce and his people left the land, promising to see all of them again.

It took you a while before you learned to use your new legs. The crew took care of you. You were a part of the family now and you granted two of the wishes to Steve. The competition was cancelled and the creatures were to be freed and save. The Avengers never were to be in need of anything.

But you were still working on the third wish. You were thankful to the crew for taking care of you, but there was something that kept you away from being happy. And you felt like you knew what that was.

Steve. The one that made that wish. After that day, he ignored you, only talking to you when it was really necessary. You could see the guilt whenever he looked at you. And you get to know him a bit better every day you stayed with the crew. He was a good man. Protective of his family, caring and always ready to help. With the days coming, you learned to fall for the man that felt nothing but guilt towards you.

“Go talk to him”, Bucky whispered in your ear. It was night already and you couldn’t sleep. “Now that everyone is sleeping. Go and have an honest conversation with him. Maybe even tell him about your little feelings.” Your eyes widened and the man chuckled. “Go, doll. He needs that as much as you do.” You took a deep breath and nodded.

You knocked on the door and waited for his calm voice to let you in. You walked in and closed the doors behind you. His eyes widened when he saw you.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, standing up from the table he was seated at, studying the maps. You smiled at his worried tone. How could not have fallen for a man so kind?

“You should be sleeping, Steve.” You whispered, getting closer to the table, looking through the maps. He frowned and observed your move. “You must be tired of falling asleep after everyone and getting up first.” You turned to look in the eyes and raised your brow when you were still able to notice the same guilt as the first time you saw him.

“I’m a Captain… Someone needs to…”

“What? Read the maps?” You chuckled and he couldn’t help but smile. “What’s going on, Steve? Is it me? You don’t want me here?” His eyes widened and he moved towards you, cupping your face in his hand. It was the first physical contact between the two of you since day one and nothing has ever felt better for you.

“Why the hell would you think I don’t want you here, sweetheart?” Your heart skipped a beat at his pet name for you. Bucky’s doll always made you chuckle, but that new name from Steve made you happy.

“You always ignore me… You seem unhappy whenever you see me. You look like you regret taking you with me on that ship.” You looked away, biting your lip nervously. You froze when he pulled you to his chest, crashing you in a comforting hug.

“I’m sorry you thought so…” He whispered, and you nuzzled into his chest, rounding your arms around his waist. For someone so broad in shoulders, he had an amazingly small waist… “Sit down, please.” He pushed you a bit on his bed. Taking a deep breath he sat next to you, taking your hands in his. “When I decided to take part in that awful competition my goal was to help you. And stop Pierce from getting those three wishes… I was so happy when Bucky told me we caught you. But then… Damn it!” He shook his head and clenched his hands around your hand. “Y/N, sweetheart I was the one who destroyed your life! I caught you, took away your past and made you live here between humans.” You wanted to say something but he shook his head. “When I had to think of those three wishes I wanted to make sure that I would be able to give you back at least a bit of happiness that I took away from you. I wanted you to be happy. When I noticed how quickly the crew got closer to you I was happy but also scared. Because how I would I be able to look you in the eyes if it was me who…”

“Steve, stop please!” Your hand travelled on his cheek, caressing it softly. “None of this is your fault. You did not come up with the idea of the competition, the fact that you took part in it only to save me only shows how amazing of a person you are. You didn’t know about the legend. If it wasn’t you who caught me it would be Peirce’s people and their wishes would not be so kind.” You leaned in and pushed your forehead against his and closed your eyes. “I have never met a human, any kind of creature so kind and selfless as you are, Steve Rogers. All three wishes were directed to save and make others feel better. And that last wish? Steve…” You pulled away and smiled, wiping single tears that appeared in his eyes. “You gave a new life, a new family, friends and a place to live. But I can never truly be happy…” He turned his gaze away from you, dark thoughts coming back to his head. “And I’m not talking about this competition or the legend. Steve, how can I be truly happy, when the person I love ignores me due to some unrealistic guilt.” His eyes widen at your words. The blush on your cheeks redden even more and you were smiling at him so beautifully.

“The person you love?” He whispered, not believing what he heard. “You... How can you love me?”

“You saved my life, Steve. No matter what you think yourself, I will always owe you my life. And if you let me, I would like to give it to you. My life. I would like to spend the rest of my life, proving you how amazing you are and how thankful I am that you found me that day.” You leaned and stopped inches away from his lips. “Will you grant me your last wish, and make me happy”, You felt him smile and the second later his lips meet yours in a passionate, full of love, promises and full of hopes, kiss.

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

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I Know A Place

The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen. “If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon and Tommy are tired and Chuck E. Cheese is too loud. They step outside for a minute and decide to get out of there. 3559 words.

The floodlights in the parking lot hummed like distant hornet’s nests, but right now Tommy would take that over the grating techno music inside.

It was his birthday. Of course it was, why else would he be at a Chuck E. Cheese – he and his dad had kept the running joke long into his thirties, so something as trivial as the world almost ending wasn’t about to get in the way of that. It was still a good bit the 37 th time around, especially since he’d actually had friends show up this year.

That didn’t take away from how loud it always was. The entertainment center was never really a calm atmosphere, and sometimes the music was too loud and the lights were too much and Tommy needed to take a breather. His tolerance threshold was particularly low this year. Probably had something to do with spending the past week surrounded by gunfire and full-volume yelling.

He sat on the curb outside, breathing in the cool desert night. Things were quiet out here. Well, quieter. There still was the chirping of crickets and the soft roar of the distant highway. Somewhere, a solitary coyote yowled into the sky. It sounded lonely.

Tommy was just catching a moment by himself. He could return to the party in a few minutes, his social battery recharged enough from the break to handle the sensory input. It was something about himself that he monitored closely, and had done so for years. Even when he and his colleagues were crashing through the underbelly of Black Mesa, there were a couple moments Tommy had to blink out of there, grabbing time by the shirt collar and telling it, “Hold up. I need a minute.”

The door behind him opened and the pulsing bassline poured out. Tommy recognized the heavy tread that approached and didn’t even need to turn his head to know that Gordon Freeman had followed him outside. The door swung shut, muffling the music once more. Tommy exhaled quietly.

“Hey,” Gordon said, drawing up beside him on the curb but not sitting down. “You know the party’s in there, right?”

Tommy offered him a polite smile. “I know, Mr. Freeman,” he said. “I’m just taking a break.”

Gordon crossed his arms, filling out the sleeves of his uniform’s undershirt. The top half of his coveralls were tied around his waist in a charming way that made him look more like a mechanic than a physicist. He had shed the HEV suit’s armor as soon as he arrived, bemoaning not even being able to change after enduring the apocalypse.

Tommy himself wasn’t a fan of that detail, either - he’d ditched the tie and the lab coat as quickly as possible. Oh, and he’d gotten rid of the blood. Chuck E. Cheese was a family establishment. It would just be plain rude for them all to show up covered in gore and grime - think about the kids.

Gordon was still looking at him. “You good?” he asked.

Tommy nodded. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “You can go back inside. I’ll only be a couple more minutes.”

“I actually think I’m gonna stay out here, too, if that’s okay,” Gordon went on. “My head is killing me.”

He was teetering there, still awkwardly staring down at him, and Tommy belatedly realized Gordon was waiting for his permission. Tommy flicked him a cursory up-and-down look. He was fond of Gordon, he really was, but the guy did have a tendency to never know when to shut up.

God, he looked bone-deep exhausted, though. His eyes didn’t used to look like that, faraway and weary, with purple half moons underneath. He probably wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for 24 hours straight.

A little peace and quiet was the least Tommy could offer. He wordlessly patted the concrete next to him in invitation. Gordon picked up on the cue and gratefully eased himself down beside him. They were sitting close enough to touch, but they didn’t. The coyote howled again.

“So,” Gordon made it thirty seconds before breaking the silence. “Your dad is… Interesting.”

Tommy exhaled quickly out of his nose, almost a laugh. People said that about his dad a lot. “It’s okay, you can tell me he’s weird,” he allowed. “He’s been around for a while and he kind of forgets how to talk to people.”

A trait that Tommy had quickly learned he inherited. He said some pretty weird things, too. Well, weird to most people. Tommy always made perfect sense to Tommy, so Tommy was who Tommy usually talked to. The fact that Gordon so often sought out his company was still new to him.

“I mean, he did just spend like, ten minutes trying to tell me that Chuck E. Cheese’s wasn’t a restaurant,” Gordon said. His tone was bitter in a careful way, like he was trying not to offend for Tommy’s sake.

He only shook his head and gave Gordon a bemused smile. “It’s not a restaurant, though.”

“Oh - you - you, too, huh?” Gordon waved him off tiredly, his voice subdued and without its usual bite. “It serves food, okay? That makes it a restaurant.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy chuckled, astounded at this man’s ability to find the smallest possible hills to die on.

“Thanks, buddy,” he sighed, reaching out a hand to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

It was an unfamiliar gesture, if only due to the fact that not three hours ago Gordon had been missing that hand. Tommy’s father had bestowed him a new one - thank you for your service and all that - and while Tommy was used to a healthy amount of the surreal, this particular gesture stuck with him. Maybe it was because Tommy had been there when Gordon’s hand had been chopped off. Maybe it was because he’d seen what Gordon was like, on the edge of death from the injury. It made all the suffering he went through seem remote, like it hadn’t even happened.

Not that Tommy wanted Gordon to still be missing a hand. It was very good that he had it back. But the wound was invisible now, living only in both of their heads, not even a scar to show for the hell they survived. Tommy found himself staring at the conjured limb as Gordon returned it to his own lap. How had his father done that? Was it any different from his other hand? Had he just pulled a copy of it from the past and attached it to present Gordon? Did it hurt at all?

He wished he knew. He wished he could have fixed things for Gordon as soon as it happened. Would have saved him a lot of pain.

“Tommy,” Gordon prompted.

Tommy’s eyes flicked guiltily back to Gordon’s face. “Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem a little spaced out there.”

“Yeah,” he answered tonelessly. Tommy didn’t know how to explain that he was thinking this hard about Gordon’s hands. “Does your head still hurt?”

Gordon rolled his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I mean, yeah, but - heh - felt worse before, right?” he attempted to laugh, not quite succeeding.

Tommy was sure Gordon hadn’t meant for the comment to sting, but he winced anyway. It felt like far too soon to be joking about what just happened to them.

Gordon noticed. “Listen, Tommy, it’s really nothing,” he said. His voice was careful, soft, the edges sanded down in the absence of the past week’s adrenaline. “Just a little too much in there for me right now. I’ll get over it, okay?”

“You shouldn’t... have to, Mr. Freeman,” he replied. Tommy sighed and removed the silly propellor hat he was wearing, flicking the spinner distractedly. “If it hurts you, you should make it better.”

“What, you mean, like, take an ibuprofen or something?” Gordon asked.

Tommy stared at him, deadpan. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a headache in my life.”

“If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon stopped laughing. Fixed Tommy with a curious look. “Right now?”

Tommy nodded despite the flush he felt creeping up his neck. “Mhm.” He’d been there many times. Alone, of course. It kind of defeated the purpose of going to a quiet place if you brought someone else with you. But Gordon was different. Gordon was okay.

“You want to just get up and leave your own birthday party?” Gordon asked, skeptical.

Tommy shrugged. “I can restart things. It’ll be here when we get back.”

The other man’s eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. “What do you mean, restart things?”

“Take us back; restart things.” He repeated, waving a hand vaguely. “Y’know, like, time? For a little.” He didn’t like to turn back the earth for more than an hour - things got weird if he did - but he didn’t imagine they’d need to be gone that long. Just long enough to make it better.

Gordon wasn’t entirely tracking. Tommy could see it on his face. But when he stood and offered his hand, Gordon took it without hesitation. Just like he had back at Black Mesa, when it was just the two of them against the cruel, cold world. Gordon had placed his unconditional trust in him, and Tommy had sworn to hold it close, keep it safe, never let it break.

He realized he was just standing there, staring at him. Hand in newly restored hand. Tommy blinked and pulled Gordon to his feet, the motion natural and reflexive after their week in hell together.

“Man, I still don’t know how you can just pick me up like that,” Gordon said as soon as he was upright. “You’ve gotta weigh what, a buck forty?”

“The soda gives me special energy,” Tommy replied dryly, just to make Gordon laugh, which he did.

He led him through the parking lot, patting the pockets of his slacks until he found his keys. As he pulled them out with a merry jingle, he and Gordon approached a truck on the far end of the lot. It was a Toyota Tacoma pickup, bright orange. Cheerful. Next to him, Gordon made a surprised noise.

“You can drive?”

Tommy gave him a curious look as he hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be able to?”

Gordon faltered, dark eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of his glasses. “I dunno, I guess I thought you grew up in Black Mesa or something,” he answered. “There weren’t a lot of cars there, right? Like, y’know how some people from New York never learn how to drive because of all the public transportation?”

Tommy just shrugged again, somewhat relieved Gordon wasn’t assuming he was too infantile to drive. It was a useful skill to have. Plus, he liked it. “I learned,” he said simply.

They climbed inside the vehicle, the ambient sound of the desert night muffled by the doors closing. Tommy started the car while Gordon put on his seatbelt.

“I didn’t really peg you as a truck person, either,” Gordon commented.

Tommy fastened his seatbelt as well, so the safety alarm wouldn’t sound off as soon as he hit the gas. A nice feature, he considered, if crashing and dying in a wreck was ever a concern to him. “It’s not always a truck, Mr. Freeman,” he explained.

Gordon snorted. “Of course it isn’t. Sure.” He gazed thoughtfully out the window at the parking lot while Tommy threw the Tacoma into gear. “You can just change your car into a different kind of car?”

He nodded.

“Is it always orange?”

“Usually,” Tommy answered, passing Gordon a fond smile. “I like orange.”

They drove. It didn’t take long to reach the highway, then to reach the access road off the highway, then to reach the little dirt track that snaked its way through the sand. The truck trundled past a barbed wire fence and Tommy rolled down the windows, letting the night air rush in to chill them. He didn’t play any music. It wasn’t the night for that.

“Where are we?” Gordon asked. “Where did your dad send us?”

“The Chuck E. Cheese is in Las Cruces,” Tommy replied as he cut the wheel. The Tacoma bucked and jostled them as they went off road.

“Las Cruces - so wait, we’re still in New Mexico?” Gordon tore his eyes away from the scenery to give Tommy an incredulous look. Well, as well as he could while he was bouncing around. “He just put us all back in the middle of fuckoff nowhere?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered mildly. He thought it was pretty out here. “White Sands is just past those mountains.” He pulled the vehicle to a stop, put it in park, and pointed at the terrain in question.

To Tommy’s surprise, Gordon's eyes lit up. “The missile range?” he asked. “You know that’s where they tested the atomic bomb, right?”

Tommy was aware. He had fact-checked the Wikipedia article for WSMR several times during his employment at Black Mesa, and the topic was frequently touched on while he was getting his degree. But it was good to see Gordon excited about something, so he invited him to keep talking with an, “Oh, really?”

He listened to Gordon go on at length about the proving grounds and the Trinity detonation while he opened the door and let himself out. Gordon’s voice was animated and charming, and it brought a faint smile to Tommy’s face as it filled the desert night. In the backseat of the Tacoma was a tidy collection of pillows and blankets that Tommy piled into his arms. As he went to carry them to the bed of the truck, Gordon distractedly followed him.

“And then in the nineties they started hosting the Bataan Memorial Death March marathon there, and - oh, hey, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked as he clambered down from his seat.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Freeman,” he answered. “Thank you.”

Tommy tossed the blankets lightly into the bed and opened the tailgate. He climbed up, offering his hand once more to Gordon. The wind ruffled coolly through their hair as they paused. It wasn’t like the guy needed any help crawling into the bed of a truck - they both knew this - but Gordon gratefully took his hand anyway and let himself be pulled inside.

“Man, you’ve got this all figured out, huh?” Gordon commented as he took in the heap of blankets.

That he did. Tommy had come on many teeth-chattering night drives out to this spot over the years. Later on, when he’d come into his abilities, he would simply wink out of existence and end up here. The desert was peaceful, the mountain range enchanting. Tommy loved it. He kicked out the blankets and shuffled them into a more comfortable pile, trying to ignore the way his heart was starting to flutter.

He didn’t take people out here. This was his spot. But…Gordon was here. He’d put him in his truck and brought him here. And Tommy wanted him to be here. He really, really wanted him to be here.

“Whoa,” Gordon breathed as he settled back on one elbow to fully look at their surroundings. “This is… beautiful, Tommy.”

They were stretched out under the wheeling stars, the Milky Way tracing a smoky band across the velvet night. The southern Rockies bordered the desert like sentinels, guarding them and keeping them safe. Juniper and sagebrush cast the night in a heady scent, and somewhere faraway, a great horned owl hooted.

Tommy watched Gordon take it in. This was his place, and he desperately wanted Gordon to like it. His eyes were wide with wonder, the starry night reflected prettily in the lenses of his glasses. The tension that had built up in his shoulders was slowly soaking away in the quiet. He looked relaxed, for once. At ease.

The streaks of gray at his temples were likely new, brought on by the stress of recent events. Tommy fought the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. He had done it in Black Mesa, when Gordon was half-conscious from blood loss, but now it was different. It would mean something else.

Gordon caught him looking. Raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”

Tommy blushed delicately and laid back to look at the stars. The stars didn’t look back. Usually. “Nothing,” he said.

They stargazed in silence, the desert sighing softly around them. It was a chilly night, and Tommy could sense Gordon subconsciously closing the gap between them for warmth. When they were close enough to be touching from shoulder to elbow, Tommy’s heart rate had worked up to a jog. It was bizarre; only yesterday personal space was out the window for the two of them, a cascading apocalypse forcing them to lean on one another to survive.

Now Tommy was keenly aware of the warmth radiating from the man beside him, and he found it incredibly unfair that the script had been flipped on him so suddenly.

“Hey, Tommy?” Gordon’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts.

Tommy turned his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.

“Did you…know? About like, everything that was happening?” He asked, his voice small. “The Resonance Cascade and the aliens and the - the weird shit with Benrey?”

“No, Mr. Freeman, I didn’t know about that.”

“Your dad just kind of let us take care of it without telling you anything?”

Tommy hesitated. “He didn’t… tell me anything, no.”

There were some clues he picked up on as they went along, but there was no way he would have been able to explain it to the science team at the time. Not in a way that made sense. He hoped Gordon didn’t think he was keeping anything from him while they were clawing their way through the halls of Black Mesa. The last thing he wanted to do was betray the man’s trust.

But all Gordon said was, “Pretty fucked up of him to leave you in the dark like that.”

“I...” Tommy faltered. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He had been dealing with his father’s tendency to play god all his life. The emotional detachment with which the man made decisions was prudent, but he often forgot how cold he really was. Yes, his father loved him. Tommy was aware of this. But loving someone and showing it were two different things.

At that realization, he turned his head to look at Gordon fully. The other man was already staring in his direction, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. It was sweet that he was worried. Gordon was the only member of their little ragtag team who had consistently asked after his wellbeing. Tommy reached out with a delicate hand and removed his glasses, folding the frames carefully and setting them aside. Gordon let him, watching expectantly.

God, his eyelashes were so long. It was a wonder they didn’t get all tangled up when he blinked.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tommy told him.

“Okay,” Gordon answered immediately. “Is there something else you want to talk about instead?”

He smiled softly and shook his head. This was a quiet place. There was nothing left to say.

Tommy kissed him in the same way he did everything: with care and purpose. He thought about it first, decided it was right, and he did it. The brief, gentle press of Tommy’s mouth against Gordon’s was like a sheet of rain rolling over the desert, soaking them both with a muted calm. When he pulled away, his entire body felt weightless. Gordon was starry-eyed.

Tommy touched his fingertips to his own tingling lips, feeling his face go hot. He really just did that. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman,” he murmured. “I should have asked first.”

He didn’t regret it, though. He held Gordon’s gaze as the stars shifted silently overhead. Tommy realized he had done the impossible - he had rendered Gordon speechless.

Then his hand was on the back of Tommy’s neck and he was pulling him in again. Gordon kissed him in the same way he did everything: headfirst and with passion. It was blood roaring in his ears and fire burning in his stomach and as Tommy fisted a hand in Gordon’s hair, he thought he might never come up for air again.

They lay side by side in the bed of the truck, mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, slipping under each other’s skin. The trust they had built together bloomed into a lovely affection there in that desert night. And while they had to go back to the world eventually, Tommy was content to stay here for now, drinking in the quiet and the wonderful man in his arms.

The stars glittered brightly. The mountains stood tall and vast. Tommy would stop the world a hundred times over for this.

#ink #fanfiction #hlvrai #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #dont mind me

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slasherscream · 5 years ago

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cooking headcannons with poly Billy and Stu and their s/o? 😎 i feel like stu is the type to flip pancakes super high and get them stuck on the ceiling and billy is the type to just order in bc he gave up after 2 seconds

A/N: you’re braver than any us marine to be in a kitchen with these two

billy loomis x reader x stu macher ft. cooking for (with) dummies

——————–

For this we are assuming you can cook and thus, fair warning, you will always be cooking. They’re not assholes so they’ll totally do dishes for you (Billy will. If Stu can worm his way out of a household chore he will do so by any means necessary) but why should they cook when you’re so good at it? Their logic? Unbeatable.

They both walk away real fast whenever you seem to be about to “teach them” something. They don’t want to know! You’re the chef of this house. Don’t be grouchy about your designation. How about some kisses? Would a kiss make all this free labor better? Stu sure thinks it will.

Billy kinda likes rigid roles in the relationship because it gives him the illusion of stability. So you always doing this one thing in the relationship is like a security blanket of sorts. Please get him some therapy-

Express to him that cooking can be a bonding activity as well as an important life skill to have and you’ve got him! He tends to like lowkey “dates” and more than that he really enjoys “couple activities” though he’d rather die than admit it. It’s because he wants you to spend 100% of your time with him and Stu. Like some kind of exotic leech you can’t get rid of.

Stu is gonna groan because work and he’s never cooked anything in his #Life but you can get him into the kitchen with both promises of affection and by strategically withholding said affection. He’s needy.

So you got them in there! What now? Strap in for the ride of your fucking life buckaroo-

Billy has a lot more cooking experience than Stu but like….not much compared to you. At least in terms of quality if not quantity. Meat. Breakfast food. Pastas. Crappy soup. Enough that if he was living in a college dorm alone he wouldn’t die. Eats raw vegetables (and fruits) but has probably never cooked one I won’t lie.

Only learned and figured out cooking because you know …MIA Mom. His Dad certainly didn’t buck up and learn that particular skill for the two of them. It was either takeout or semi-crappy Billy cooking.

Stu, if he wasn’t living with you and Billy, would have scurvy and he’d be dead. No cooking skills. Can’t cook ramen. Can maybe use a toaster. Perhaps even a toaster oven. If you ever leave him alone he’d die like a tamagotchi but faster.

Takeout and fast food are his only saviors. He knows all the numbers to every place that delivers by heart and he knows closing times and menus too. He survived his teenage years by the grace of his Mother, occasional family chefs, and God.

Start on the basics. Stu knows nothing and Billy is (shittily) self taught. This will be the most maddening part of living with the boys since moving in with them. They are struggling. You are struggling.

They’re good with knives so that skill translates pretty quickly. Everything else is a mess.

Stu you teach one skill and he goes overboard with it. Overzealous … if you will. So yes he will flip a pancake into the ceiling. He’s going to over-whisk/stir everything. And if you need him to chop something?? He’ll just sit there and mince it to shit. Anything you put in front of him. Minced to granule. Very proud of himself.

you: baby i needed it in chunks stu: :D you: nevermind. great job, babe-

He’s so eager to please he’s doing his best and genuinely following all instruction to the best of his ability. If you just hang in there eventually he’ll do everything you teach him to do just the way you taught him to do it. He’s a good student in that sense. Just… hang in there.

Billy can get all the basics of cooking down great. It’s the recipes and seasoning that’ll get him. The finer points of cooking will be his downfall. He’ll rage quit long before you can register his mounting frustration.

The type to not want to do something because they’re not immediately good at it? Billy? Never.

Stick with it and he’ll actually enjoy it to some extent. Doesn’t mind cooking alone but only really likes doing it when he’s doing it with you. He likes the normalcy and familiarity of it. Moving around each other like clockwork. Little jokes. Playful nudges. It’s a routine he’ll start to love, in all honesty.

Wiping down a counter (he’s a clean as you go type) and you pop up beside him with a spoon for him to taste? But wait! It’s too hot so you’re just gonna blow on it for a second first?? He started cool guy smirking like “god look at them” but missed the mark and it wound up a sappy “god look at them” smile.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again he’s a sucker for domestic life. He’s trying to build a love nest and you and Stu had better be on board, eager participants or so help you god-

Stu is good at all things prep work. He can still barely cook honestly but he won’t burn the house down trying to make something basic. He shines at breakfast foods like all men who can’t really cook but like to say they can. Could he offer you a waffle? Grits? Some perfectly cooked eggs? French toast?

If he can be bothered to wake up in the morning before you or Billy he will make you both breakfast in bed. It’s rare because he never wakes up first. Sweet when it happens though.

Always very careful about getting out of bed but Billy is the world’s lightest sleeper so he notices instantly someone’s left the bed. You’re up next because Stu cannot cook quietly under any circumstances. Pots and pans and banging of all volumes come from the kitchen.

You and Billy always share sleepy smiles before curling up together and dozing back off, all the while waiting for your boyfriend to come kick open the door dramatically while bearing food.

Billy eventually gets pretty good in general but he really enjoys cooking you and Stu’s favorite foods. These are things he can cook perfectly with his eyes closed. Were you moping today? Go take a nice, hot shower to relax. Come back and oh wow? Your favorite comfort food on the counter. Where’d that come from?? If you gush over it he acts like it’s no big deal but he loves the praise and loves babying you. Want him to stab whatever made you upset? Just asking! Just as a side note! No? Fine.

Stu cooks/helps you prep mostly so the “who’s turn is it to do the dishes” debate will be more confusing and in the end Billy will usually wind up doing them to avoid a secondary Great Stalemate (there was a lot of bastard energy in the house the first year of living together. it mostly belonged to Stu). Also does them because Billy’s a softie for you ….and Stu, admittedly. Why else would he not stab him when you all know it’s Stu’s turn to do the fucking dishes-

Billy wants to try and cook something new with you once a month. You guys don’t really have set date nights (billy vc: lame) but if you did this would be one of them. Stu loiters but rarely joins the actual cooking process. Mostly just hanging out in the kitchen while you and Billy work your magic. He will distract one or both of you with dancing and singing.

Dancing may begin as lighthearted and goofy but be wary and wise — he can get the drop on you and make it groping and grinding quicker than you can say “burning food-”. Billy? 50/50 chance on him prying you away from Stu and scolding him because you’re both busy or him joining in.

You have all nearly set the house on fire because somehow Stu wound up on his knees between your thighs, Billy’s hands tangled tightly in his hair while he whispered feverishly what he wanted to do to you in your ear.

If it had been a scary movie you all would’ve been killed since you literally didn’t notice the small stove fire until Billy jumped out of his skin with a yelp of, “Oh shit!”

If you don’t live a long life with these disasters you’ll live a short but sweet one together.

——————–

#billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #slasher x reader #scream #slasher imagine #the only task more unbearable and impossible to do with them is driving

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spyvstailor · 5 years ago

Text

Need 150 For Rent

Look guys, I don’t like to beg. My pride is very strong and I hate doing it. But I’ve been out of work for a while now and looking high and low for it. However, if by the 15th I don’t make 150 bucks, I will be tossed out on my ass. Me? I can live in a cardboard box, but my kitties cannot.

So I have a plan where I won’t beg exactly. I will release early sneak peek chapters of my newest novel, and if you guys would toss a few bucks in my paypal account that would be groovy.

If you can’t afford to donate to keeping my kitties sheltered this winter month, then at least could you reblog this post so others can enjoy a good zombiedy and maybe donate?

Here’s my paypal link, please donate if you can, but don’t feel bad if you can’t. The economy is in shambles. Just reblog if you can, help spread the word.

Now, for my part of the bargain (this is where I feel less like a sack of shit for begging), a zombie story with nuns called Graveyard Dirt & Salt! Enjoy!

Chapter One

Sometime in Summer 2014

The first thing to break down when everything went to shit were the roads and the highways.

If you think about the population of the earth, six billion and change, think about the population of the US alone, think about the people in your city, your town, in your region, your county, your parish, all of them fleeing, then you'd understand why they were the first to go to shit.

Humans run on instinct, fight or flight. But when they didn't know what exactly they were fighting, when they heard news reports of an epidemic, of people dying and coming back running on pure animal hunger, their first instinct was to flee.

They've seen the movies, played the video games, entertained the idea of the dead rising up and walking the earth with their insatiable hunger, as humans they knew what this meant. It meant the very end of civilization as they knew it. No more cell phones, no more magazines and no more internet. It was chaos and it was confusion.

Back when HQ was still up and running, when the marines at the base were still receiving orders, when 'task forces' were being sent in to hospitals and morgues, schools, churches even. Places humans congregated in times of trouble to take care of the sweeping epidemic, when governments and commanders were still in control, the first thing to fall to the dead were the roads and the highways.

The highways were veritable buffets for the hungry horde. Panicked people just stuck in traffic. Delicious, soft, warm, living flesh.

After the roads and highways fell to the dead, the government sort of disappeared. There was no structure, because the officials all sort of went the way of the one percent, mysteriously disappearing in the smoke of the burning society around them.

The next thing to fall was the media, it was all over the place, reports of the dead walking, reports of the one percent disappearing, leaving behind the working man, leaving behind the dead. With their need to know and to be on the scene, many stations began to mysteriously replace their reporters, before in the end all that remained was a single, sweaty, panicked looking young hopeful who wanted so badly to be on the screen that they took the position.

After the media went the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, even that real fancy cult place in Hollywood.

When faith failed, then everything just sort of fell away.

In the days just after the initial outbreak, he was still a marine stationed at HQ in Georgia. He still followed orders, still went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do, but after a few weeks the lines of communication went down. HQ went cold, dark. One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night. Thirteen marine's had set out from HQ, gone off to protect and serve the civilians of the state, and all that remained of that squad was him.

The men who had left in the night were just heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive. And after the orders over the radio had stopped coming nearly nine months ago, the last word out of the old crank powered field phone he carried on his back had been to keep clear of the major cities, and then the damned thing went dead.

Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only couyon left alive on earth.

Didn't matter. Everything he had he left back home in Eunice, Louisiana. And that was all inanimate and cold and long buried in the ground, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

For months he walked the highways and the roads, just off in the woods in the shadows of the leaves and trees, doing his duty, killing as many of the damned as he could.

Didn't bother him much, he was recon, trained to do whatever needed doing. Improvise, adapt and overcome.

He saw a lot from his place in the woods, men and women trying and failing to survive, the dead roaming, ambling about by the handfuls, great herds of them shuffling across the blacktop like cattle going down the Chisholm Trail.

There seemed to be no end to the uggies. Everywhere he went there they were. Old folks, young folks, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, hell he had seen a bride one time in her pretty white gown just wandering around.

The longer he survived in the land of the dead, the more he forgot what other humans, thinking and feeling humans, sounded like. He was beginning to go a little nutty, if he was honest. It had been months since he last saw someone who seemed alive, and even they looked like they were on their way out. Tired, sickly, starving maybe. A shadow that had appeared and disappeared so fast he wasn't entirely certain they were real.

So he drove further back from the roads, deeper into the Georgian woods.

He did well there, flourished even. Hunting, fishing in the river, killing uggies at an easy pace.

But it was there, in the middle of the sylvan woods of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey brick wall, beyond which towered an old looking church of some sort and some equally dated looking buildings surrounding it.

At first he thought it was a compound of sorts, maybe some of those good ol' Georgian boys who had it in their mind to form their own military unit. A ragged group of NRA enthusiasts with too much ordnance and not enough brains or balls.

When he had scaled the wall out of morbid curiosity, to perch high and get his bearings, he was surprised to find a handful of nuns in their cute black veils with the flowing white robes working in a garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their vegetable garden.

With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods. Feeling like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, an angel, a vision.

Sitting at ease on the high, eight foot wall, the Lieutenant watched the ladies in their garden for the longest time, entranced by the simple beauty of their work and their habits, before he settled his pack beside him on the wall to open it up for a snack of dried nuts he had found in the Piggly Wiggly in Blackshear.

It had been so, so long since he had observed actual human beings moving and chatting, laughing and living, that he seemed to forget where he was and he was only just a little hungry so he thought he'd have himself a snack while he watched them work.

It wasn't until one of them, the only one who wore all white, glanced up and spied him on the wall.

Her face was one of serene, simple beauty, clear blue eyes, a face that would give Vivian Leigh a run for her money and a hard, almost stern look which changed from placid to startled at the sight of him on their wall. She dropped the basket of potatoes she was carrying to wash at the water pump just past his position and took a quick step back.

Shouldering his rifle slowly, he held up his hands to show her he was defenceless and offered her a smile he hoped was as charming as he wanted it to be.

She stared, gawped almost, at him for the longest time, delicate brows knitting, lips trembling like she wanted to say something.

“Now, hold on, I'm not here to stir the nest.” He said as the woman took small, dainty steps back from him.

The other Sisters now noticed him and wavered between moving to protect the one close to him and fleeing into the shelter of their convent buildings.

“My name is Lieutenant Layfayette Vancoughnett of the United States Marine Corps,” he greeted. “I'm charged with protecting the citizens of this country from the epidemic of the dead.”

The woman looked at him with hard, steely eyes, unwavering and unimpressed, but still she said nothing.

“I'm not here to hurt any of you,” he went on. “I'm here to help.”

“We have a front gate for a reason,” the woman suddenly scolded him in the prettiest Southern Belle accent he had ever heard.

Feeling as though she had slapped him, the Lieutenant blinked at her for a moment. It had been a few months since he spoke with someone rational, so he had to think whether he said something rude.

“Do y'all know what's going on beyond these walls?” He asked.

The woman wiped a smudge of dirt across her cheek with her wrist and sighed. “Are you here for trouble or to be a spider on my wall? Because I have no time for leering men peering down at me and my nuns like we're chocolate pie at the Easter picnic.”

Hopping down into the convent grounds, the Lieutenant grinned crookedly. “Was I leering? Aw, Missy, that was not my intention. It's only that it's been a long, long, very long while since I've seen living, breathing people.”

Wincing as she backed away from him, the woman frowned delicately, her mouth drawing in a thin line. Behind her the other nuns were gathering, they seemed less intimidating than the one in pure white.

“I think you should leave,” the woman suggested. “We are a peaceful place and we don't care or need the interference from the outside world.”

“Is there really no one left alive?” One of the young nuns in a blue dress asked. She didn't wear a full veil like the older nuns, her skirts reached to mid calf, black stockings and shoes hiding her feet and legs from sight.

“Not that I've seen, honeychild. Then again I've been keeping myself clear of the major cities, could be some, could be less than some, could be none.”

“Please,” the woman in white said. “Just leave. We don't want trouble.”

“Maybe we could offer him some food and at least a place to rest for the night?” An older nun suggested. “We all were strangers in Egypt, Philomena”

“Sister Mary Agnes, go inside, take the others.” The woman in white said firmly.

“Now, don't be so hard on them,” the Lieutenant amended. “I'm leaving. I didn't mean to shake things up. Just wanted to perch on your wall a little and take a rest.”

Hopping back up onto the eight foot wall with a little trouble, he managed to collect his things with some dignity, before giving the women below him one last look.

The leader, at least he assumed she was in charge, raised her chin a little and gave him a real hard look, her pretty, clear blue eyes narrowing a little in challenge.

Nodding, he leapt back down off their wall, heading for the little camp he had made for the day.

He had returned to what he did best for the next few days, killing uggies and scrounging for supplies.

Every now and then he thought of those nuns in their walled in garden. He worried about them. It was like a man trying to preserve the last of the endangered little critters, only with nuns.

For at least two weeks he resisted the urge to return, not wanting to harass them. But he was a weak man and that drum that pounded in his chest told him 'go back, go back, go back'. And those grey stone walls of the convent seemed to draw him like a magnet to metal.

They weren't in their garden when he finally managed to pull himself onto the wall, using a tree and a lot of long reaches, but he remained on the wall for a bit, hoping to spy one of them. He just needed to know they were okay, that he hadn't imagined them.

He sat on that wall so long that before he knew it, it was beginning to get dark, so he realized he had to go find some sort of place to hunker down for the night, a tree or an old foxhole, something tucked away enough for him to rest up.

Pulling out a bottle of Aspirin and a box of feminine pads he kept in his pack, the former for pain, the later for emergency bandages, he left them on his spot on the wall just behind the back door as a sort of offering, before he slipped down and back into his woods.

Slumping against the side of a house, he sunk down beside the latest uggie he had put down and sighed.

The Lieutenant was a social creature by habit, he had just fallen into a rut lately.

Wake up, crawl out from wherever he had bunkered for the night, kill some uggies, scrounge for some food and supplies, hunt if food wasn't available, dig down like a tick for the night and do it all over again, rarely staying in the same place twice.

His pack was getting heavy with things he needed to survive, his boots were worn thin, nearly to the foot itself. He had slogged his way north, south, east and west, but always somehow came back to the area surrounding the convent.

He needed some company, just a little chat with someone who didn't drool or moan, or at least didn't drool and moan until he bought them some dinner.

The farmhouse he had stumbled onto was a rundown shack, very little in uggie activity, but replete with goodies.

Digging through the pantry, he stuffed jar after jar of pickles, jams and preserves, until his pack was too full for any more.

So he ducked outside to bury most of his found treasure, in case anyone else came upon his goldmine, he wanted some things left for himself. It was a dog eat dog sort of world now.

Finding an old water pump, he helped himself to some well water and settled down to clean himself up some, shaving the itchy goddamned stubble away and rubbing stains out of his uniform where uggies had spewed their nasty fluids all over him like some goddamned reject from a devil possession movie.

Ducking back into the house before he left, he stuffed the last of the jars of food into his pack and zipped it shut.

He had enough jam and jelly and pickled veggies to get him through some rough times and in a few more months winter would be upon him.

Just as he was about to head out from the location, he spied some seed packs sitting on a windowsill in the mudroom and slowed down enough to read them.

As it did lately, his mind wandered to the nuns and their garden.

The Lieutenant snatched up the seed packs, stuffing them into his trouser pockets, before leaving the farmhouse.

Climbing onto the convent wall where he had found it easiest, just behind the back door, he began his search for life, before pulling out a few jars of preserves to give up to the nuns as an offering. He stacked the jars in such a way as to create a sort of cairn, into which he tucked the seeds, safe from birds.

He sat for a few more hours on the wall, before climbing down and slinking off into the forest.

Sitting high in a tree the next morning, he cleaned his rifle on his lap, legs thrown up comfortably on the branch he was straddling, the pipe brush tucked between his teeth as he rubbed his girl down.

Marie, his M40, prettiest girl he had ever held in almost a year. She was the only girl he trusted to bring down a zombie properly, his pretty Marie Laveau, but lately he had kept her quiet, holding on to her in the case of emergency. But his bullets were low and she made a hell of a noise.

Pausing as an uggie came from out of the trees into the clearing at the base of his tree, he studied her for a bit, trying to see if there were any more or just this one.

Just as he was thinking of ignoring this almost non-threat of one uggie, he heard it.

It was faint, on the wind, almost like the far distant sound of a train.

He froze at the most lonesome sound as a church bell chimed somewhere nearby.

At the same time the uggie caught the sound and twisted blindly in the direction, grunting and snorfling her way towards the sound.

“No,” he breathed, unable to accept that in these times, with these things shambling around, they would still be ringing that damned bell of theirs.

Had they been ringing it this entire time? How had they not been overrun by now?

He couldn't go, that bell would be calling every uggie in the area to the convent, but he couldn't sit and let chaos happen without him.

Calmly he reassembled his rifle, before gathering his things and stuffing them into his pack, dropping to the ground cautiously, knowing full well there would be a horde coming.

He clutched his knife, not trusting the uggies to come running if he had to fire a shot, keeping low and moving fast so as not to give them a target.

Skittering through the woods at the front of the convent wall, he stopped short and bobbed back into the woods, tucking himself under a log at the sight of a woman on the wall, a long sharp stick stabbing down at the uggies that had gathered below her.

There wasn't as many uggies as he expected, which he was grateful for, but there were enough that he worried for the woman.

She seemed to be handling herself fairly well, killing a few of the uggies with her stick, keeping her legs free of grasping hands as she moved quickly back and forth on the top of the wall.

The Lieutenant just lay there under his log, watching for a moment as the woman took out a few of the uggies on her own. Seemingly working like a robot, mechanical and thorough, eyes hard, face set grimly.

Spying a stick of his own nearby, he tugged at it, freeing it from the detritus it was tangled in, before emerging from his spot at a good enough moment.

He used the gate to hop up, climbing it onto the wall easily, joining the woman as they both took to stabbing at the uggies below them.

It wasn't until they both finished, that the Lieutenant chanced a look at the woman in jeans and a blouse beside him. Her queenly look, eyes that held the secrets of the universe but to hell with you if you wanted in on them, that pretty little face was familiar, but he struggled for a moment.

“Sister?” He asked, dropping to sit on the wall, eyeing the remains below them.

“Mother Superior...Philomena,” the woman corrected.

“Was that you and yours ringing that bell?” He demanded.

“Mass,” she said.

“You really oughtn't do that,” he pointed out, eyes on her small hands as they brushed imaginary dust from the thighs of her jeans.

“I won't stop them,” she stated. “When they're at mass I sneak out here to put these poor souls to rest. It's been working just fine for us.”

Looking around at the woods and the corpses and the cattle trail before them running from the gate to what he presumed was the highway, the Lieutenant asked, “where do you stash them?”

“I don't have time to give them a proper burial, but I've been laying them out in the woods just over there,” she motioned to the woods on the opposite side of where he had hidden himself.

“You're just a slip of a thing,” he said. “Must take you all morning.”

“Mass on Sundays will always go on for us,” she argued.

“Well, you've been lucky. So far you haven't had too big of a crowd, but the next one could be your last.”

She didn't say anything.

“If you wanna head back inside, I can take care of the dead for you,” he offered.

“Have you been leaving us things on the wall?” She demanded suddenly, turning to him almost accusingly.

If he hadn't known for certain she was a nun, he would have never been so scared of her, as it was he was a little transfixed by how hard her eyes could turn. They went from mists and mystery to glittering like two little aquamarines.

“I...uh...yes?” He felt like he needed to apologize, her eyes were so accusatory.

“That was very kind of you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her tiny frame.

Good lord, she was a doll of a woman.

“It was unkind of me to send you away,” she went on softly, in her pretty as a songbird way.

The Lieutenant grinned. “Aw, well, I am over six feet of solid marine training, I suppose I can intimidate unknowingly.”

“The thing is, I have my suspicions about what our world has come to and I want it all to stay outside these walls. I have gentle women here, kind and pure souls, I cannot abide the idea of them being tainted or harmed.”

He nodded, turning to face her properly on the wall. “I understand this. It's why I feel like y'all might need me here. I can help. I can...hunt or fix things, I'm very handy that way. I don't have anyone to protect anymore, let me protect you and yours here.” He tapped the heels of his boots against the wall as he swung them a little. “The thing is, Missy, I've been awful lonely lately. I just want a little company, someone to talk to.”

“Is it really that bad out there?” She asked him, looking horrified at his admission.

“There's no one left but us and the dead, I'm sure of it. And those who may be left have burrowed so deep down they won't be seen for years.”

Mother Philomena was quiet, twisting a gold wedding band on her finger. “Do you think God has abandoned us?” She whispered. “If these are the end of days? Have we not been accepted in the rapture?”

Finding tears making their way down the woman's pale cheeks, the Lieutenant inhaled sharply. “Oh, hey now, that's...” he couldn't lie to her. He never was one for God anyways, but he couldn't lie to her. “Well, we're left behind for a purpose, I suppose.”

The woman looked him up and down one last time, before saying, “you can stay. But if you harm any of--”

“I won't,” he said.

“Philomena,” the woman said once again in a more formal manner. “My name is Mother Superior Philomena. I'm the Abbess of this convent.”

“That's a mouthful,” the Lieutenant returned. “I'm just gonna call you Missy.”

“Is that what you think?” The woman inquired with a face carved of pure, supple marble, all signs of tears gone from her face.

The Lieutenant beamed. “Aw, well, where I come from diminutives and pet names are just how things are done. I had an uncle named T-Bob, well he was more of a distant great-uncle, or a cousin...he used to have this wart just-”

“I'm sorry,” the woman cut him off. “I didn't mean to give you a platform on which to spew your whimsical, folksy nonsense. If calling me Missy will end the diatribe, then by all means, call me whatever you choose.”

Grinning at this fiery thing that had emerged where a broken woman had previously sat, the Lieutenant looked down at his boots in effort to rein in any retort.

“Do you do more with that rifle of yours than just startle women?” Philomena asked, breaking in again.

“Why do you want to know?” He returned with a cheeky wink.

The woman looked at him as though he were a dangerous thing.

“Don't make me regret this,” she stated.

“I really didn't intend on ingratiating myself,” he began, following her as she hopped down from the wall to gather corpses.

“If we're the first people you've come across in months, then perhaps you were lead here for a reason,” the woman said. “I'm not above believing in that. The truth is we need protein in our diets and without the means of meat delivery, we have to rely on you. Can we work on a deal wherein you feed us and we feed you?”

“You have no one here at all to hunt for you?”

“We're a Cisterian order, Mister...what was it? Vancoughnett?”

“Lieutenant, but it doesn't matter.”

“Mister Lieutenant,” she amended, hitching up a corpse under her arms to drag off into the woods. “Since it doesn't matter.”

The Lieutenant beamed broadly and grabbed the feet of the corpse to help her. “Oh, I like you. Just enough salt in that sweet to cut it.”

“Lieutenant,” she went on. “We have our own hives and chickens, a dairy cow and garden, but we don't have our own animals to butcher and we are not hunters. If you behave and if you're willing, I don't see how having you around would harm. I just ask you keep far from my girls, you don't try anything untoward and you be kind to our older members. Sister Gertrude is...she has a delicate heart and I'm afraid too much of whatever it is you're full of may bring her into God's embrace sooner than His plan.”

Stopping short, the Lieutenant stroked his chin, it felt good to be clean shaven after a few weeks of beard. “What do I get out of this little arrangement?”

“Company,” she said. “Isn't that what you want?”

“But I can't talk to any of the girls here?”

“Lieutenant, you can talk to me. I can handle the devil on your tongue.”

The Lieutenant took a small step back to look at the woman in her entirety now that they were standing. If it wasn't for the fact she was a nun, he would have been head over heels. He liked saucy women who took no bullshit. Still, he had to make one thing clear. A little push back if he could on a subject which had been niggling at his brain.

“Those walls,” he began slowly and firmly, “have kept you safe, no man in floating in heaven or slugging his ass across the earth has done that. But when you have a wave of a thousand or more dead piling at that wall, you will find God abandoned you and hell is real and it is here.”

A gentle southern wind blew, ruffling her dark brown hair into her eyes and she paused to brush it back with a graceful hand.

He was reminded of that scene in Gone With the Wind, when Scarlett was pulling those turnips, her face still heavenly and beautiful, while her hair was tousled just right. He didn't know anything about nuns, but he had seen a movie once with Audrey Hepburn where she had her hair cut into a bob, but Missy had hair down to her mid back and a little beyond, wavy and pulled back at the front. She looked like any woman you'd see out shopping in a mall. Simple jeans, a flowery blouse and striking to any man interested in her country ways.

“I will consider your proposal about the bell for mass,” she said after a moment.

“That's all I ask, I only want to keep you and yours safe,” he said.

They headed back for another corpse.

“I don't know much about nuns,” he said. “If you'll forgive me for my ignorance.”

“We're a Cistercian order, which means we believe in manual labour, Eucharistic devotion and asceticism. We live simply, we want for nothing and we keep to ourselves.”

“For what end?” At her sharp look, he amended himself as gracefully as he could, “I mean, why do you keep to yourselves?”

“For divine contemplation.”

“Of course, I see,” he didn't really.

Taking another cool look at him, up and down with steel sombre eyes, the woman added, “no touching any of the nuns. That will be your first and foremost rule after the safety of my girls.”

For the rest of the time they worked in silence. He figured it’d be easier than asking more awkward questions about nuns.

#the job market is a hard nut to crack #but im doing my best #in the meantime enjoy an original story #if you like zombies and cajuns and nuns with guns then you'll like this #it's got found family elements and romance too

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the--blackdahlia · 6 years ago

Text

Legends of Yesterday Chapter 1 (Dean x Reader)

Title: Legends of Yesterday Chapter 1

Summary: Dean and (Y/n) are in love. But when a mysterious stranger shows up out of nowhere, making claims to the both of them, can they keep their happiness?

Warnings: Maybe just language, badly translated Greek, and a total ripoff of a scene from the Flash.

AN: I don’t think I ever posted the original on here, but I had written a different version of this before and scrapped it to rewrite it this way. This is part 1 of the Legends series. Hopefully you guys like this! Shout out to @anathewierdo for all your help!

“You have disobeyed me for the last time!”

“Don’t do this! Please!”

“Silence!”

“She is no longer yours.”

“No!”

“Pandora…”

****

(Y/n) set up with a gasp, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin. She ran a hand down her face, catching her breath. This dream had been happening more and more frequently. She couldn’t explain it. Neither could Sam or Dean. She was just thankful that they were out of town, hunting a vampire nest in Texas.

She set in bed for a second, just taking in the silence of the room. This dream was almost too real. Sometimes, she actually thought she was there. She couldn’t really see much; it was too blurry. The voices were clearly male though, this Pandora or whatever not having a say in what was going on. (Y/n) finally pulled herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She was in desperate need of a shower before work. No one was going to give tips to a sweaty mess.

The warm water rushed over her, waking her up and loosening the tight muscles. She didn’t sleep great when Dean wasn’t next to her, but here lately, she had been waking him up one too many times with the hyper realistic voices talking to her. She knew he didn’t mind; he had been there too, waking her up with his visions of hell and such. But she just felt bad doing it to him all the same. He was too good for her, despite what he told her and even himself.

“Do I really have to go to work?” (Y/n) asked herself as she got dressed. She didn’t have a uniform like most traditional diners that they had been to, but she still had to have an apron and she still had to look presentable. So no Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts and blood stained jeans. She was the only one out of the three of them that still had a wholesome record. She just had a few little tickets here and there for speeding and such, but didn’t everyone?

Well, obviously not Sam and Dean, but that was a totally different story.

She brushed her hair and teeth before heading out to work. She was going to be there all day, but the first half of the day was just taking inventory and ordering whatever was needed. Her boss trusted her more than he trusted his other employees and often left her to run it while he went out and about. Today was no different, but that’s how she made the big bucks.

Out of habit, (Y/n) quietly left the bunker, making sure the door didn’t slam. No one else was home, but she was just so used to doing it. She hated to wake the boys up so early, even though Dean was usually up not even five seconds of her leaving.

****

The day had flown by. Inventory had been quick, so (Y/n) got to go back home for a couple hours and get some things done around the bunker before heading back into work. She knew that was usually a mistake because she wouldn’t want to leave, but Sam and Dean still weren’t back yet. It was cold and quiet without them around to liven the place up, even when they weren’t talking to each other.

So she headed back to work, taking orders and ringing up meals. It wasn’t a horribly busy night due to it being the middle of the week. But this weekend would be a lot busier, and as the head manager, she would have her work cut out for her. That is, if she had to work this weekend. Thankfully, she had requested a weekend off. She deserved it.

Soon, the restaurant closed for the night and (Y/n) stayed behind to lock up the drawer and clean everything up. She was about to throw away what was left of the day’s pie when she heard an all too familiar rumble pull up outside. She turned to look as Dean appeared in front of the door, knocking lightly. (Y/n) smiled and unlocked the door, letting Dean in.

“Why, hello there handsome.” (Y/n) laughed. Dean just smiled and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. “Mmmmm Dean.”

“I missed you.” He said.

“I missed you too honey.” (Y/n) said, taking his hand and leading him to a table to sit down. “I’m taking it that the hunt went well?”

“Sammy got a little banged up, but that hair protected him.” Dean joked. (Y/n) took the pie and set it on the table in front of Dean with a fork. He looked up at her, a little confused.

“If you don’t eat it, it’s gonna be thrown away.” (Y/n) explained.

“Well, we can’t let that happen.” Dean laughed. He took a bite and smiled. “God (Y/n), you’re the best.” (Y/n) smiled.

“Well, I’m glad you think so babe.” She kissed his cheek while he munched on his pie then went to fill any salt shakers that were low. “I’m just glad that everything went okay for the two of you. But are Sam’s injuries that need stitched up kind or the just an ice pack kind?”

“Just an ice pack kind.” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of pie. (Y/n) put the salt refill away and went over to him, wrapping her arms around him. Dean scooted back from the table and pulled (Y/n) into his lap and burying his nose into her neck. “I probably should’ve called before I showed up, but I wanted to surprise you.”

“But if you would’ve called, I could’ve been at home waiting in your favorite outfit.” (Y/n) whispered into his ear, making the hunter shiver some.

“Maybe I should’ve called then.” Dean said, placing kisses on (Y/n)’s neck. “Could’ve told Sam to go to a motel for the night.” (Y/n) blushed a little and was about to kiss Dean when the door opened and someone walked in. (Y/n) turned to look.

“Hey, we’re closed.” Dean commented. But the man did not seem to listen.

“Faínesai ómorfi se aftí ti zoí ópos sto parelthón.” The man said. “You look as beautiful in this life as in the past.” Dean moved (Y/n) off of his lap and stood up. The man didn’t seem to be taking the hint.

“We have money. Just take it and go.” (Y/n) said, a small hint of fear in her voice. Monsters she could handle. People? They were unpredictable.

“I do not want money.” The man said, stalking closer to her and Dean. “I just want you my darling Pandora.” (Y/n) froze. Pandora? Was she in her dream again? Has she never woken up?

“There’s no one named Pandora here,” Dean grabbed the gun that he carried on him at all times. “Now why don’t you just get out of here before things get ugly?”

“Really now?” The man laughed, a smile on his face. “You modern men and your guns. Flash a pistol and you bring the world to your feet. Personally, I think they are just overcompensating for something you’re lacking.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m not leaving here without her. So just step aside.”

“Over my dead body.” Dean snapped back. The man pulled a knife out from an inside pocket in his jacket.

“That can be arranged.” The man said, a little too gleeful. He looked past Dean towards (Y/n). “You do blend in quite nicely this time around. Really immersing yourself in this time period.” Dean stepped into his line of sight. “Give her to me and I’ll make your death fast and honorable.”

“Not a chance.” Dean growled. He aimed his gun and fired a couple shots. But the man just smiled and waved his hand, turning the bullets to dust in midair.

“Oh my god.” (Y/n) gasped.

“What the hell are you?” Dean asked. The man just raised his arm to throw the knife in Dean’s direction.

“Hey!” Another voice said. The man turned as Cas appeared behind him. “I think you’re done here.”

“So is he.” The man chucked the knife at Dean then, barely missing him as (Y/n) pushed him to the ground and Cas used his grace to stop it.

“Where did he go?” Dean asked, sitting up and looking at (Y/n) to make sure she was okay. Cas looked around, not seeing the man anywhere. “And it took you long enough to get here.”

“I was busy.” Cas grumbled. The knife clattered to the floor in front of (Y/n) and Dean. She crawled forward and picked it up, staring at it. Cas walked over to her as Dean stood up and offered his hand to her. “I think we should get back to the bunker.” Cas said, looking around.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, helping (Y/n) to her feet and taking the knife from her.

“Let’s get out of here.” (Y/n) said. “I drove here though.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, looking at his friend. The angel nodded and held out his hand for (Y/n)’s keys. Dean wasn’t about to let her out of his sight, not after everything. Dean helped (Y/n) lock up the restaurant and they headed out to Baby. (Y/n) just wasn’t sure how to handle all of this.

“We’ll figure this out.” Dean assured her, driving back towards the bunker. (Y/n) nodded, but somewhere deep down, she wasn’t so sure.

Forever Tags: @serpentbaby @aiaranradnay @theas-bedtime-stories @af112992 @dekahg @cutie1365 @marvel-af @secretlyshycomputer @bandobsession98 @nanie5 @sammat97 @dslocum89 @wilford-motherluvin-warfstache @xxwarhawk @luciathewinchestergirl @newtospnfandom

Dean/Jensen Tags: @akshi8278

Supernatural Tags: @essie1876 @smoothdogsgirl @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @jadepc @sabigmart @winchestergeekfreak @winchesterslibrary

#legends of yesterday #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #supernatural #jensen ackles #greek mythology

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oldbluethings · 6 years ago

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werewolf fic

I wrote more of this. I guess it needs a name now since it’s decided to stick around (current name in my writing app is ‘Hey Ladies!’ idk why)

First part here

"What the fuck, Tony?"

Tony glared at Bruce and adjusted the ice pack on the back of his head. "You've already asked me that," he grumbled. "Several times." Damn, his head hurt.

"Well, let me rephrase the question then...” Bruce continued. “What are you planning to do with him? How long are you planning to keep him here? What the hell are we gonna do if SHIELD finds out? And what the fuck do we tell everyone else?" He ticked each point off on his fingers.

Those were all very important questions. Tony had already lost track. "I don't know yet," he answered honestly. "He saved my life. I want to know why."

Bruce threw up his hands.

Tony turned around so he could stare at the creature in the isolation room. He was still unconscious, but had started to stir within the last few minutes. Tied to the bed with soft restraints at his wrists and ankles. A control collar around his neck to prevent any shapeshifting. And still naked, though Bruce had thrown a sheet over him for decency's sake. The wounds he'd suffered last night had already healed, leaving smooth, clean skin behind. All except that vampire bite. Bruce had neutralized the toxin and closed it up with some sutures, but that was going to leave a scar.

He had an odd assortment of tattoos on his body—mostly his chest. Some magical language that Tony wasn't familiar with. He'd snapped a few photos to send to Wanda. She might know what they meant.

The were was definitely handsome, Tony thought, in an odd sort of way. Neck too long, maybe. But those eyes were something else.

"This isn't fair to him, either. Keeping him like this."

Tony looked up. He'd been caught staring, obviously. He cleared his throat and turned around.

Bruce's expression was soft. Weres and their treatment were a sore point for him, Tony knew. The guy had gone through a lot to come up with a working vaccine. "You know what you have to do. We can't just let him go."

Tony frowned. That wasn't an option. Not right now. "When have I ever done what I'm supposed to?"

Bruce smiled. "Never."

At that moment their prisoner woke up in earnest and immediately started thrashing on the bed.

"Damn it," Bruce muttered. "Let me get something to knock him out with." He jogged back to one of the supply cabinets and started rummaging inside.

Tony took advantage of the distraction to throw the ice pack on a table and enter the access code that lowered the energy shield. He stepped into the room.

"Tony, don't!" Bruce hesitated on the threshold, probably trying to decide if he should sedate their prisoner or Tony. "Damn it, you idiot. If—"

"Relax. It's fine. I'm vaccinated." Tony walked slowly into the room. "You can close that, by the way. I'm not in any danger." He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

"Tony," Bruce warned. But then Tony could feel the familiar rush of air as the field closed behind him.

The closer he got to the bed, the more agitated the werewolf became. Tony could see his throat working as he swallowed over and over again, the way his chest heaved with each breath. He pulled hard at the restraints, but a were was no stronger than a normal human and Tony knew they would hold. The collar would keep him from shifting and slipping out. He wasn't dangerous right now.

"Hey," Tony said.

The man met his eyes for a moment and then turned to look at the wall again. Tony could see him shaking.

His father had always told him that understanding your enemy was the key to defeating him. And Tony had taken that advice to heart, had studied sub-naturals, had come to understand their ways and customs. Their behavior. It gave him an edge against them, knowing their strengths and their weaknesses. Not just physically, but mentally.

Werewolves were a mess of conflicting instincts, he knew—that animal fear and desire and need constantly at war with human rationality. They were always fighting themselves. It was what made them so dangerous, so unpredictable.

But this man, the man who had saved him last night... Tony recognized a panic attack when he saw one—was, unfortunately, intimately acquainted with them. And the trigger for this one was obvious. He'd read enough animal behavior books to know that a wolf trapped on his back and surrounded by enemies was a dead wolf. But a wolf on his back surrounded by his pack...

He had a crazy idea. And his crazy ideas usually worked.

Tony reached his hand out slowly toward the man on the bed—calm, steady movements. Those amazing blue-green eyes darted around frantically—to his hand, the walls, Tony's face. The man started struggling in earnest against the restraints, bucking on the bed. A low growl rumbled from his chest.

"Tony, what the fuck are you doing?" Bruce's concerned voice came through the intercom.

"You've already asked me that. Several times," Tony reminded him, keeping his voice calm. "Just trust me."

Tony stepped closer and reached down toward the man. "Just trust me," he repeated, and then reached over to rest his palm on his chest. His skin was much warmer than a normal human's—smooth and hot, the growl a steady vibration beneath Tony's fingers. He hadn't been bitten yet, so that was a good sign. Tony took a deep breath and pressed down. Not hard, but enough to add a solid, grounding weight. Either this would work, or it wouldn't...

The growl tapered off and the man went absolutely still. Tony could see him blinking at the wall, a look of surprise on his face.

So far, so good. "You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Tony murmured. He pressed a little harder, maybe pushing his luck, but the guy responded by taking a shaky breath and relaxing further. Tony could feel his breathing finally becoming deeper. The rapid thud of the heart under his hand slowing.

The two of them just stayed that way for a while. Tony felt his own pulse slowing as the tension in the room dissipated, adrenaline ramping down. It struck him then, how weird this all was. He'd never really touched a were before this moment, he realized. And last night there had been several layers of nano particles between the two of them. He'd killed them, sure. But that was always at a distance, impersonal. This was a different experience entirely. Warm skin beneath his hand, feeling the other man's heart beating, his breathing.

Tony took advantage of their proximity to study the man's tattoos again. Blue lines—some old and faded, some newer. All forming intricate designs or runes and symbols that Tony didn't recognize. Not surprising—magic wasn't his thing. Bruce had mentioned they were probably protective spells, but he wasn't an expert either. They'd need to have Wanda take a look if they wanted to decipher them.

Movement under his fingers brought Tony back to the present. The were closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. "This is awkward," he said.

Tony had to agree with that. Definitely awkward. He lifted his hand and stepped back, putting a little more distance between them. "Done freaking out?"

"Yes." The man kept glancing over at him, then looking away. Tony knew eye-contact was hard for weres—an intimate gesture reserved for others of their kind. Those they were close to. Obviously, the two of them weren't quite there yet.

"What's your name?"

The guy broke the 'no eye-contact' rule to give Tony a scathing look. "You think I'd tell you that? You know I can't." Everyone knew sub-naturals could be bound by magic using their true names. A name was a precious thing, closely guarded.

Tony shrugged. "Okay. Fair point. Why did you save my life?"

The man lifted an arch eyebrow. "I might ask you the same question."

Tony crossed his arms. "I asked first."

"Touché," the werewolf muttered, and the faintest smile played on his lips. "Very well." He sighed and turned to face the wall again. "Last night, I was tracking the vampire that attacked you. My... colleagues and I had destroyed its nest earlier. That old one slipped away from us during the ensuing fight. I came upon the two of you and saw an opportunity to finish the job."

There were a ton of interesting tidbits in that. Particularly the fact that werewolves were teaming up to destroy vampires. During the wars, vamps and weres had fought together as uneasy allies. He'd heard rumors that their truce had broken down. Unless... Tony realized the guy hadn't actually mentioned a pack. He'd said 'colleagues'. Interesting word choice. Either way, there was some shit going down in the world of the sub-natural.

Also, a lot of that story was bullshit.

"So, you weren't actually saving me? Just tying up a loose end?"

"Exactly."

"Here's what I don't get..." Tony strolled over to the nearest wall so he could lean casually against it. "We're enemies, right? You know who I am. You know what I do for a living."

The guy nodded cautiously.

"So why didn't you just wait until that sucker finished me off? Kill two birds with one stone?"

The were opened his mouth. "I..." he started, before frowning. The same look of confusion that Tony remembered from last night crept over his face.

Tony waited. "Don't have anything to say to that, do you?" Apparently, this would remain a mystery to both of them.

The guy gave Tony a baleful glare and tugged on the restraints. "What are you going to do with me?"

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it, caught off guard by the change in subject. It was a good question, though.

What the fuck was he going to do? He still had no idea. What was the endgame here? The responsible thing—and the only legal option—would be to neutralize the threat. If Rhodey or Steve or those militant assholes at SHIELD found out he'd saved a were and brought him here, there'd be hell to pay. But how could he kill a man who'd saved his life? A man he'd just rescued from a panic attack? A man he'd had a conversation with?

He looked back up just as it dawned on him that he'd trapped himself. He'd trapped both of them.

The were gave him a knowing smile.

Tony nodded at him. "Touché."

@ironstrange-advent-calendar @easnowpw

#ironstrange #werewolf au #stephen strange #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #ironstrange advent calendar #prompt fic

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dumbassbestiary · 6 years ago

Text

That Time Camille Met Glenn - Drabble (NSFW)

{The fic i wrote for @nosferatuinblue as crack that then became Glennmille. Go figure.}

It was the mid-nineties: Bill Clinton was President (possibly, I don’t know the exact dates), Vanilla Ice was inexplicably a musical star, and cartoons had never been edgier.

As Camille stepped out of the Trans Am, and threw away the phone book she’d been sitting on to properly operate it, the night smelled of blood…and opportunity.

She’d picked up the car in New Jersey after its owner had wolf-whistled at her. Said owner - a hard-as-nails ex-con who’d done fifteen at Riker’s for armed robbery - now sat in several trash cans behind a Shoney’s. Camille had picked the fragments of skull and brain that’d been left on the wheel of his car after she’d smashed his head against it fourteen and a half times, and chewed them during the drive like gum.

Now, she was in the great state of New York: one of the many stops in her wet (read: bloody), hot (read: deathly cold), American Summer (read: winter). During this little excursion across the states, she’d killed no less than forty people, all of which would be attributed to other, less-competent murderers across the country. She’d kill many more before the trip was up, but that’s not the story we’re telling today.

It’s outside of a filthy-looking dive bar called Randy’s that we join our sanguinarian heroine (Anti-Heroine? Villain?) as she prepared for a night of miscellaneous debauchery.

She trudged across the blacktop, wearing painted-on jeans and a leather jacket that made her look like a tiny biker. She fiddled with a curly lock of her kinky, purple hair and grinned - at a place like this, all bets were off, and that’s the only occasion where Little Miss Domino felt like she could truly have a good time.

The guy at the door was about to make a comment - maybe about her skin, or her gaping facial triangle where her nose should have been, or her pointy buck teeth. The exact nature will never be known, because when Camille’s hand darted preemptively for his groin and squeezed his nuts into butter, the sound he made could only be heard by dogs, and all nearby dogs were reticent to deliver the exact nature of his pained exclamation.

She passed through the door without a care as the beefy doorman crumbled next to her.

When she saw the inside of the bar - which looked kind of like if you took all the furniture out of a doll house and arranged it around the dirtiest gutter, full of dead rats and used condoms, that you’ve ever had the misfortune to see in your life - she wanted to chug ten gallons of Purell with a chaser of a bathtub full of bleach. But, she managed to suppress the urge, when something else distracted her.

There was a man at the bar - not exceptionally tall, but still somehow imposing. His pale, angular face betrayed a preternatural sense of malice that Camille felt she could really identify with - and his hair might have been the only set of hair in the bar frizzier than her’s.

Like a nest of ginger clown pubes, Camille thought.

He swilled his drink, uninterested. There was something else on the stranger’s mind - but what?

She’d just have to find out.

Camille sauntered over to the bar, and floated up onto the seat.

The stranger didn’t turn to regard her. He just looked at the two ice cubes floating in his drink.

“Hey,” the bartender, who looked like an angry Mario, said on approach. “No kids in my bar.”

Camille’s teeth clenched, and her eyes took on a strange, reflective quality.

The bartender felt mesmerised, and oddly…compliant.

“Take off your belt,” she said, her voice lisping but not undermining the gravity of her tone. “And hang yourself in the bathroom.”

The bartender nodded.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He walked off to the bathroom, loosening his belt.

The redhead stranger perked up, like someone had just told him his VD test came back negative, and turned to Camille. She noticed he was wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen: palm trees, guns, and corgis.

“Nice work,” he said, his voice deep and cruel. “Normally, I need to unholster something to be that persuasive.”

Camille smiled.

“It’s a gift,” she said.

“You got a name?”

“Camille. You?”

“Rhodes. I’d get you a drink, but you just sent the bartender to go all Hari-Kari in the stalls.”

Camille giggled.

“I don’t like anything on tap here, anyway.”

Glenn put his drink down on the bar, and leaned against his hand.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of me,” he said.

“Huh?”

“It’s why you approached me, right? You’ve heard frightened whispers about the great Glenn Rhodes, and you wanted to come try my services.”

She cocked her head, perplexed.

“Are you a gigolo or something?”

Glenn sneered.

“I’m the guy you pay when you want someone dead. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The pint-sized vampire practically snorted in amusement.

“If I want someone dead, they end up dead. I don’t need to pay Ronald McDonald to do it for me.”

The look in Glenn’s eye after that told her she’d touched a nerve. Maybe a mean name he’d been called back in high school. There was a moment of excitement where she thought he might try something, but instead, he just sighed softly, composed himself, and put on the most perfect example of a shit-eating grin.

“Say, anyone ever tell you that you sound a little like Sylvester the Cat?” he asked.

Camille felt the muscles in her face tense.

“What?” she said, giving him a chance to walk it back.

“From Looney Tunes. Try to say Suffering Succotash, you’ll see what I mean.”

Not wanting to dignify his idiotic taunting with a response, she leaned forwards, and moved the edge of his green bomber jacket to the side, so she could see the large hunting knife holstered at his hip.

“You know what they say about men with big knives,” she said.

Rhodes grabbed her by the wrist, irritated.

“They make big stab wounds,” he said.

Camille - not one to ever let herself be bested - grabbed his arm with almost bone-crushing force.

Rhodes winced and resisted the powerful urge to let out a scream.

“Yeah,” Camille said, smiling. “But they usually don’t need them.”

She let him go, and he brought his aching wrist back, rubbing it. His pride was hurting worse.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, short stack,” he said. “I’d hate to be your boyfriend.”

Camille’s eyebrows arched into a “V.”

“Oh yeah?” she said.

***

The bar was evacuated by police within the hour, when someone stumbled into the bathroom, found the hanging bartender, and spilled what they intended to put in the toilet down the side of their left leg.

By that time, though, Camille and Glenn were gone - they were having nasty car sex in the back of the Trans Am like a pair of dumb, horny teens with a respectable collective body count.

She was on top. She was always on top.

“Jesus Christ,” Glenn said, between heavy breaths. “Why are you so cold? I feel like I’m fucking a corpse.”

“How do you know what that feels like?” Camille asked. “And you could have at least taken your gun belt off, you fucking jerk.”

Glenn didn’t answer, but the insults did make them both, for some reason, feel a little more aroused.

They both went at it like wolf-rabbits for a strong three minutes before an explosive conclusion. Camille’s Orlock-esque cum face would haunt his memories until Jenny Walker shot him through the head two years later in the ruins of the Dubois mansion, after an exciting but somewhat confusing fight scene.

Afterwards, they put their clothes back on, and sat in the back of a dead man’s stolen car - feeling, as all of their other sexual partners had before, deeply regretful.

Neither of them asked whether it was good for the other. They weren’t the kind of people who cared.

“Well,” Glenn said. “That’s one for the memoirs I’ll never write. If I did, though, they’d legally have to publish them under horror.”

“Oh, please,” Camille said. “Don’t flatter yourself. I had sex with Pope Pius X. Don’t let the name fool you, he was the freakiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. He tried stuff I couldn’t describe.”

Glenn shuddered at the mental image.

“I better get off…” Glenn said, climbing out of the back seats of the Trans Am.

“I thought you just did,” Camille said, thinking it was very clever and funny.

“There’s some people I need to kill,” he finished.

“Yeah,” Camille said. “Me too.”

Note: if Camille was able to read this narration, she’d also have replied “I thought you just did” to “he finished” as well. She would have thought that was very clever and funny too.

That was the first and last time they’d ever met - nobody could make a definitive comment on the nature of their relationship. Were they friends? No. Lovers? I mean, could you really call that back seat abomination love? Did they even like each other? Who knows?

The thing that could indeed be said about their relationship, though, is that they probably deserved each other.

#( Glenn )#nosferatuinblue #drabble #( Hate To Be Your Boyfriend )#((I love writing her fics))#((this is one of my faves honestly))

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