#it was just such an emotional and cathartic chapter for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wildemaven · 1 year ago

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strangers : poolside | dave york

pairing: dave york x f!reader word count: 6622 content warnings: 18+ blog; ANGST, soft!Dave, established relationship, miscommunication (like a lot), mentions of alcohol and food, workaholic Dave, morning breath, Dave’s stupid phone, talks of marital woes, slight exhibitionism, breast/nipple/clit play, a random handsome stranger, jealous Dave, talk of having or wanting children, a kiss of fluff, implied/alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn’t know this), reader is mentioned wearing lingerie and a bathing suit- but zero description features, no age given but it’s implied she’s at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know. notes: ahh! I’m so nervous for this chapter!! But so excited for it also. I’m so glad I took my time with it so it could be exactly what it needed to be— which is kinda of a roller coaster of emotions. While the story is completely fictional, this has felt very cathartic to me because I dealt with a lot of similar thoughts/feelings as the reader. Anywho! Biggest thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for literally holding my hand through this and helping me work through it. 💕 strangers masterlist | previous | next | inspo board | playlist

The soft glow of the television bathes the hotel room in a soft ambient flicker. Faint colors and scene changes adjust the room’s atmosphere. Actors silently exchanging words back and forth, expressions all the more dramatic with the muted volume. The movie you’ve been looking forward to seeing, long forgotten, playing out in silence across the screen.

As expected, the bed is better than anything you have ever slept in. Its plush mattress, divine and soft. Similar to what you assume it might be like to doze off among the clouds. It braces your bodies with ease through shifting positions as the evening extends into the early hours of the next day.

The intricate structure of lace and mesh material felt exquisite on your skin. Molding over your body like it was made for you and only you. The cups of the teasing bra cradling the weight of your breast, pushed up on display, enticing enough to bring a man to his knees— the plan at least. Taking your time, admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror once everything was in place. Your eyes roaming over your body, letting your hands follow suit. Imaging all the ways Dave would map over your skin in the same manner. The prospect for what was to come was thrilling. Desire blooming in your veins. Arousal warm and already pooling in the crotch of your panties. It was evident, your body filled with pent up lust, ready to be satiated by your husband.

You delicately dotted drops of perfume to your skin— base of your throat, behind your ears, inner wrists. The warmth from your pulse points amplifying the lush fig and sandalwood notes, blending with your natural pheromones instantaneously. Before rejoining Dave, you slipped a hotel robe over your body, concealing the lacey number with wild anticipation.

His hands, gentle where they met your body with a soft caressing motion. Not rushed or seeking more than they were ready for. Blazing heat emitted from him, scorching your skin with a fieriness you so desperately craved. They stilled. Lingered.

Dave. Your voice cautious, velvety sweet, calling out to him.

The sounds that fell from his lips were beyond anything you could have prepared for. A booming roar reverberated through him. Filling the room. Consuming you. As quickly as the rousing fuse had been lit, it had just as quickly fizzled out mid burn.

Dave’s snoring was like a shock to the system. The warm buzz of arousal dissolved into a cold emptiness as you lay in bed alongside Dave’s sleeping form. No amount of lace or lack thereof, seemed to be enough to seduce the sluggish man, already nodding off when you had come slinking out from the bathroom. Propped up on pillows, his eyelids growing heavy with each forced blink as stared blankly at the television. His dinner plate picked over and discarded onto the nightstand.

This scenario you knew all too well— and regularly. The build up, always so hopeful. The prospect of Dave having his way with you, pure exhilaration. Your body so desperate, in need of a release that didn’t hail from a hurried moment alone with a tiny vibrating wand before crawling into bed with Dave’s sleeping form.

Your brain refused to shut off as you lay staring up at the ceiling, willing away tears. You finally settled on the only thing that made sense at this early hour. He no longer desired you like he once did. No amount of time or vacations away could restore that connection. Then there was also that outcome that you dreaded the idea of entertaining— maybe it just wasn’t you he desired.

The whole evening had been on a constant loop. Replaying and taking precedence over your usual fictional fantasies that unfolded upon entering a heavy slumber. The hotel suite balcony offered a reprieve from the room, quietly sipping your coffee alone.

It was mid morning when you decided to crawl out of bed, in desperate need of something to numb the dullness that settled behind your eyes. Sleep did little to ease the tornado of thoughts that swept through your mind as the sun rose over the coast of California. Your brain had a funny way of tormenting you with fabricated information. On high alert the minute it sensed uncertainty, in search of answers to unasked questions.

As the coastal fog burned off, you were able to properly take in the view. A colony of gulls flew by, their collaborative squawking was every bit as annoying as it was captivating.

Fellow early risers strolled the sidewalks below, coffees and large water bottles in tow, all absorbed in their little private worlds. Couples hand in hand, in search of the perfect ocean view to start their day. A strange feeling of resentment had crept in. These strangers, carrying on with their lives, seemingly unaware of the jealousy you harbored for their happiness.

Your thoughts trail back to Dave and the evening again. It was only the first day and the optimism around this vacation was starting to wane.

“Shit— I must have really needed some fucking sleep.” Dave groans as he joins you on the balcony, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sheet wrinkles embedded into the side of his face matched the similar ones on his cotton pajama pants and gray sleep shirt. His sleep etched voice is one of your favorite things to wake up to each morning. “I don’t even remember falling asleep at all.”

His body molds into yours, caging you in against the edge of the balcony. He’s warm and soft first thing in the morning. Like a moth to a flame, his lips find your skin. Tiny wet pecks from the base of your neck to your temple.

There was a point in time where things in your marriage felt very easy and Dave wasn’t always so invested in his work. You never felt like you were competing with files and phone calls for his undivided attention. The infatuation he held for you was palpable, leaving little room for doubt or worry.

When you met Dave there was an enigmatic quality about him. Neither of you were in a relationship or seeking out one, but also not completely opposed to the prospect of exploring one if something happened to fall into your laps. A chance meeting at a bar when his drink had literally fallen into your lap led to the rest of the evening spent tucked away in a dimly lit booth. The buzz of alcohol had you talking his ear off, and he allowed you to do so, consuming every little detail about you.

Dave shared minimal information about himself. Very on brand for his reserved but alluring demeanor. Aside from basic introductory facts, the only real thing you knew about him was his recent discharge from the military and his onboarding career in the CIA.

By the end of the night, you felt there was something intriguing about Dave, completely drawn to him. He was kind, generous and clearly the greatest listener. Ideally, he was someone you could see yourself with, wanting to know the ins and outs of who he was. So much so, you gave him your number. Scrawled across a beer soaked napkin, the ink bleeding out as each digit was carefully written out. He even said he’d call, leaving you with a kiss on your cheek before rejoining his buddies and calling it a night.

It was a week before you heard from him again, nearly giving up any hope he would be even remotely interested in you.

You learned that Dave’s walls were strong. Built of the strongest concrete. Resistant and impermeable to the elements. Over time his walls couldn’t withstand the depth at which you were willing to endure for him. Slowly crumbling and exposed. Finding that underneath the rubble was a man who was all in. A man who loved hard and never once made you question his loyalty to you.

“We can blame it on the jet lag.” You laugh softly into the coffee mug, taking another sip�� definitely in need of more.

“Good morning, Honey.” He says, nudging his aquiline nose into your cheek, instinctively turning into him.

“Morning, Babe.” Dave turns you, the top of your robe slides off your shoulder— exposing the lace set you were still wearing.

“You’re still wearing it. Didn’t even get the chance to peel it off of you like I wanted to last night.” Pulling at the robe belt, the front falls open. Dave’s eyes widened, taking you all in, his irises now a deeper shade of his usual brown. “

“Yeah, well—“ You huffed, suppressing the impulse to acknowledge the hurt that was still ever-present.

“Fuck— Baby, I’m sorry. I'm two for two now. Let me make it up to you?”

Dave’s hands breach the inside of your robe. His hips flush to you— he’s hard, morning wood ready and eager. His deft fingers slide up the length of your spine, your skin covered in goosebumps once he reaches the clasp of the bra.

“Morning coffee breath— I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” Your head swerves his oncoming kiss, pulling the front of your robe closed again.

A hitch in your confidence. Curling in on yourself as you dislodge your body from where he has you pinned. That hot coiling response building in your lower abdomen, moments ago desperate for the way Dave wants you, now subsiding to a low simmer.

“You— um, have those calls you still need to make this morning?” You ask him, standing half way through the door, turning enough to catch the sunlight illuminating the bafflement on Dave’s face.

“Uh— Yeah. Still need to make those calls.” Dave’s dejected tone hits you like a bucket of ice. His head hanging and palms digging into his eyes.

“How long do you think it should take?”

“Few hours, give or take. Done by noon at the latest.”

“Okay. Maybe, if you’re up for it when you’re done— maybe we can go to the pool? Lounge a bit. Have some drinks. I got some new bathing suits, and have been dying to wear them. I think you might even like them.” An olive branch in the form of you served on a platter wearing minimal clothing. The likelihood of Dave accepting is rather favorable.

It’s unmistakable, devouring you— all conspicuous like and intense. Surveying every inch of your form leaning against the doorway.

Up the length of your smooth bare legs. The front of the robe flapping with the ocean breeze offering a peek of thigh and black lace. The fingers of your free hand toy with the collar, making it lay askew across your chest. A single breast exposed to cool morning air, nipple tight against the sheer material.

His gaze finally meets yours, shoulders lowering to their normal level. The slightest lift at the corner of his mouth, tip of his tongue gliding over his full bottom lip. Both of you landing on the same page, temptation reciprocated with blatant irresistibility.

“Yeah— Yeah, we can definitely do that.” He replied, his smile widening, the corner of his eyes crinkled— the Dave you fell in love with all those years ago in his truest form.

“Okay. I’ll order us some breakfast then. More coffee too. I drank the whole pot.” There’s a giddy feeling erupting inside of you. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve seen Dave smile— genuinely smiling.

“Not surprised by that one bit. Hey—“ Capturing your attention before you’ve completely left the balcony. “I love you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do. I love you, too.”

Maybe it’s complacency that makes you feel like things within your marriage are stagnant, even borderline dull as of recently. The lack of regular intimacy, a normal thing all couples encounter at some point through their years together, not a telltale sign of extramarital meandering. Maybe that’s also not a bad thing. Just a season of life. A small hiccup in your otherwise normal and loving relationship.

As promised, it’s noon by the time Dave wraps up his final phone call and you’re both sitting atop the roof of the hotel. Basking in the sweltering rays of the California sun is exactly what was needed after being cooped up in the room all morning.

Breakfast in bed while Dave paced the length of the balcony. One phone call after the next, all varying in degrees of duration and intensity based on how animated Dave’s hand gestures and contorted expressions were. You had delivered his plate of eggs, sausage and toast during his first call, leaving it on the small table along with a fresh pot of coffee. He kissed you and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before sinking his teeth into the burnt buttered bread and continuing his meeting or whatever it was he was doing.

The minute he walked in announcing he was finished, your two piece suit was on and you were throwing Dave’s swim trunks at him from across the room. Tote bag containing pool lounging necessities— sunscreen, sunglasses, current book, wallet —was packed and waiting by the door. Your sheer excitement filled the room, a contagious feeling in the way Dave was mildly laughing at your frantic antics.

Either you both were the only ones staying at this hotel or no one else found joy in a gorgeous rooftop pool like you did. In the few hours spent lounging poolside, there was one, maybe two, other guests that also had an afternoon by the pool on their itinerary, too. There was a silent understanding among everyone that they stay in their respective spaces, evenly spaced out.

No one was complaining though. Fewer people meant less people lined up for cocktail refills at the bar. Fewer obnoxious conversations you didn’t have to drown out while focusing on the romance novel you were close to finishing. Zero avoidance of bodies in the water while Dave and you took a dip to cool off. Aside from visiting the pacific, this is how you intended to spend the rest of your days in California.

The moment you dive into your book, time and everything around you becomesa faint distraction from the fictional world you're absorbed in. The sheriff with his cowboy drawl and ridiculously handsome mustache, falls for the sweet baker. A reunion of past lovers, doing life together somewhere on the east coast in the small town they both reside in. A typical smitten cowboy vying for her love and attention at any chance he gets. There’s a permanent smile plastered across your face, dog-eared corners for future you to return to with the intention to relive the passages all over again. Page by page, you’re so engrossed with their whirlwind romance— you never want it to end.

The book consumes you longer than you planned for. So much so, you're unaware of the fact that Dave is no longer immersed in the LA Times he picked up in the hotel lobby earlier. The inked paper now folded neatly and discarded on the ground next to your tote.

Dave’s tortoise colored shades blocking out the sun and hiding the fact that he’s passed out. For how long, you’re not sure. Breathing is light and rhythmic. His usual thundering snore trades for small puffs of air from his parted lips. His bare golden chest, now a pale shade of red— shit!

Folding the current page of the book, tossing it to the end of your lounge chair, you sit up in search for more sunscreen for Dave, and yourself. Sifting through the contents of your tote, finding the bottle conveniently at the bottom. Hating the feeling of residual lotion getting between your jewelry, you remove your rings and toss them into a secured pocket inside the tote.

“Dave? Babe, wake up!” Gently nudging his bare shoulder to wake him.

“Hmmm—“ Dave grumbles a string of incoherent sleep laden words, lifting his head in your direction.

“Sorry. You passed out and I was so caught up in my book, I didn’t realize the umbrella shade wasn’t covering us anymore. You’re not completely burnt, but we’ve been here for a while. Sit up and let me put some more sunscreen on you.” You motion for him to sit forward, then squeeze a heaping amount of lotion in your hand, tossing the back into the tote.

Dave hissed, his back arching as you smooth the lotion over his warmed skin, allowing himself to ease into your touch after a few tensed moments. His head hangs below his shoulders as you continue to work the sunscreen over every inch of him that’s exposed to the blazing sun.

“Fuuuuck— that feels nice.” He groans when your touch switches to a different pressure. Adjusting your focus from protecting him from the harmful rays to pampering him, working out the built up tension he carries around daily.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his back as they glide up the length of his spine, pinching and squeezing over the rounded muscles of his shoulders. Thumbs pressing into the tender spot in his neck he’s been rubbing at for the better part of the last few weeks, craning his neck to the side. So relaxed you can barely make out his mumbled appreciation. “That fucking knot has been bothering me— Ouch! Fucking hell, woman!”

“Shh! So dramatic.” You laugh, easing up on the pressure. Your hands still lingering, smoothing over his broadness, taking advantage of the closeness.

“Oh, quit it. Those hands always were fucking magic, though. Already feels better when I move it.” Demonstrating how limber and loose it feels, rolling his head from side to side.

Were. His use of past tense doesn’t go unnoticed. It might have just been an unintentional slip, but its use isn’t lost on you in the slightest. It feels like it’s been ages, since you had explored each other— more than just a fleeting brush of hands. Reveling in an endless honeymoon phase, well beyond the traditional sense. You can only assume he had that same realization too, hence his choice in using were instead of are. But this moment feels too good to dwell on the logistics of proper past and present tense, so you push the thought aside.

“I’m sure if you play your cards right, there’s plenty more magic these hands can do later.” You playfully purred, not missing the way Dave’s eyebrows jut up from behind his sunglasses— that catches his attention.

You settle back into your lounge chair, sliding the straps of your bikini top down and off your arms, turning it into a makeshift strapless top as you prepare to cover yourself in a fresh layer of sunscreen.

“What are you doing?” Dave tilts his head forward, just enough so he can peer at you over his glasses.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m reapplying some on myself, too.” Running the oily lotion up your arms and shoulders.

“Here. Let me help you. Seems only fair.” His hand reaches out to you.

“It’s fine, Dave. I can manage.”

You’re not sure why you're shocked by his offer. Probably because you just assumed he would be diving back into reading up on worldly news. Top slimy politician was fighting for his life against rather damning accusations— the man is guilty, solely based on public opinion polls and your inherent duty as a woman to always believe the woman. Research shows more couples are putting their careers first, waiting to have children well into their thirties— that one does catch your eye, making a mental note to snag the article at some point. Sure, you can manage, but you also don’t want to. Not with him right here, so willing and capable.

“Don’t be stubborn, Baby. And don’t think I won’t drag that sweet ass of yours over here if I have to. Give me the bottle and sit down.”

It feels incredible. You have to remind yourself that you’re both in a public setting. This isn’t the time nor the place to let the salacious side of you self-indulge, but Dave’s hands are inducing the most carnal thoughts and it’s taking everything in you to not haul him back up to the room.

Dave had practically hauled you into the chair. Maneuvering you both into a comfortable sitting position, his legs spread and feet planted firmly on the ground and you practically sitting in his lap.

The task at hand is long forgotten, no longer a priority or even a relevant thought as you melted into him. His chest firm against your back, thighs caging and tight against your own.

It’s when his hands cup your breast that nearly sends you into another dimension, so brazen and menacing. A practiced musician, slowly plucking each string of his beloved instrument as the chords play the intro to his well rehearsed song. Rolling your peaked nipples between his fingers, the fabric of your top adding just the right amount of pinched pulsation. Your eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back onto his shoulder, stifling a moan as pleasure surges through you.

“I swear to god, Dave— fuck! Someone is going to catch us! ahh! Y-you need to s-stop before…”

“Hmmm. I don’t know, Baby— I think you want them to see. Want them to catch my hands all over you. Hear the sounds I’m able to pull from you. I could probably fuck you right here and no one would even care.” Dave murmurs into your ear. A husked sonorous tone that has you completely surrendering to him.

He seems to have this whole thing thoroughly thought out in a brief amount of time. Keen to his surroundings, already having scanned the entire area, aware of the people situated in cabanas on the far corner of the pool— paying no mind to either of you. His methodical nature takes hold, even as exposed as you are, he’d never put you in any situation he didn’t have complete confidence in.

“Dave—“ Your body writhes with each continuous change in motion, the way he’s oscillating between a dizzy tweak of your nipples and the sudden dart of his tongue grazing your ear lobe.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you. It’s been so long— fucking miss the way you feel, Baby.” Fuck. He’s not wrong.

You might have even mentioned you would be into it at some point. All vulnerable and the slightest possibility of being detected. It was more thrilling than you had expected it to be. You weren’t even ashamed how you were so absolutely turned on by your own boldness.

“Please—“

“I bet you’re fucking wet for me too. Hmm? Would take much— pull those skimpy little bottoms to the side, bet I’d slide right in.” God you were! Unquestionably so, and throbbing.

His hand traveled to where you’ve been craving him for so long, fingers brushing the top of your bathing suit bottoms.

“Christ! Don’t you d-dare put those lotion covered fingers anywhere near my— Fuuuuck!”

Dave wouldn’t dare, but that doesn’t mean he won’t work around it. His hand cupping your clothed mound, your eager hips rocking against the heel of his palm. His face smashes into your cheek when he feels how wet you are, your bottoms sticky with arousal and clinging to your pussy as he slides two fingers back up to your aching clit. Groaning as he takes your lobe between his teeth and gently bites down.

“Tsk tsk!” Clicking his tongue in a menacing manner. “Eyes open, Baby. Need you to keep watch, can’t have anyone seeing you while you fall apart.”

You’ve missed this side of him. Spontaneous sex was always something that was a regular occurrence in your early relationship even well into your marriage. You always looked forward to the days he’d come home without so much as a hello when he walked through the front door. His briefcase and coat were abandoned somewhere in the entryway— I missed you so much today. Need you right now —and then he was fucking you like a starved man against the wall in the hallway.

“Dave—“ Your lashes flutter, the sun unforgiving as you fight to keep your eyes focused on your surroundings. Your body so desperate for pleasure, so willing to succumb, just needing a little help to get there.

Each tender circle he draws over your clit has your brain muddled with bliss. A restrained whimper escapes, doing your best to concentrate as Dave continues to work you into a euphoric mess. But it’s so hard when your body has been yearning for this, all of this, for so long.

Your nails bite into his thighs as your lower abdomen begins to tighten.

“Baby, you’re gonna have to be quiet. Those gorgeous sounds are gonna get us in trouble.” Fuck! Almost there! So fucking close—

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

“Dave— is that…” The lounge vibrates, halting Dave’s movements. The orgasm that was just starting to barrel towards you, vanishing from your grasp.

“Shit! I, uh, think someone saw us—“ What?! No one is even paying attention!

Dave extricates himself from the chair, adjusting his sunglasses and his pronounced erection bulging under his swim trunks. He hastily grabs for some things as you sit perplexed by the sudden change in his demeanor. Your sexy audacious husband is gone before your eyes— leaving you with the tight lipped cryptic Dave, who you can’t seem to get a read on.

“What the fuck, Dave!” Watching as he slips on his sandals and throws his shirt over himself, playing no mind to a single button.

“Let’s finish this later— when we get back to the room, hmm? I’m gonna… go get us more drinks.” He says as he kisses the top of your head and heads in the direction of the bar. Hoping he brings back some shots, because you’re gonna need something strong to take the fucking edge off.

“Yeah— sure…” You say. Stunned and breathless.

You're not sure if you want to cry, scream or laugh as you crawl back into your chair. Maybe a mixture of all of them. What a sight that would be.

That brief glimpse of the fun adventurous Dave was intoxicating, even now your body is still buzzing and aroused. There’s a pang in your chest at how quickly he was able to mold back into the man you’ve needed for the past year, yearned to have back. Then instantly closed off and distant as if it never happened. Maybe the sun was getting to you, that whole moment some fucking hallucinated fantasy.

Rather than dwell on it, you push the hurt aside. You reach for your book and settle back into the chair. Finding where you left off and jumping back in with the handsome sheriff, who literally worships the ground that this woman walks on— must be nice.

“S’cuse me ma’am. Sorry to bother you, but is this seat taken?” A deep voice breaks your concentration, realizing he’s in fact asking you if the unoccupied seat next to you is available.

A man in his mid forties, maybe early fifties is standing at the foot of the chair next to you. Your sunglasses hide the fact that you're giving him a once over, noting every detail about this random stranger who’s decided of all the empty seats, he wants the one next to you.

His hair is slightly disheveled in a deliberate manner. Peppered streaks of gray throughout his curly locks. He’s wearing green and red plaid swim shorts and a worn dark blue t-shirt, kind of an odd pairing but it seems to work for him. You notice a dimple hidden beneath the gray scruff that almost hides his angular features. He seems harmless and rather handsome— plus, it would be rude to turn him away with no explanation.

“Nope. Feel free to use it.” You smile at him kindly and go in search of the words you had just read.

“Thanks so much.” He says as he removes his shirt and settles down on the lounge chair.

“Of course. It’s no problem at all.” You tell him.

You don’t even dare to look in his direction. You imagine this is what Eve felt like, tempted and allured by carnality in the form of an apple. Except your carnal desire is a fizzling orgasm your husband couldn’t even be bothered to deliver, now reawakening at the sight of this beautiful man.

You would never act on anything, even as beautiful as he was, you were married and you love Dave— but that didn’t mean you couldn't admire, sunglasses masking your lingering eyes.

“I’m Joel by the way. Joel Miller.” His hand outstretched to you, that damn dimple even more pronounced when he smiles.

“I take it you’re not from around these parts are you now, Joel.” You give him your name and return the handshake— his grip is rather firm, but friendly.

“What gave it away?” He laughs. There’s a hint of southern drawl woven into his rich voice.

“Well, you don’t seem like the California boy type for starters. Not that that’s a bad thing— I just get the impression you’re far from home.” You fold another page and drop your book into your bag, your attempt at reading sidelined again.

“You’d be correct then. Texas— born ‘n raised. Since we’re makin’ impressions, I’m gonna guess you’re not from ‘round here either?” He looks over to you, his arms crossed over his tanned chest. The breeze catching a few of his curls, tossing them about.

“You would also be correct. So what brings you all the way west, cowboy?”

“My daughter, actually. She’s gettin’ married this week. Fiancé’s family is out here and they’ve got connections and what not, so they’re able to do it here at the hotel. They put me up in one of the suites, bein’ I am the father of the bride an’ all.”

“Oh! Congratulations then. I’m sure you’re so excited then.”

“Yea’. Crazy seein’ her all grown up an’ goin’ off on her own. Still got one more though. She’s turning 16– little wild thing she is. Keeps me on my toes, but I love her for it.”

You get the sense that being a father is one of his favorite things. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he started talking about his kids.

“You and your wife must be so proud.”

“Nah, no wife— or girlfriend. Jus’ me and my girls. So, now that I’ve bothered you with my life story. What brings you out this way to California?”

What am I even doing in California? You think to yourself. It’s then you catch sight of your husband at the bar. Dave is already looking in your direction, leaning against the wood counter, waving at you with his phone glued to his ear.

“See that guy over at the bar? The one talking on the phone.” You wave back at Dave. You pick up on the shift in his demeanor from where you're sitting. His jaw clenched and brows furrowed enough you can make out the deep lines across his forehead. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was shooting daggers at Joel— but you do know better, and that’s exactly what’s happening. “That’s my husband. We’re supposed to be here relaxing— not working. But he’s over there taking a phone call, when he was going to grab us more drinks and I’m here relaxing. Maybe one day he’ll actually show some interest in me again— until then it’s just work work work. Geez— I’m sorry to dump all of that personal shit on you. Like you even care about a stranger's marital problems.”

“No need to apologize— I get it. My ex and me had our own issues. Tried to work through them, for the sake of the kids n’ all.” He says, waving off your apology.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go so well?” You look out over the pool, catching a few gulls passing over. You can already sense his heavy answer before he even gives it to you.

“Well, she’s my ex for a reason. But it’s for the best. And not saying that’s what’s gonna happen for you. We love our kids and do this whole co-parentin’ thing better than when we were married. Umm— y'all got any kids?”

“Uhh— no, no kids. Yet… I think? I mean, we both talked about once our careers were established we would start trying. And we did try for a bit, but never got pregnant, which we were okay with— figured it would happen when it happens. But now, I’m not really sure if it’s what he wants anymore.” You pick at the polish on your nails.

You realize it’s been awhile since you and Dave readdressed the conversation about having kids. It’s always been idling in the back of your mind. Becoming a mother was something you would love to do. With Dave never really ever being present or interested in any sort of in-depth conversation, you haven’t really discussed where you both stand now on the topic.

“Have you asked him?”

“No. I haven’t. I probably sh—“

You’re cut off when Dave reappears, holding nothing but his phone and wallet.

“Hey, Sweetheart!” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, his tone a slightly higher pitch than usual, though he tries to hide it as he bends to kiss the top of your head.

“Babe, this is Joel. He’s here for his oldest daughter’s wedding. Joel, this is my husband Dave. Where’s our drinks?” Attempting to ease the weird tension he brought back with him instead of your drinks. .

Dave’s glaring at Joel. His lips pressed in a tight line and his nostrils flared. Irritated? No, it’s jealousy. He’s jealous and it’s oozing from him. Dave was jealous at the attention, all innocent and friendly, that you were receiving from another man.

“Uh, nice to meet you.” Dave reaches over you, taking Joel’s hand in his. He’s friendly enough, even though his smile looks rather forced. “We hate to run out on you like this, Joel— we’ve got dinner reservations later on and the sun is starting to get to me. You don’t mind if we head to the room early, Babe.”

“Yeah, of course, Baby. Let’s go— you probably need more water and some rest before dinner.” You get up from the chair to pull your cover up dress on and begin to gather everything between yours and Joel’s chair, throwing it haphazardly back into your bag. “It was so nice meeting you, Joel. Hope your daughter has a beautiful day and you have a great time.”

“Thank you. Now you two get outta here and enjoy your evening. My brother is wanderin’ around somewhere. I’m sure he’ll end up here at some point. Nice meetin’ y'all.” Joel says, giving a cordial nod and a two finger wave.

You call out to Dave when you realize he’s already halfway to the exit, hoping he’ll snap out of whatever this thing is he’s doing. Knowing it’s more than just the sun that’s bothering him.

“Dave, what’s going on? Are you okay?” You ask, stepping into the elevator with him.

“I’m good. Got a bit of a headache. Probably just too much sun.” His thumb smashes into the floor number. The elevator doors slowly obstructing the rooftop view.

The walk back to the room felt like it was never ending. The slap on your sandals against the carpeted floor and exchanged hello’s with the sweet old lady dragging far more bars than she could handle were the only sounds echoing through the long hallway.

Dave’s body, all broad and inflexible, blocked the room door as he searched for the key card in his wallet.

“Dave? Are you going to talk to me and tell me what’s actually going on?” You ask softly.

The door beeps and Dave pushes it open. He seems to not have lost all his senses because he holds it open for you.

“Dave, will you at least look at me— please?” You toss everything you’re carrying onto the bed, watching him walk over to the floor to the large windows.

Even from behind, you know he’s wearing his sharp scowl. Proven by the way his hip is cocked out and on hand resting on his waist, head hanging with his attention on the floor. Too embarrassed to acknowledge he might have overreacted up at the pool.

“Dave, were you jealous?.” You ask, your voice velvety and sweet. Taking a few tempered steps, you close the distance between you and where he’s standing, needing him to know everything was okay. You smooth over his solid back, all brooding with his shoulder blades tightly drawn together. One hand sliding around to his chest and the other reaching for the hand hanging at his side, intertwining your fingers with his, your grip tightening around him. “Baby— you were, weren't you? It’s okay if you were, you know. It’s obviously a natural reaction to have. I know I’d react the same way if it were you and some gorgeous woman. But baby, you know I only have eyes for you and only you— always. I love you, Dave.”

“I love you and I’m sorry.” Dave sighs, his hand squeezing back. I overreacted and shouldn’t have— it's implied without him actually voicing it, but you know he means it.

“Did you still want to go out for dinner? If you’re not feeling up to it, we can just order in again so you can rest.” You ask him, resting your nose and lips against his sun warmed skin, breathing him in.

His aroma is pungent, but familiarly pleasant. A subtle note of coconut blends with his trademark spicy musk and sweat. It reminds you of the summer while you were dating, Dave whisked you away to Rehoboth Beach on the coast of Delaware. Renting out a beach house on the water where you spent every morning watching the sun flee the horizon from the front porch. Evenings spent walking near the water’s edge, recounting your favorite parts of the day and dreaming of a future together.

“Yeah, we can still go out. I just— I need a minute. Gonna get some fresh air.” He says, turning his head to tell you over his shoulder.

“Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower then.” You kiss the nape of his neck before you leave, grabbing the robe off the accent chair as you head to the bathroom.

At the flick of the switch, a soft glow of light cascades from the decorative wall sconces. Everything becomes very automatic as you move through the room, placing the robe over the sink, ridding yourself of your pool attire, thrown into a growing pile in the corner of the room. Intent on unwinding, trusting the spray of hot water will alleviate the weight of today’s tension before going out with your husband, until you hear Dave’s voice fading as he walks out into the balcony, muffled by the distant waves and passing cars.

“Hey, Ashley. It’s Dave, sorry about earlier…”

Ashley. It’s light and beautiful, and yet feels like the most threatening thing to have ever pierce through your heart. All your emotions flowing, congealing as one giant mass within your ribcage. Its numbness best describes the way you feel, hollowing out the pain in your chest. It's too much to deal with or even believe. You shut the door, avoidance being one of your worst traits— but if you don’t confront it, it doesn’t exist.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs Appreciated

#Dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #pedrostories

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wufflesvetinari · 1 year ago

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ok fine, wyllstarion rec list

the demons bade me write this. i have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings and a fabulous bookmarks list. come with me....and you'll be.......in a world of pure wyllstarion nation

note that this is like. an intermediate/advanced, 201-level list. i am trusting you, and assume you've already read asidian's body of work. you've read nothing is safe. you're reading Nothing Like the Sun &etc. Really anything that appears on the first two pages when sorting by bookmarks/kudos is disqualified due to pre-recognized excellence. (you could, however, go read them again)

are you back? good. now read:

"We Happy Few" - @geometea. listen to me. listen. i am looking deeply into your eyes. read this fucking fic. it's hard to shill without spoiling anything, BUT: wyll is a still-pacted grand duke. he used to have a bunch of unresolved romantic tension with astarion and now hasn't spoken to him for 15 years. now take that premise and add body horror, beautiful ominous surreal images, and SURPRISE BIG EMOTIONS. just trust me on this one, guys

"Crossed Blades" - @rebelontherocks. this is a...i think i have to call this a cozy sex romp. wyll and astarion are married, wyll is a busy duke, astarion needs more enrichment, astarion invents a very silly sex game by roleplaying teenage-wyll's smut books. wyll is So Deeply Into It. i love this fic for its characterization, its banter, and its commitment to paralleling character psychology to what sounds like an absolutely wild in-universe smut series (that is sketched with an impressive amount of detail and care tbh??).

"Comfort" - @acephalouscreature. short and sweet. wyll is injured and everyone expects astarion to take care of him. luckily, astarion has a dastardly plan to fake feelings for wyll by thinking about his feelings for wyll. you sure fooled them, astarion!! also featuring: astarion trying to figure out how to comfort someone by thinking about horses

"False Compare" - @jellyfishline. i'd recommend checking out their work generally, but i fell in love with this one first. wyll writes a sonnet! astarion is mean about it until he isn't! deeply in-character with an emphasis on how each of them communicates affection. gorgeous prose

"how to escape the torment nexus" - @ushauz. this series is incredibly unique, set in a fucked-up bad end where wyll is a lemure, astarion is still on the run from cazador, and almost everyone else is dead. where this really shines imo is wyll's POV: he's been through literal hell, doesn't remember his life, and is wading through his unconscious attachment to astarion like a foreign language. (side note also read Heart of Stone for a great lae'zel character piece)

"An Acorn in the Moonlight" - @anonyhex. this is one of the first wyllstarion fics i ever read and it has a special place in my heart!! it's particularly cathartic to read for Wyll reasons, including him actually getting to Have Emotions about what Ulder put him through. and they are so sweet with each other!!

"temporal displacement" - @purplecatghostposts. ok this came out like. yesterday but listen, i LOVE outsider pov of an astarion who's learned to show affection somewhat, seen from the eyes of someone who doesn't know his history and has no reason to suspect All Of That. and when that "outsider" is a dying 20-year-old wyll who just saw astarion step out of a time portal. well.

"nothing to make a song about" - @grey-wardens. for when you want something meaty and casefic-adjacent, set in a post-canon where wyll is the blade and not the duke (for once). contains bonding on the road, getting romantically snowed in together, and Symbolic Fetch-Quests.

i am also watching closely: "One of Those Prince-Types" by @lesbianralzarek and "sigh no more" by @tomorrowsrain. both are one chapter in and promise to be meaty, with execution that already feels very very promising

SPECIAL MENTION TO "Like Death (or Birth)" by The_Dancing_Walrus, which has some fraught implied background wyllstarion and is just generally completely baller. astarion kind-of sort-of accidentally adopts yenna, who got fucked up by her time as a potential sacrifice to bhaal. it works! i promise it works

EDIT 1/12/25: now with part 2!

#wyllstarion #bg3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #bloodpact #leading you gently by the hand through wyllstarion nation #fic rec

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paigegonerogue · 2 months ago

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5 Modern AUs I Highly Recommend

Hey guys! I know updates are taking a second, but I thought as an apology (and to tide you over for just a little while longer), I’d recommend some of my favorite Modern AUs of TLOU! All of these people are so incredibly talented, and there are about a zillion more I’d want to add to the list, so let me know if you want a part 2!

(These are in no particular order, btw!)

(Also, the links aren’t working… sorry…)

LIVING ON THE EDGE

My friend @messitydepressity just recently finished this absolute masterpiece of a fic where Joel and Ellie meet in an NA meeting. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and so emotionally devastating that it left me absolutely stunned. It’s so real and authentic and bittersweet. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry (a lot) and you’ll scream. It’s joyous and it’s painful and it doesn’t shy away from the hardships out characters are facing. Sometimes for them it feels impossible to go on, but they continue to persevere. It flows so perfectly, and it’s truly a journey and an experience.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62618419/chapters/160285405

SHOOT FOR THE STARS

This fic is stunning. Genuinely, it leaves me without words. Written by @millermenapologist, Shoot for the Stars is a deeply cathartic and powerful experience. It’s gritty and complex and real. There are no easy answers or simple solutions. Each and every character is so complex and every individual arc is so gripping. It’s one of the most beautifully written things I’ve ever read, genuinely. It’s naturalistic yet incredibly profound, and there’s this thread of deep heartache that runs through it and pays off in such a perfect and gorgeous way that I can only ever dream of writing something half as good.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51778003/chapters/130903687

A SIMPLE FAVOR

This fic made me ugly cry. Written by the truly unreal @boopernatural, It’s such a thoroughly devastating exploration of grief and healing. After Bill passes away, Joel takes over his job teaching woodshop, where he meets Ellie. Every word is drenched in emotion, and Joel’s grief is palpable through the page. The tragic and profound collide in the intelligent and aching observations on grief. It’s another fic that might not end in a fairytale bow, but the hope and the catharsis it brings is unimaginable.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52963615

COMPASSIONATE FRIENDS

My wonderful friend @mildredellie has written (and still costumes to write) this absolutely stellar fic. Joel and Ellie meet in a grief support group, and things evolve from there. It’s so perfect, just genuinely amazing I every way. Their development is so perfect and well paced, and the scenes of them bonding and learning to care for each other are so incredibly special and beautiful. It perfectly balances the hardships and the good times, and the capturing of the characters is just so effortless. It’s sweet and sad and gorgeous and funny, every little thing just fits so perfectly that it really feels like you’re looking at this bright and detailed tapestry of words. It’s perfect.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48105289/chapters/121302250

Last and certainly not least we have:

OPEN SESAME

@penandinkprincess might just be the GOAT of tlou fanfic. She really has too many incredible fics to counts, but one of my absolute favorites is Open Sesame. In it, Joel catches Ellie trying to pickpocket him, and it all spirals out from there. This fic is just perfect. The way their relationship is built is so incredibly sweet, and it also features my hands-down favorite post-David caretaking scene ever (and that’s a high bar!). It’s so incredibly well written, every word just perfect as it guides you along. It’s sad at parts, but the underlying hope and love in this fic is so beautiful and the ending makes me tear up. This fic is so special to me, it’s one of the fics that got me really into TLOU fanfiction, and I don’t think I know near-enough words to express just how much I love it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50244706/chapters/126913369

Anyways, that’s all the refs for this list. Let me know if you want a part two! Thank you to all these unbelievably skilled authors for writing these, and if for any reason you want me to remove your fic from this list just reach out.

Anyways, more from me coming soon! Hope this gets you through the last week until s2!

#PaigeGoneWrote #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic

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ellesthots · 24 days ago

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a thank you note 💌

i want to make a post specifically to my readers and the people who have commented, reblogged, dm'd, sent asks, or otherwise supported me while navigating such severe, manipulative harassment the past week: thank you!

by far, the worst part of this experience has been the victim-blaming. it's so specifically evil and cruel, and traps you. there is no right way to be a victim—no matter how you move, respond, or behave, it will always be wrong. it is so powerful and healing to be believed, which is why being blamed for your own suffering is so insidious. it compounds it. not only do you have to endure harassment and abuse, that's hard enough, but now everyone is insisting it's your fault/you did it to yourself/you're faking it, for all to see. tracking you, trying to poke holes in any way you advocate for yourself: effectively silencing you, intimidating you.

if you keep track of it all? calculated. you don't? it didn't happen. you stand up for yourself? attention-seeking. you keep quiet? you're lying. respond tactfully? saving face. respond with righteous anger, frustration and hurt at being abused? overly emotional and unhinged, therefore unreliable and lying. continue this logic down every last path, because there is no right way to be a victim. it's so fucking isolating and painful. being discredited in every feasible way left me trapped, and needing to rely on people believing me and seeing the pattern in this. which is so fucking vulnerable and scary when facing a smear campaign.

so i want to thank you all for believing me, and standing by me. it means more than any words can express. it is life-saving, life-giving, and so, so needed. and all of that is an understatement. i want to thank you over and over, profusely. it has meant the absolute entire world.

the harassment and victim-blaming has been incessant and traumatic, and for a few days i was worried i wouldn't be able to get back into writing, that it had become too tainted, that these stalkers would constantly monitor me and not let me breathe. i'm literally getting choked up writing this right now, ahhhh !! this entire experience has been so triggering. but seeing and receiving all of your kindness and trust has been the salve i needed. it helped me remember that it's okay and so healing for me to advocate for myself, and taking back the power of my own voice; not limiting my expression and walking on eggshells because of some loser trolls and what they might do. i'm allowed to exist, i'm allowed to speak out, i'm allowed to be hurt by this, and i'm allowed to express that hurt as i feel it. i don't need to be a perfect victim because that's an impossible standard that only aims to oppress. i hope this is a reminder to y'all too if you have ever been in this situation where you've been harassed and abused and not believed, and silenced. you're allowed to have feelings and express them in whichever way is cathartic. you're not overdramatic or 'giving them more ammo'. you're existing in and navigating an impossible circumstance. it's disgusting that people don't believe you, but it's not your job to change their minds. if they're the type of people who want to victim-blame, you won't be able to change their minds, and shouldn't have to bear that weight.

i love you all dearly. i know all of your usernames and every time i get a notif that you liked a post, or commented, or asked, or messaged, i'm so excited. it's been devastating the way many of you have been dragged into this and threatened, just for being here, just for supporting me. so i want to fully acknowledge that, and thank you for persevering with me. let me know if there's anything you need from me, and feel free to dm me if you want to talk about it/how it impacted you! i'm here! and as much as is in my power, i want to create safety here for all of us.

i love this space we've created, i love fandom, and i will keep writing. in fact, i've been plotting and writing the next chapters of code of ethics and fateful as we speak !! thank you for being here, and i'm excited to get back to regularly-scheduled programming!! have a few asks about my fics i'll get to now/soon 💖 thank you for reading this, too! thrilled to brush the dirt off my knees and get back to BRUCIEEEE 😍🦇

#updates #update #announcement #thank you #harassment #fateful beginnings #code of ethics #dear readers

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seeminglydark · 12 days ago

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i'm reading through your webtoon and johnny's backstory made me ugly cry. this entire comic is so masterfully done, really good at conveying complex emotions and themes, but something in particular about these couple chapters really hit me in the heart. us queer kids go through so much shit just for existing and sometimes it feels like the whole world is out to get us. seeing how johnny overcame it and is finding hope again through the little kitten and forming a found family with his new friends is so cathartic. thank you ❤️ i can't wait to keep reading.

omg I'm actually really glad to hear that story is still resonating for people cuz it's the one i'm currently desperately pushing through a redraw to make it into an actual book right now (coming hopefully in June fingers crossed). So it's really nice to know it still means something! It's one of my favorite stories I've ever made.

I write what I know, and what I know is grief, pain, and heartbreak and finding my people and picking each other back up again. from one (old) queer kid to another, keep on going <3 hope is just around the corner.

#ask box #i started crying reading this and i dont know why #rj rambles

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f1-stuff · 9 months ago

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OMG Mal the Monza chapter!!!! 😭😭😭

I would say why would you do this to us if not for how cathartic it feels to read the chapters after tough and bittersweet races like Barcelona and Monza. Not to mention the comfort of knowing that it's not just me but the entire fandom sailing in the same boat and nobody is ready for Abu Dhabi 🥺💔

I've been waiting for Charles to have some sort of big reaction or breakdown over the situation since you started writing this season's chapters but I'm glad you went along the same trajectory as irl-Charles. It's nice to see him finally start acknowledging it in actions if not in words (yet).

Thank you so much for the chapter! See you again after the next therapy session chapter :)))

Yeah I think, realistically, they are probably choosing not to say much about it to each other until the very end. In my mind, they had words after the initial announcement, but that would’ve been at the beginning of the year under a different mindset (i.e. ‘let’s make this last year a good one for the team’ type of thing).

Anyway, I was struggling with how emotional I wanted both of them to be for this chapter, and I tried to strike a balance… There’s so much left for them to do this year with the constructor’s battle and, potentially, the driver’s. So most of the time, I think they’re in that ‘grind’ mindset. But it would’ve been pretty hard not to feel some type of way in Monza, like…🥺

#anon #ask #charlos #rpf

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sonnet009games · 2 months ago

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Just read the new chapter and oh my god I'm just turning feral over it. As usual? Maybe? Or maybe even more than usual?

I love how "not much happened" in the sense that it was more quiet when it comes to true action and hostile demonic activity and what not, but damn the sheer FEELS. I hope stuff will work out for Ted despite what happened. Though I will admit I'm very curious if the case he's on will actually have relevance in the next chapter, even if he tried to convince the detective his agency will take care of it. And for that matter, I wonder if the whole deal about the tape will be relevant too.

Regardless of any of that, damn... Flea's insecurities are so heartbreaking. And among them... even next to his panic at the idea of being thrown away or his insistence about being a parasite, it was his striken look if the detective tells him everything he's given them was their first that just about destroyed me.

So yeah... basically, I'm just as in love with Flea as always and I love this game more and more with each chapter. Thank you for the awesomeness, as usual!

There will definitely be some things from this chapter that will be coming back in the future, in small and not-so-small ways.

I’m so glad the emotional stuff with Flea hit. I really love exploring his character, and the relationship between him and the detective. It’s the most cathartic thing!

#asks

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scariusaquarius · 1 month ago

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rehab. 23.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: The scene that is in this chapter is a bit dark and may be a bit ooc, but I think it would be cathartic for Bucky to do this. I personally don't think that Bucky would make many rash decisions like this, but i DO think it kinda fits the character profile of Bucky for this particular moment. Let me know what you guys think!! Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 22

In the dungeons of the Wakandan Kingdom, Wanda, Clint, T'Challa, and Steve were all standing in front of Jack Rollins. The man was still out of it, his eyes still glowing red as Wanda kept him catatonic, and T'Challa glanced over at Steve as he spoke.

"Isithunzi almost completely destroyed the heart-shaped herb garden, Mr. Rogers."

Steve winced gently, opening his mouth to begin listing off every apology he knew in the book, but was stopped by T'Challa raising his hand to signal for Steve to just listen.

"She is not in trouble...but we have moved her back to the labs for the time-being with Shuri and Mr. Stark. I aim to have the bill sent directly to Stark Industries."

Clint chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he spoke.

"I bet he didn't see that coming."

T'Challa, however, was the one who smiled smugly as he regarded Clint with an 'i-told-you-so' look on his face.

"He was the one who offered to pay."

Clint's smile fell from his face, and they were both interrupted by Wanda humming softly.

"Shall we get started?"

Steve's frown deepened, nodding to Wanda, and she released Jack Rollins from his controlled stupor. His eyes blinked heavily, trying to gather his bearings, and when Jack Rollins was present, his gaze landed on Steve and a sneer spread across his lips and cheeks.

"It seems that we meet again, Captain Rogers."

Steve's body bristled at the man's voice, his blue eyes steeling as he gazed long and hard at him. At first, Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to grace the man with a response, but Steve swallowed his pride to reply back curtly.

"So it seems."

Rollins grinned before glancing around and asking with a cocky tone to his voice.

"I see that Barnes is not with us...couldn't handle seeing his favorite Handler, could he?"

Clint shared a look with Wanda as Wanda's finger crackled with power, her anger rising with his arrogant demeanor and words, and with a gentle touch of his hand on her wrist, Clint calmed Wanda before she took a deep breath to center herself again. T'Challa, however, stayed emotionless the whole time Rollins spoke. Steve replied sharply, shaking his head slightly.

"We're not here to talk about Barnes."

Rollins laughed cruelly, raising his brow a bit.

"Right, right, we're here to talk about my favorite asset, aren't we? That's why you've been hunting me...to make me pay for training and enforcing HYDRA's greatest creation, isn't it?"

Clint quipped, his gaze becoming stern as the softness immediately left his face.

"Don't think so highly of yourself just yet. Makes you look arrogant."

Although Rollins didn't show it, there was a flash of confusion that flickered within his eyes before leaving, and T'Challa finally spoke.

"Where are your operatives hiding within my kingdom? Seeing as you planted someone within, there must be something more that you are wanting other than the woman, no?"

Rollins chuckled, shaking his head as he kicked back the best he could in the chair that he was tied to.

"Now, why would I ever tell you that? I promise you, there's not a single thing that you will know: not now, not ever, and not even with the help of your little witch."

Rollins closed his mouth, his tongue subtly fiddling within the orifice for the false tooth that held a hidden pill of cyanide, but when Rollins found that the tooth was missing, his smirk completely vanished as a sense of dread filled him.

"Look familiar?"

A hand came from around him, a subtle chill going through Rollins as Natasha peeked her head around from behind him, a smirk on her face as she showed the false tooth and cyanide pill that was pinched between her two fingers.

"Oldest trick in the book, but unlucky for you, the most well-known. You're not getting out of this one so easily, Rollins. I'm almost sad you wanted to leave so soon."

Although he didn't show it, Rollins was beginning to grow anxious. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he glared up at them all as Natasha crushed both the tooth and the pill, rendering his final escape useless. T'Challa's face contorted into one of annoyance, repeating.

"I will not be so nice this one final time: Where are your operatives hiding?"

"Fuck you."

Rollins spat out, and T'Challa's eyes flicked to Wanda, who immediately raised her hands. Rollins tried to resist, growling and hissing as he thrashed in his seat, but he was no match for the Avenger's telepathic abilities. His eyes glowed red, and he mumbled out almost robotically as his body relaxed.

"We have a unit hiding within the Serpent's Valley awaiting orders...three are within the kingdom disguised as scientists."

Steve then asked before T'Challa could ask another question.

"Where is the rest of HYDRA?"

Rollins, even though he was under the influence of Wanda's power, smirked just the slightest.

"Spread throughout the globe."

"Exact locations. Now."

Clint ordered, and Rollins' face contorted into pain as he tried to resist. However, Wanda wasn't having any of it. A frown came across her face as her fingers twitched and curled, red tendrils exiting and entering his head repeatedly, and Rollins' whined slightly before he began to list off every location that he knew.

The moment that he finished, Steve waved his hand, and Wanda immediately stopped controlling him. There was a slight bead of sweat running down Rollins' temple, and when Wanda backed away, Rollins immediately began to go on a tirade.

"Just what do you think you will accomplish, huh? You can try all that you want, but HYDRA will always prevail! The Winter Soldiers belong to us, and when they remember, it will be over!"

Steve just turned around and stomped out, unable to listen to Rollins anymore, but his echoing voice made Steve pause for a moment.

"It will never end, Steven Rogers! You can kill all of HYDRA, but you will never kill what we have accomplished! We will be reborn again and again, and there's nothing that you can do to stop it!"

Jack's voice was abruptly cut short, and it was only then that Steve began to walk away again. When Steve finally exited the dungeon, the handle to the door was bent into an imprint of his hand and a crack appeared in the wall from the force of him slamming the door shut.

-BUCKY-

The air around him was cold; freezing him to his core, but nothing like the cold of cryostasis. Snow covered the ground around him, thick and slushed and colored brown from dirt beneath his boots as he stood in the middle of the road.

Although it was nighttime, the moonlight heavy upon him, there was a bright and fiery orange light that flickered before him as Bucky stood in front of a car that was flipped and raging with fire.

He remembered how it happened.

Bucky remembered the order given to follow Doris, to sit and wait for her to pass, to do whatever it took to get the asset back. He remembered how he had stepped behind the rushing car, watching the way Doris' eyes had widened within the rearview mirror at seeing him before the explosive he had shot at the car exploded. He could hear the crunching of metal as the car flipped harshly onto its hood and was set ablaze.

The smell of burning rubber and flesh was impalpable, filling the air like a rotten perfume as the wind blew gently, and Bucky could only watch; trapped in his own mind, his dream, his memory.

The screams of pain were unmistakable; cries of horror and fear echoing around the emptiness of the night, and Bucky remembered that he did not feel anything but empty.

His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, the black smoke blending in with the darkness of the night as it rose to the heavens that neither he nor the asset would ever reach. When the Soldier approached the car, he could hear the woman's sobs clearly as if he was truly here in this moment as if it wasn't a memory but real life.

'Mom?! Mom, wake up! Mom, please! I...I can't feel my legs...I can't breathe!'

The woman was hyperventilating, her legs crushed beneath the dashboard that had caved in from the fragility of the frame of the car, blood gushing around her from the extremity of her wounds. She was folded almost completely, her ability to breathe compromised, and the woman did not seem to notice that he was there. The asset was crying harder, pleading.

"Momma, please wake up! We...we gotta get out!"

The traitor would not respond. The Soldier knew that the second that the car had exploded and flipped that the woman was dead upon impact. Now, all that she had become was a pile of putrid burning flesh, her skin beginning to grow blistered and black as the fire slowly consumed her.

His metal hand grabbed the passenger door, ripping it clean off of its hinges before he grabbed the asset by the back of her neck. Despite her alertness, the bloodloss and pain was making her delirious.

Bucky remembered how she had screamed when he forcefully pulled her from the car, not giving any mind or sympathy for her broken legs. Her screams echoed around him, but the Soldier paid no mind.

Nobody would hear her. Just as it was supposed to be.

In order to ensure the asset was not dead, the Soldier spun her onto her back, her eyes unfocused and wild as she choked and cried.

"Momma...Momma...!"

She would not survive very long, and it would not be acceptable if he failed in his mission. Allowing the woman to drop carelessly onto the ground, the Soldier turned to the car to ensure that the traitor was, in fact, dead before the Soldier grabbed the asset by the scruff of her neck and began to drag her down the street to the waiting vehicle.

He was not sympathetic. He felt nothing for the woman as he carelessly shoved her into the backseat, her moans and whines inciting nothing but indifference to the Soldier who only cared about fulfilling his mission.

Once she was secured, the Soldier slid into the front seat of the vehicle and began to drive to the extraction point, passing the car and never giving it another glance.

He remembered how (Y/n) became sick, choking on her own vomit before she was able to spit it out, but the Soldier did not care, even as the light of the fire disappeared from the rearview mirror.

"Well done, soldier. Bring her inside."

He remembered the emotionless agent gesturing for him to get out when he arrived to the (L/n) residence, his enforcer waiting to escort him to the basement where the lab was situated. The Soldier was carrying the woman, her eyes fluttering as she glanced around tiredly before he placed her upon the table where scientists began to surround her.

He stood by, watching as she became coherent slightly, her voice filled with fear as she whimpered.

'What's happening? Where's my mom?'

One of the doctor's who hadn't been on the project long had looked perturbed when he looked down at the woman, asking the main surgeon who looked annoyed to be in the lab.

'Isn't this Robert's kid?'

The surgeon had waved him off, Bucky watching quietly as he stood against the wall; still and awaiting his next order.

'Go page him. Administer the sedative and begin operation.'

As the doctor prepared, Bucky remembered the way the woman had looked at him finally, asking with desperation.

'Who are you?'

That was when the surgeon became upset, demanding the asset be quieted, and Bucky remembered how he had done nothing; could do nothing but watch the whole time they operated upon her. He watched the whole time they administered the super soldier serum that was specifically tailored just for her; watched the way her legs painfully snapped back into place and healed as they worked.

Yes, Bucky remembered it all.

When Bucky woke up, he woke up with a gasp. His heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through him, and though Bucky wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep; the exhaustion of the last few days catching up with him, Bucky couldn't help but to cry and clutch at his head.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry...I'm so fucking sorry."

He was inconsolable, sobbing hard into the darkness of the room he had taken refuge in before a tendril of red light found him. Bucky glanced down, watching as it brushed against his leg, and the feeling of gentle calmness filled him.

It did not completely wash everything away, the tears still falling, but Bucky was no longer panicking. Wanda's gentle voice within his mind uttered a single word.

"Dungeons."

Bucky knew immediately. His resolve slowly came back, his body tensing, and the man stood up from the harsh cold of the floor. His shoulders were squared, his long hair hanging in front of his eyes before he glared at the door; an inexorable and deep-rooted anger filling his body.

If Rollins wanted HYDRA and the Winter Soldier, then Bucky would give it to him one-last time.

His steps were silent; moving like a ghost through the quiet kingdom as he made his way to the dungeons, and when he entered, it was silent. With Bucky's enhanced hearing, however, he could hear Rollins breathing; his beating heart that was slow as the man dozed.

Bucky's vibranium hand was clenched, his breath muffled by the mask upon his face, and when he arrived at Rollins' cell, he watched as Rollins slowly opened his eyes. A smirk filled his face, his eyes arrogant as the man greeted him.

"Привет, Зимний Солдат." (hello, winter soldier)

Bucky didn't respond. Instead, his hand gripped the door and tugged with enough force to break through; his anger unshakeable and the adrenaline enhancing his pre-existing inhuman strength. Once inside, Bucky tugged the door shut, and turned back to Rollins. Standing before him, Bucky delivered to the man a single statement.

"Пришло время твоего наказания, товарищ." (it is time for your punishment, comrade.)

Rollins' arrogant look was wiped from his face. Instead, an expression of anger came over him, his words hissed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Bucky stated firmly before rearing his fist back.

"Завершаю свою миссию." (I am completing my mission.)

His first connected with Rollins' stomach, the man letting out a gag as he doubled over, and Bucky could not capitulate his assault. In truth, Bucky's mind became empty and quiet as he beat the man; blood covering his knuckles and bones shattering beneath the weight of his fist.

If Rollins shouted in pain, Bucky silenced him swiftly. If Rollins cried, Bucky delivered more blows. If Rollins made a single sound, Bucky was quick to make Rollins remember how silence was the only thing acceptable.

When the man was completely beaten and broken and teetering on the edge of consciousness and passing out, Bucky finally stopped and stood. Tearing his mask off, Bucky's lips were curled back in a sneer, his teeth clenched and nostrils flaring. Rollins, however, let out a weak chuckle as he looked in Bucky's general direction despite not being able to see him due to both of his eyes being swollen completely shut.

"What...makes you think...you can save her?"

Bucky stayed silent, his fists clenching harder and his metal arm whirring and clicking loudly as the plates shifted into a tighter formation.

"You...are no better than we are...you...you dirty slut."

With a swift kick to Rollins jaw, the man was out cold, his jaw broken and hanging limply. His muscles were taut, tightened almost painfully from his anger, and Bucky took a moment to calm his hyperventilated breaths.

"I never said that I was."

Bucky quietly exited the cell, forcing it closed again, and he froze when he felt a presence within the hall with him. Turning his gaze, he found Tony staring at him.

Bucky was silent, regarding Tony cautiously, and Tony slowly stepped towards him and stopped to look into the cell. After a moment of observing the scene, Tony finally looked at Bucky and asked him.

"Did you get it out of your system?"

His tone was flat-no mockery or anger detected. It caught Bucky off guard for a second before the man looked away, muttering after a pregnant pause.

"Yeah....for now."

Tony sighed, but there was no gravity behind it. Rubbing his jaw, Tony hummed.

"Guess it was gonna happen at some point or another."

Bucky shook his head, his voice low as he replied, a strange feeling of being cornered coming over him.

"He deserves worse."

Tony's voice became quiet, agreeing.

"Yeah. Maybe he did."

There was a silence that came between them and stretched for a long moment; heavy, like old scars that hadn’t quite faded. It went on for another minute before Tony glanced at Bucky and forewarned him.

"Listen, Barnes, I get it, but you don't get to lose yourself again. Not now."

Bucky clenched his teeth, offended as he glared at Tony.

"I didn't lose myself. I chose this."

"Yeah, well, that's the part that worries me."

Tony shot back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glared right back at Bucky. Bucky scoffed before spinning around toward the entrance of the dungeons, hissing.

"If you have something to say, Stark, then just say it."

Tony was quiet, ruminating over what to say. After a moment of staring back into the cell, his voice became soft again, stating.

“He said you can’t save her.”

Bucky tensed from his words, his steps towards the door faltering just the slightest.

“You think you can?”

Bucky stopped in his tracks, but didn't dare to turn around to look at the man.

“I have to...if only to amend the things that I've done.”

Tony nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That’s the answer I was hoping for.”

There was no judgement nor venom within Tony's voice, but instead a strange sound of almost understanding and exhaustion, and it made Bucky confused. Staring down at the ground, Bucky didn't know how to respond.

Bucky lingered a moment longer—letting the echo of the past fade before he made his way back to the surface and left Tony standing in front of the cell.

STORY NOTES: Wanda, Clint, T'Challa, and Steve are in the dungeons with Jack Rollins. While Wanda continues to keep Rollins under her control, T'Challa informs Steve that (Y/n) almost completely destroyed the heart-shaped herb garden. Steve, feeling guilting, tries to apologize but it rendered quiet by T'Challa. T'Challa informs Steve that (Y/n) is not in trouble, but has been moved to Shuri's lab with Tony. He reveals that Tony offered to pay for the damages himself after Clint tries to make a joke, which makes Clint's jab backfire.

Before the man can become even more distracted, Wanda asks if they would like to begin the interrogation. She releases Rollins from her control, and once he is oriented, he directly addresses Steve. He asks where Bucky is, but Steve is firm in telling Rollins that Bucky is not the point of the conversation. Rollins agrees, instead making a jab at (Y/n), which Clint quickly responds to. Before Rollins can say anything else, T'Challa asks Rollins where his operatives are hiding. Rollins refuses to tell him, and in order not to compromise HYDRA, tries to take the cyanide pill that is within a false tooth. However, he is dumbfounded when the tooth and pill are missing. Natasha reveals that she took the tooth and pill out, remarking that Rollins wasn't going to get out of interrogation so easily.

T'Challa tries to ask him again, but this time, Rollins curses at the king. T'Challa gestures to Wanda, who uses her telepathic ability to force Rollins to tell everyone where his operatives are hiding. Rollins reveals where his unit has hidden themselves, as well as where the planted agents are, and Steve immediately asks where the rest of HYDRA is. When Rollins gives a vague answer, Clint demands the exact locations, and Rollins is forced to answer every location that he knows. When Wanda relinquishes her control, Rollins becomes angry, propagating that HYDRA will never cease to exist and will prevail. Jack is abruptly cut short by unknown means, and the scene changes.

Bucky is having a dream of the memory of him retrieving (Y/n) when he was the Winter Soldier the night Doris and (Y/n) tried to leave for Baltimore. It is revealed that the car they were driving was bombed and flipped, Doris dying almost immediately. (Y/n), however, somehow survived despite both of her legs being crushed from the accident. He remembers how (Y/n) begged for her mother to wake up, and how the fire had already begun to consume Doris' body. He remembers transporting (Y/n) back to her home where Robert's lab was situated, hidden within the basement where many HYDRA agents are waiting. Bucky remembers being present for the whole operation before he finally wakes up from the dream. Bucky immediately begins to cry, apologizing quietly before Wanda reaches out to him with her power, calming him before telling him exactly where Rollins is.

In a moment of rage, Bucky decides to go to the dungeons to confront Rollins, slipping into his Winter Soldier mindset easily (although not truly becoming the Winter Soldier and maintaining his conscious). When Rollins greets him, Bucky asks if he is ready for his punishment, which Rollins immediately becomes enraged. When he asks what Bucky was doing, the man responds by telling Rollins he is completing his mission before beginning to beat Rollins unconscious. It is alluded that this cathartic act of violence goes on for a while, and when Rollins taunts Bucky for one last time, Bucky knocks the man out before leaving the cell. Waiting for him, however, is Tony.

Tony asks if Bucky 'got it out of his system,' and when Bucky flatly replies, Tony subtly dismisses him. Instead, he tells Bucky that while he understands where Bucky is coming from, he doesn't get to turn into the Winter Soldier and 'lose himself'. Bucky denies this, stating that he chose to do this to Rollins, and Tony is quick to respond. The moment becomes heated, Bucky snapping at Tony to say what it is that he wanted to say, but Tony deflects. He asks Bucky if he wants to save (Y/n), in which Bucky confirms. Tony simply responds by saying that he was hoping for that answer before ending the conversation, and Bucky leaves the dungeon, leaving Tony standing in front of the aftermath of his encounter with Rollins. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Isithunzi - Xhosa for [the] shadow/shade

Привет, Зимний Солдат - Hello, Winter Soldier

Пришло время твоего наказания, товарищ. - It's time for your punishment, comrade.

Завершаю свою миссию - I am completing my mission.

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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chaotickryptonitetree · 1 year ago

Text

ode to the maybes that make up the good stuff (us) | trent frederic

hes so underrated and I needed a reader who wasn't a genius (because I cant relate to smart people and why is the reader always smart??).

You were running late.

And it–sort of–wasn’t your fault?

Okay, it was your fault for oversleeping. But then your exam ran over the allotted time (they hadn’t even been passed out when you stumbled into the lecture hall, panting from sprinting from your parking spot, still blinking sleep from your eyes). And then your row was the last row to be dismissed. And yeah, it wasn’t really your fault.

Speed-walking back to your car, you weighed your options. Your meeting would take you 20 minutes to get to with the mid-day traffic. And it was the kind of event where it was no use showing up late–might be better to just not show up at all.

And then you passed your favorite coffee shop, and the wheel practically turned into the parking lot itself. Your boss would understand about the final and you could get notes from someone else later. Finishing that class called for a break–and as you turned off the ignition, you allowed yourself your first deep breath all morning.

The perfect cure to a hectic morning was a fresh start and an almond-milk latte.

The bell jangled as you opened the door–hit with the familiar smell of roasting beans and gingerbread muffins in the oven. Your exhale was cathartic.

“Hey, welcome in!” The barista greeted you as you stood in the doorway, walking to join the line. For a random weekday, it was quite busy. You gave your order to the barista politely and walked to the only empty table left.

You criss-crossed your legs in the booth, pulling out a book from your bag. Time–only interrupted by a swift hand placing a drink on your table and walking back to the counter–warped as your turned pages, eager to escape the craziness of the morning and happy to have a medium in which to do so.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating small flecks of dust in the air. Condensation dripped down the side of your glass, collecting in a ring on the wooden table. The only noise to fill your space was the crisp turning of pages and background chatter filling in the blanks.

Until it wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” said so quietly you thought you had misheard, you didn’t look up until someone cleared their throat. “Hey.”

You looked up, squinting slightly from the sun. There was, in fact, the shadow of a very tall person standing near the edge of your table. Trying not to let your disappointment show, you dog-eared the page and closed the book gently. The background chatter roared on as you set your head on your hand, looking up at the voice from before. His face was still skewed by the harshness of the sunlight through the windows.

“Sorry–didn’t hear ya…can I help you?” you spoke slowly, evenly to the faceless man. He coughed again, pausing too long to be normal given the circumstances.

“Um, yeah…no, that’s alright!” He answered awkwardly. He then seemed to realize that he hadn’t truly answered the question and sighed. “Was wondering if I could share this table with you?” He seemed to be nervous about your response so he quickly spoke again. “You’re the only one with a spare seat.”

Luckily, you were in a good mood and didn’t have any emotional attachment to the other side of the booth. “Go for it,” you said with the wave of a hand. “I don’t mind at all.”

You could feel his smile in his exhale. “Really?” His voice was light and relieved, even as he sat down and moved his bag inside the booth before he slid in. You hummed in response, turning back to your book, head in hand. He respected your quiet, and the sound of him pulling notebooks and pens from his bag faded to background noise as you fell back into your chapter.

And yet again, a drink being set down disturbed the peace. Your head flitted up, clocking the barista setting down a cold brew in front of the boy across from you.

And then you got a good look at the boy across from you.

He was big. Like big enough where you could see every muscle indented in his long sleeve shirt (not that you were staring or anything). A pretty blush painted his cheeks daintily, full mouth quirked to the side as he fiddled with the straw wrapper. Big, brown eyes met yours and widened when he realized you were already looking at him.

“What?” he asked softly, plunging the straw into the drink and swirling slowly–ice clinking against the glass.

“Nothing,” you closed your book again, shrugging slightly. “I just didn’t realize that you were handsome.” His blush deepened, creeping up his neck and to the tops of his ears.

“Oh,” he fidgeted with his hands–which were easily the size of his face–”I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

You leaned into your hands more, endeared by his sudden shyness. “Well, it’s true.” You smiled as he tried to keep eye contact. “What’s your name, handsome?”

He bit his lip, cracking his knuckles nervously. “Don’t wanna tell ya.”

“And why is that?” You cocked an eyebrow.

He smiled–a little less shy, eyes like amber in the sunlight. “So then you’ll have to keep calling me handsome.”

You laughed into your palm. “I’ll call you pretty regardless, promise,” you held your pinkie out as a mocking gesture, “just tell me.”

“Trent,” he wiped his hands on his sweatshirt and wrapped his pinkie around yours, “that’s me, I mean–yeah, my name.” He didn’t let go before you did, introducing yourself softly with a smirk. He felt like had a certain warmth–a comfort–wrapped around him like the blanket on your childhood bed. He felt kind.

The best beginnings always begin with that–a kindness.

…

The next time you saw him, you were embarrassed. Your advisor had suggested that you enroll in a supplemental class during the night after a particularly hard semester academically–and as much as it hurt your ego, not going would hurt it more.

So, you went to the class, despite feeling stupid. Eager to make yourself small, you chose a seat in the back corner, hood up as you got out your supplies. Maybe no one would recognize you, maybe you’d just be able to take the class and then slip out the door when it was over. No harm, no foul.

But of course you could never be so lucky. Your eyes darted to the door just as he walked in–as sturdy and solid as ever. His backpack straps fought to keep the muscles of his shoulders and neck contained. The indentations of his triceps made his long sleeve flutter around him.

And you were definitely staring–for much too long, you guessed–because your gaze drew his attention to your corner. His eyes smiled before his mouth as he made his way over to you. He looked–relieved?

“Thank god,” he sighed as he slid into the chair next to yours. “You’re here.” You searched his face for any sign that he was teasing, making fun of you in any way. At all.

But you couldn’t find it. Still, you were tentative. “Yeah.” Really awesome conversation starter. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I was scared that I wouldn’t see you again,” he pulled out his glasses and opened up his laptop–the light reflecting off of the lens artificially, “lucky me.”

You opened your mouth to say something but were interrupted by the professor introducing themselves and projecting the syllabus. You turned toward the front and tried to tune in.

But it was hard. Not because the class itself was going to be a challenge–it was only supplemental after all–because he was distracting.

Distracting you with how cute his rosy cheeks looked under his glasses. How he mouthed words after the professor said them before writing them in his notes. How he nodded his head and actually paid attention the entire time. He was just trying hard.

And it was alarming how endearing you found that. So, yeah, you half listened for the lecture–but it was intro stuff anyways. As you packed up your back, he let out an exhale and let you out to the door first, holding it open with his wide palm.

“So, what do you think?” He asked, matching your pace as you walked to the parking lot. It was dark–and far colder than when you had entered the building a few hours earlier.

“Hmm?” You hadn’t quite heard him–too busy watching him push his glasses up into his hair, making it stick up arbitrarily all around his head. He smiled a sideways little smile.

“What do you think of the class?”

“Oh,” and you were embarrassed again, “it’ll be fine. I could use a GPA boost,” you admitted. He nodded, even though you could guess he couldn’t relate.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he said, even though he didn’t know you, “you’re smart.”

You pinched your face together. “You don’t know that.”

He smiled, shoving his shoulder into yours good-naturedly. “Yeah I do,” he was closer in your space now, “can tell by the way you talk.”

You looked up at him–not convinced–but he was already looking ahead. “Which car is yours?”

Nodding toward your car, parked away from all the others, he cracked his knuckles. “Cool, I’ll walk you there.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I’ll give you a ride, but only because you’re being so cute tonight” He smiled–like he knew you’d ask.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He waited for you to unlock the car.

His face was blushy from compliments and the cold. “Only the cute ones,” you said as you stepped into the car. He shook his head.

…

Laundry day in a college dorm just might be the 5th circle of hell. Every machine is taken, none of them work right, and there’s always someone who dumps clothes on the ground–essentially making the room itself a battlefield.

But at 2am on a Tuesday night–it was peaceful. Sure, there were still the clothes littering the ground like an overgrown garden, but the scent of fabric softener seemed to soften the air around you; low tumble of the machines a gentle lullaby as the campus stilled around you.

Sitting atop the washing machine you were using, you waited for the cycle to be done. Stars interfered with the inky-black sky as it shone through the windows. And you watched. At this hour, there were no expectations, nothing to do, no one to impress. Just the silence around you.

And then the door opened. And of course it was him.

Hidden behind a large basket of clothes, looking adorably soft and sleepy in pajama pants, was Trent (again!). He didn’t seem to notice you as he sorted his clothes–large hands deft and meticulously parting darks and lights. You just watched.

“Hey handsome.” You said softly as he stood to his full height, slightly startled. But once he realized it was you, he let out a relieved sigh and walked to stand across from you, leaning back on to the row of dryers.

“Late night?” He spoke lowly, even if there was no need to whisper. As if he was cautious about disturbing the peace.

You shrugged, pulling your legs into your chest atop the machine and wrapping your arms around them. “I like it,” you said honestly, “it’s the only time I get all to myself.”

He nodded in a way that made you think he understood. “What did you do today?” You asked, eager to keep him there.

He thought for a moment, looking slightly upward. Then told you all about his classes (they are interesting, but demanding), practice (just a light skate, they have a game tomorrow), and homework (he has a quiz in a few days). And you nodded, interested in anything he had to say.

You switched over your laundry as you listened to him, adding in dryer sheets and humming accordingly. It struck you that each time you spoke to him, it felt easy. You picked up right where you left off, like you were old friends. It made you smile to yourself.

“Whatcha thinkin about?” He interrupted your train of thought. Your eyes flitted up to his, sideways smirk gracing your lips.

“You,” you answered honestly, knowing that it would make him blush more. He rubbed his eye and tried to hide his delight.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes playfully. But when you just kept looking at him, greedily, just because you knew he’d let you, he paused–a spark of hope lighting up his face. “Really?” His voice came out small.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” He smiled like he knew something you didn’t. He probably did. “Will you tell me a secret?” You asked as he folded his clothes carefully.

He thought for a moment, as if any sudden words would break the bubble around you both. “I did laundry yesterday,” he admitted, making you smile a wide, genuine grin, “just saw you in here and wanted an excuse to come in.” His blush was a splotchy watercolor painting his tired face. “Now you tell me one.”

You pretended to think hard, emboldened by his admission. “I love it when you blush,” you said, “but I don’t think I’m doing a good job of keeping that a secret.” He shook his head, folding his last sweatshirt into his basket.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he laughed lightly, eyes bright.

“And why not?” You smiled as he stepped closer, close enough for you to see the freckles on his nose. Right in front of the dryer which you sat on. “It’s true.”

Everything about him was soft. He smelled like he had just showered, and up close you could notice how his hair was still damp at the root. “Because,” he took a gentle thumb to your cheek, showing you the eyelash he had picked up. “It’ll ruin my tough guy reputation,” he flicked it off to the ground. You shivered at the loss of contact–however fleeting it was. “The guys are already giving me shit for how much I talk about the cute girl from the coffee shop.”

You smiled. “You talk about me to your friends?” Was he getting even closer?

He couldn’t break eye contact with you if he tried, nodding. “Can I tell you another secret?” You asked gently. He nodded again. “I have a crush on this really cute guy.” He laughed, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead rest on your shoulder. He practically radiated heat.

“Oh great,” he smiled into the crook of your neck, “and I’m just supposed to go on with my night after this? Like a normal person?”

You laughed with him and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, running your fingers through his half-damp hair. “How will you manage?�� You joked, voice careful.

He didn’t answer. And there you sat–atop a still warm dryer like the queen of the night, running your fingers through his hair until his arms wrapped around your back in perhaps the gentlest hug you could manage. You let your breathing slow to match his. You forgot what time it was, about your clothes.

And when he held you like something soft and good, it didn’t really matter–did it?

…

The stress of night class quickly melted into an excuse to see him two times a week (at least). You’d always get there first–and maybe you’d have an extra energy drink, just because–and then he’d stumble in a few minutes later, making a beeline for your designated corner (wearing his glasses if you were lucky).

You set down his energy drink in front of him as he unpacked his bag. His eyes darted up to clock the motion before he smiled a sideways smile. “Sweet of you,” he said softly, still bent over his bag. “Thank you,” he added, settling in his seat.

Nodding, you turned to the front–ready to dial in to the lecture. And you did! For a few minutes, before a notification popped up in the corner of your computer–an email in your school inbox. Switching tabs, you opened the email from an unknown sender.

Really cute girl next to me. Pretty nervous. Should I make a move?? -T

Smiling to yourself, you immediately typed out a response.

not sure…heard she usually goes for defensemen.

A response came a moment later, his shoulder shaking slightly with a laugh.

If i can beat one in a fight does that count?

Electing to close out of your email, you settled for moving your chair a little closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly over his sweatshirt.

“I think you should make a move,” you whispered in his ear, reaching to take a sip of his drink. He leaned back into your touch, tilting his head down to respond.

“Do ya?” His voice was low, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. You nodded, removing your hand from his shoulder.

“Yeah pretty,” his eyes didn’t leave your mouth, “I really do.”

But you could wait. And so you did.

…

When he came back from away games, he was usually tired. And it was late anyways–maybe 11:30? But you were up writing an essay that was due in a few days. Your phone buzzed on the pillow near you.

Any chance you’re still awake?

You smiled to yourself, leaning back on the headboard and putting your laptop to the side.

of course, you answered, paper due soon.

And then a moment later–but could be convinced to take a break??

Three gray dots appeared and then disappeared before his response.

Was hoping you’d say that.

And then–Be there soon.

You smiled, continuing with your paper until a soft knock rapped on the door.

“Come in!” Your voice was still hushed due to the late hour. He opened and closed the door softly, placing his backpack against the wall and slipping off his shoes. Wasting no time, he slid next to where you sat at the head of the bed, knee knocking against yours. You leaned into his side slightly, loving how warm he was.

“How’s the paper?” He put his head on top on yours, looking at your computer above you. You didn’t answer, instead typing “eh,,,how was game?” into your document. He laughed, lips brushing against your hair. “Good. Got into a little fight.” He flexed his hand in front of you, knuckles raised and red. You ran a finger over the little cuts (he didn’t flinch) and wrapped both hands around one of his, rubbing your thumb over the veins on the back of his hand.

He sighed, making you smile. “You should see the other guy?” You questioned, hoping he won whatever scrum he had likely started.

He nodded slowly against your head, watching your hands work around his. “You should see the other guy,” he confirmed. And there you sat, comfortable and sleepy with a human furnace beside you. He smelled like green apples and a fireplace that had just burned through the kindling. He was cozy–everything about him. You turned just slightly, nose brushing the column of his throat. He shivered.

“I love spending time with you,” he admitted, embarrassed and not making eye contact with you–as if meeting your eyes would cause the tips of his ears to catch fire. You hummed against his neck, slightly damp from his shower. “You make me laugh and you’re really pretty and it makes me happy when you make time for me,” he rambled on, stuttering slightly.

“Yeah?” Your lips brushed his throat, prompting an embarrassing, whiny whimper from him. He looked up, giving you more space (even if he didn’t mean to).

“Yeah,” his voice was small.

You smiled into his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, lips feather-light. “Well I like how smart you are,” you moved up, kissing just below his ear. “How kind you are to me,” his jawline, “how you blush when you’re embarrassed,” as if on cue, his ears lit up further. “Yup,” you kissed his ear, “just like that.”

You felt his breathing labor next to you–chest rising and falling quicker than before. Fixated on your mouth, he started to reply.

“Well I like–” and that’s as far as he made it before leaning in and gripping the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that burned.

His lips were slightly chapped, and your teeth knocked into his, but the grip his massive hands had on your face made you lean closer to him–too enamored to care. Smiling against his mouth, you swallowed the groan leaving him eagerly. His hand slid to your jawline keeping you close to him.

As if you’d ever leave. You placed another light kiss to the corner of his mouth as he caught his breath.

“About time, eh?” He smiled down at you, eyes dark and bright. You brought his knuckle to your mouth–as if your lips would make the bruises disappear. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“We got there,” you laughed lightly. “Worth the wait, right, handsome?” He ran a thumb over your cheekbone–always so gentle.

He just snuggled up next to you and let his body get heavy next to yours. You felt him smile next to you. Some questions didn’t need answers. His slowed breathing as he fell asleep next to you was answer enough.

...

love you!

#trent frederic #boston bruins #nhl fic #nhl imagines #bruins #david pastrnak #brandon carlo #charlie mcavoy #matt poitras #hockey #nhl hockey #hockey stuff #nhl

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heliza24 · 7 months ago

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Devil's Minion Rec List (Part 1)

So I recently completed a little project I set myself-- to tag and organize all of my (iwtv) A03 bookmarks. I've never been motivated to this before, but there are SO many talented writers in the Devil's Minion tag and I had bookmarked so many things that it was becoming unruly. Devil's Minion is such a fun fandom space to be, because writers are taking inspiration from the book and the show, creating AUs, writing old Daniel/young Daniel/vampire Daniel, assuming the 1970s/80s Devil Minion era did or didn't happen... there are endless variations and it's such a creative space. So it was fun to go through and sort all of the fics I like into different categories. It was also great distraction during a personally stressful time when my disability was making it hard to type and work on my own fics. And now of course that personally stressful time has become a nationally stressful time. I was initially going to write a bunch of different rec lists, each with their own topic/themes, and I probably still will do that eventually. But I thought I would start with a list of some of my all time faves in case you need some sweet vampire escapism in the wake of the horrible election results this week.

cranefucker island circa ‘82

by katplanet/ @gatoplanet

Word count: 22,365

Rating: explicit

Summary/Why I'm recommending it: This is an interactive fic, where clicking through different highlighted words takes you to different parts of the story. I love stories that use interactive or found media, and the nonlinear structure of this one perfectly captures the way that older Daniel recovers his memory of the Devil's Minion era. The individual scenes are also so beautifully written. (The one where young Daniel realizes that Armand can fly is etched into my brain).

Eighty Proof and a Lifetime

by doztoevsky

Word count: 11,003

Rating: Mature

Summary/Why I'm Recommending it: There are so many great "what happened after Dubai/How was Daniel Turned" fics out there, and I have to say that my favorite subgenre is "Daniel goes home to New York as a human and Armand follows him." (I guess I'm biased since I am also writing one these!) This is one of my favorites, largely for it's mix of lighthearted scenes and heartfelt emotions and the perfect amount of simmering sexual tension, and for all it manages to accomplish in a relatively short word count/single chapter. The image of Armand breaking down Daniel's bathroom door and using it to create a temporary coffin lid over his bathtub is so endearing and memorable to me, and there's a scene in a vampire bar that I think is just *chefs kiss* in terms of creative world building, character development, and spice level.

Unmade

Words by Klimppisoppa, Illustrations by @verimuru

Word count: 22,483

Rating: Mature

Summary/Why I'm Recommending it: This is largely based on book canon, with some TV show character flavor thrown in. What if Armand made up his mind to win Daniel back after Daniel went to live with Marius? Armand and Daniel's reconciliation is so gentle and lovely in this fic, and it really lets both characters develop a sense of agency as they separate themselves from Marius. It also has some really beautiful illustrations.

i'll ask for more time (but mother forgive me)

by @ignorethepineapples

Word Count: 3,512

Rating: Mature

Summary/Why I'm Recommending it: I think this is my all time favorite Devil's Minion fic. It's a shorter fic that uses a nonlinear structure to tie together Armand and Daniel's turning and it is achingly beautiful. The author has decided that the illness that nearly killed Armand before Marius turned him was syphilis, which can have Parkinson's like tremors as a symptom. The author connects Amadeo's illness with the AIDS crisis that was ongoing during the first part of Armand and Daniel's relationship with older Daniel's Parkinson's. This fic is heavier than some others on this list, but it is so cathartic and wonderful. I felt like this author reached inside my brain and pulled out the exact reasons these characters are important to me. It made me cry but also felt like the most healing of hugs, if that makes any sense at all.

Backroads to Sonoma

by burntcrimson

Word Count: 16,409

Rating: Mature

Summary/Why I'm recommending it: It's the 1980s, and a closeted Daniel is road tripping across middle America, surviving on gas station food and interviewing run aways and truckers to try to scrape together enough stories for a book. He picks up the hitchhiking Armand, who has a dangerous secret, and offers to drive him to California.

This fic is technically incomplete (one chapter remaining!) but the first four are SO GOOD it absolutely doesn't matter and you need to read it. This is a human AU, which I am not always into, but this author does such a good job of capturing Daniel and Armand's characterization and still maintaining Armand's aura of otherness and danger that it totally works. I honestly think this author could file the serial numbers off of this and expand it into it's own novel. The world building is so evocative, and the pacing perfectly balances Daniel's developing feelings for Armand with dramatic plot developments.

Ok, that's what I've got for you for now. If you want to check out my own Devil's Minion fics they're here. If you want to sort through my now gloriously organized bookmarks for yourself to find something to read you can do that here. Or send me an ask if there's something Devil's Minioned flavored you're craving-- maybe I'll have a personalized rec for you.

Feel free to reblog and add your own recs or reply in comments if you have a fic you think I should read. I am going to try to do more of these soon!

Also if you are one of these authors or know their tumblrs, let me know and I'll tag them.

#itwv #interview with the vampire #devil's minion #fic recs #armandaniel

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inthiseverymoment · 4 months ago

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silhouettes emerging: chapter vii

"the Moth, Frozen in Amber"

a hunt, an exchange, a continuation, and an outburst

iwtv oc x armand, this chapter ~1.8k

as the kids say, WE'RE SO BACK

can you tell that i'm already having A Time this semester

and yes she was besties with edith piaf bc It's My Historical Reader Insert and I Can Do What I Want

anyway WHOO this one was very cathartic to write. hope yall enjoy, lmk what you think

chapter vi fic masterlist chapter viii

“Getting lunch”, as suggested, was not as fantastical a concept to this unlikely pair as it would be to many others of their kind. Being fledglings of an ancient vampire, they stalked the gloomy New York afternoon-with Daniel staying more in the shade, his inherited powers having had less time to mature than Isabelle’s-and searched.

This search came to a delightfully obvious end when they passed a thoroughly isolated alleyway, graced with the vape-flavored sight of a posse of college-age boys in polo shirts and unfortunately lettered red baseball caps.

Isabelle bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning and turned to Daniel, finding a wicked glint under his dark sunglasses. With a nod and a saunter, the actress and the journalist shared a feast and cleaned up the evidence, keeping leftovers to last long past the interview.

Twenty Twenty-Three (The Next Hour), New York City, United States of America

Satisfied with their meal, sickened by the memories of privilege and unearned arrogance they’d taken in through the blood of the young men, and both now a little bit high on flavored nicotine, they wound through the streets back to Daniel’s apartment. As they walked, he told her the parts of his story not granted to human eyes, as well as what had happened after; Armand’s machinations, the now-grown “fascinating boy”’s own turning, and most of what he’d learned to have happened decades earlier (though not all, she could tell, and fully understood why). Isabelle had had no idea upon first reading the book that her existence would have so many similarities to that of this entirely jaded man, who had of course felt exactly the same about this conscientiously skewed “young” woman; they realized now that their experiences held so much in common that the differences in those placed demeanors faded, leaving an odd sort of knowing despite their very short acquaintance.

“I guess I just thought,” Daniel was half-laughing in a last shot at nonchalant bitterness, “I thought I was the first. That’s all.”

“No, I get it,” she responded. Turning to study his face, her voice took on a bit of teasing incredulity: “Is that…could it possibly be…a bit of vulnerability from the great Daniel Molloy?”

“Don’t start,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “I’m the one interviewing you, not the other way around. This just changes a lot.”

She nodded solemnly, and he dug into his jacket pocket for his phone, pressing record despite every bell and whistle being back at the apartment.

“We’re back post-midday-draining with the vampire-”

“Isabelle de la Rue.”

“-and I want to know whether things felt the same for you as they did for me. You’re a vampire now, you’re part of the coven, he doesn’t have dominion over your mind anymore but you’ve essentially given into that life. How did things go after that turning point?”

“...Turning point?”

“Let it be stated on the record that I did not attempt a pun.”

“Let it be stated on the record that it was definitely received as such,” she replied. “But, yeah, it was…as you said, it was a sense of letting oneself be swept up in a new life. I had been so focused on the fact that Armand couldn’t physically get into my mind anymore that I forgot about every other-more human-emotional tie.”

“That fucked-up blur between supernatural manipulation and genuine…”

He stopped, fiddling with his key and pretending that was the reason he’d trailed off.

“Love,” she finished, looking at Daniel as they reentered his apartment. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Sure,” he coughed, a thousand recently-revealed memories passing across his eyes.

“And, yeah, precisely. I found that I just…well, after being turned, I felt that I needed him more than ever. After a lifetime of being tossed to the side and swearing that I’d wait for the right person, a lifetime of scrambling for control over my own life, this sudden onslaught of being entirely and straightforwardly wanted for the first time knocked me out; I fully let go after that first taste of his blood, and everything rational was just…gone. Honestly, nearly everything before I had stepped into the Théâtre was gone; not by the work of the Mind Gift, just by the overwhelming newness of vampiric existence-of vampiric existence as his companion. Now, whenever there was somewhere to go, there was somebody beautiful waiting for me just outside the door. Now, when I absentmindedly hummed a bit of an old duet, someone would complete the phrase. Now there was finally someone who wanted to understand all of my depths and flaws, who didn’t shun them away or pretend not to see them but instead viewed them as natural and even admirable. We had both come from this sort of rigidity and exploitative background-his far, far worse than mine, of course-and we each found this wonderful sort of release in the other. We’d stay up hours into the night and day, and talk and talk and talk-”

“And only talk?” came the interruption of her near-rapturous repetition.

“Oh, of course not,” Isabelle said once she’d recovered from the memory, “but you didn’t want to hear about that.”

She was quiet for a moment, one finger circling a small threadbare spot in the armchair she’d now grown quite familiar with.

“‘For the first time in my life, I was seen.’ That’s what Louis told you, and that is how it was for me. When I read that phrase in your book…I lost my breath all over again.”

The journalist nodded as he finished connecting his phone back to the laptop and microphone.

Nothing more needed explanation.

Daniel already knew.

“So,” he said after a while, “when did things change? When did you come to the thought that you needed to go?”

“Part of it was because of Édith. Armand always seemed to come up with more rehearsals and group hunts during the times when we’d try to get together; eventually, I confronted him about it. He said that, since I had chosen this life, asked to become his despite his doubts, that I needed to give up every outward tie to humanity. I pointed out that that humanity was what drew him to me in the first place-the same way it was with you-and by the way he reacted, it seemed that he simply wanted it all to himself. I missed her. The last time I managed to see her, it was even more difficult to do so, because she was becoming truly famous.”

“Wait,” Daniel said, “...that Édith?”

Slowly, Isabelle nodded, looking to him with a slight smile.

“That Édith. My Édith. You know how the nightclub owner who discovered her died, the mobsters she had some associations with, the accusations that almost destroyed her career?”

“I have to say I’m not as brushed up on the history of French popular song as I guess I should have been, but I’ve heard of that, yes.”

“The murder was Armand’s doing. A warning, I think, that he could make my friends suffer if they kept me from him for too long.”

“Red flag number…we’ve lost count now.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Molloy.”

“But Mademoiselle Piaf clearly got back on her feet.”

“At least we got a proper goodbye.”

“When you left?”

“When I…tried. That was the first time. Captain of the ship got ‘rest’-ed into never leaving the dock. I think, on some level, Armand knew that playing any power card wouldn’t get me to want to stay, so he ran up that ramp in a billowing trench coat like some hero of an old film, wrapped me up into his arms, and said that he’d heard the waters that week were far too treacherous for a ‘visit home’. I knew I didn’t believe him, but he held me so tightly, so-so tenderly, whispering over and over that he couldn’t lose me…”

“So his tears worked better than the Mind Gift ever could.”

“...Yes.”

“Christ, Isabelle, he was never afraid of losing his power over you because he knew he already had it. Armand didn’t even need access to your memories-”

“I know-”

“-you were just so in love that he could easily,” Daniel bulldozed, “like any mortal, play your heartstrings like that fucking violin you always talked about-”

“I know!”

After the days of quips and tearful recollections, this was indeed a shout. She slammed her hands onto the arms of the chair, and every light in the room flickered.

Daniel was silent.

“I’m not proud of it,” Isabelle eventually said, cold and hard and finally loud. “I am fully aware that I spent my whole life terrified of being controlled only to wind up under the spell of the first dark-curled, smooth-voiced soul to actually look my way for once. I am fully aware that I saw everything and allowed love to blind me anyway. I thought we could figure it all out and grow together-it had truly seemed, for a while, like we were. I was young, I was tired of waiting, and I felt that those twenty-two years spent waiting were longer than any possible eternity. I wanted to be desired, chased, caught, cherished, held-I wanted him. Surrounded by this mockery of the life I have always longed for, this place where self-titled artists postured in their little cliques and prided themselves on their shallow works while ignoring the hundreds of bodies being dragged across the floor, I thought that that was all I was ever going to get.”

Her ragged breath had climaxed into sobs now, without a single speck of the demure camera-worthiness of her previous tears. These last words hanging in the air, Isabelle stared daggers at Daniel, the golden circles at the center of her glowing hazel eyes now alight with the same fire that Louis had burned the Théâtre with only a few years after she’d gone.

This was the desperation of the vampire Isabelle de la Rue,

and the desperation of the young mortal Bella Ditell,

all wrapped up into one bleeding watercolor quilt of a woman.

“I was swept away again,” she choked out, catching her breath. “I let him take me back to the Théâtre, swooned into him when he put La Bohème on his phonograph, and relished in every physical reminder that this glorious, terrible, deeply complex and surely divine being could not bear the thought that I would leave him. I committed it all to memory-the dizzying warmth of Armand’s bare chest against mine, my hand moving up his thigh and his tangling in my hair as he ripped out every bobby pin I’d placed for easy travel, the way the taste of his blood was now tinged with something like bitter wine. His grip was rougher now, but I didn’t care…”

Her breath having nearly returned to steadiness, Isabelle winced at one more admission.

“I didn’t notice the pain, because it fit so well with the music.”

#silhouettesemerging #iwtv x reader #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #iwtv oc #daniel molloy #the vampire armand #louis de pointe du lac #devil's minion #theatre des vampires #armand x reader

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 10

Just two more chapters to go and then this little story is done. I'm glad I wrote it. It was very cathartic for me. I hope it brought some comfort to you too.

Here we find out who Steve has been grieving this whole time and that Eddie mourned them too.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

****

Steve was quiet and contemplative on the trip back. And Eddie let him be. That was quite the roller coaster of emotion he had gone through and he knew Steve needed time to sort out all of his thoughts and feelings.

As they neared Ashland, Eddie asked, “Are you okay? It got pretty heavy back there.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured.

“I wasn’t asking for forgiveness,” Eddie admonished gently. “I was asking if you were okay.”

Steve sighed. “I guess I just had so many things bottled up that it all came out in a rush.”

“So talk to me,” Eddie said softly. “I know you think you can’t talk to anyone else because they’re all younger than you. But I’m not. So spill.”

Steve let out a long shuddering breath as if he had been holding it in for years.

“It’s just there have only ever been two adults involved in the whole Upside Down shit,” Steve murmured. “Well, there have been others, but either they haven’t been trustworthy or they’ve died. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m not bitter about Mrs Byers taking her family out to California and leaving me as the remaining adult.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie said softly. He hadn’t even thought about that. “That wasn’t right. I get she was trying to get Will and El as far away from Hawkins as she could, but considering the frequency of the U.D. coming back, it does seem selfish when looked at from your point of view.”

“El wasn’t the only one grieving Hopper’s death,” Steve spat out. “Why were only her feelings taken into consideration? Why was his funeral ‘a private family’ affair instead of one benefiting a hero where the whole town could attend? Why was El the first one that got to see him? Why did it take days before anyone else was informed?”

Eddie saw a shoulder and pulled off onto it, the Bimmer crunching the gravel as it slowed to a stop.

“It must have been so hard on you,” Eddie murmured. “You mentioned back at the diner that he always looked out for you and then suddenly he was gone and no one thought to ask you if you needed time to grieve, right?”

Steve nodded. “I just felt so stupid after it was announced that he was alive, you know? Like how dare I mourn someone who hadn’t even died. But I thought that once everything settled down we would get a chance to talk, but nope. He went off to California with the Byers. They’re supposed all be back before school starts, but who knows if that’s even true.”

“Steve it isn’t stupid you grieved,” Eddie murmured. “But I bet if you told him what you’ve been feeling, he’d pretty upset that he hurt you like that.”

Tears started streaming down Steve’s face. “I just want to be loved as much I love them, is that really too much to ask for?”

Eddie unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled him in for a hug. “Of course it’s not. And I don’t doubt if you stopped to really think about it you can name at least a half a dozen people who love you as much as you love them.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “I could probably fill up all ten of my fingers, if I was honest to myself.”

Eddie wiped away his tears. “There you have it, big boy. But it’s okay to cry and if you feel like you need to fall apart, call me. I’ll come over with beer, weed, and bad horror films to mock until you laugh.”

Steve wiped his nose on his arm. “You promise?”

Eddie leaned back far enough to hold up his pinkie. “I pinkie promise.”

Steve hooked his finger around Eddie’s and shook on it.

“You ready to face the road again?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. After a moment or two of silence, he spoke up. “You remember when ‘fake’ cried for Keith?” He used his fingers around the word fake to put it into air quotes.

Eddie, who was about to pull into traffic again, cut the engine. “Holy shit. It was Hopper, wasn’t it? That’s who you were remembering.”

Steve nodded. “It’s easy to cry when thinking about him, you know?”

“Because it’s new and even though he’s not dead, you never got your resolution?”

Steve nodded again. “I just feel so selfish about the whole thing, you know. He wasn’t my dad. I wasn’t related to him in anyway. But I thought I meant something to him, you know?”

Eddie turned the car back on and eased into traffic. “I’m sure you meant a lot to him, but there could be extenuating circumstances that prevented him from expressing that. Like I said before, I bet if you told him how you felt he’d be gutted.”

Steve just shrugged.

Eddie glanced over at him and then back at the road. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll tell Dustin about the time you flirted with his mom to get the brownie recipe.”

Steve’s went wide. “That was not flirting! I was just buttering her up a bit. That’s not the same thing.”

“Oh I know that,” Eddie said with a grin. “But would Dustin know the difference?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “You drive a hard bargain, Lord Eddie.”

Eddie giggled. “You know, sometimes I forget you like ‘Star Wars’, you just aren’t great with their titles.”

“The third one is my favorite, after all.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “So back when I was just little metalhead, dealing for the first time one of my best customers was the Chief.”

Steve blinked. “Oh wait, I think I did hear something about that. I’m surprised he wasn’t fired.”

Eddie shrugged. “He wasn’t up for re-election. Sheriffs are elected. And small town like Hawkins, change is difficult. Hop would have to straight up murder babies in town hall and smear their blood over the church walls to get people to not vote for him.”

Steve snorted. “I doubt even then. It would take him being soft on homosexuals before they ousted him.”

Eddie laughed. “You’ve got me there.”

Steve smiled at him.

“So,” Eddie continued, “the reason I bring it up is that despite what people think, I’ve never been arrested for dealing and Rick hadn’t either until Hop ‘died’.”

Steve straightened up in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Hop always said it was better to steer Rick away from certain places because he could,” Eddie said, “then it was to arrest him and have an all out war with the new supplier.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “That’s why Rick didn’t get arrested until Powell took over because he didn’t have the same philosophy that Hop did.”

“Right in one,” he said. “And it did get bad with people trying to fill the void he left behind. Uncle Wayne convinced to stop selling once I was out until Rick was released because I couldn’t trust the new suppliers not to cut their shit with something dangerous.”

“Holy shit, yeah,” Steve agreed. “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because Hop looked out for me, too,” Eddie said. “Especially when my old man rolled into town. He would make sure he got to the carnage first and made sure I never got a record.”

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “That makes since I always wondered why the police or Jason never brought up your arrest record. It’s because Hop made sure you never got one.”

“So this is me saying,” Eddie finished, “I get it. I get mourning him. Because in my own way I mourned him, too. Because between Hop and Uncle Wayne they made sure I could get out of Hawkins when the time came.”

“This is exactly why I pushed for a public funeral,” Steve grumbled, sinking back into his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t know who had the final say on that, but it makes me mad that just because they didn’t have a body people in town wouldn’t want to come see anyway. It blows.”

“Here’s that,” Eddie agreed.

Too soon they were pulling up the Nelsons’ and the sun was starting to set.

By silent agreement they both got out of the car and sat on Steve’s hood to watch the sunset in a beautiful array of blues and purples until the sky darkened and the stars came out.

“Thank you for today,” Steve murmured. “For all of it. Getting me out here, taking me to my grandmother’s grave, sitting with me when I talked to Uncle Percy. Helping me with my grief even though yours is far more fresh and painful than mine.”

“Grief is grief, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “You don’t get to decide when it heals over. You were there for me when my dad showed up, so I was more than happy to return the favor with your family.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve said.

“So...” Eddie said. “You want to tell me why you and your uncle weren’t keen to let your other uncle see you?”

Steve snorted. “He’s the one that was the most against my mom getting any kind of inheritance. He didn’t think she should have gotten anything because she was a girl child. He kept saying that she got her money in the form of the lavish wedding she had when she married my dad.”

He ran his fingers through his hair.

“He’s sued her at least three times that I know of. If he had seen me he would have started screaming about how my mom didn’t deserve that money and that I was just as complicit in its ‘theft’ as she was.”

“But he got the house or whatever it was, right?” Eddie asked.

He nodded. “Yeah and the two acres of land it sits on. If he were to sell it would go for at least a few million, easy.”

“I’ll bet,” Eddie said, whistling long and low. “Which means Percy got the business?”

“Which another thing that upset Uncle Jasper,” Steve said. “But Uncle Percy is the oldest and had the best business sense, but he can’t let it go that he thinks his siblings got the better deal.”

“I heard this quote once about how some people are content in life, but that others just can’t be. That they will always seek more. Nothing will ever be enough.”

“Uncle Jasper is definitely one of those.”

Penny poked her head out the front door. “Come on in, boys, it’s really getting late.”

Eddie and Steve stood up and walked back into the house, feeling lighter then they had since before March.

****

Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster @r0binscript @awkotaco24 @ilikeititspretty

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #minor character death #dealing with grief

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freesia-writes · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4: A Shop Visit

Enjoy a warm and fuzzy tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. Banner/dividers by @pinkiemme ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter

Chapter 4 - Word Count: 2.2k - FANART BY @nika6q!!

Hunter wiped his hands on the rag before tossing it on the counter, scrutinizing the rows of neatly-trimmed filets spread across the butcher block in front of him. It had been an oddly quiet day, aside from a very boisterous group of women from the school who had stopped by on their lunch break. Why they were in search of raw meat at an hour when most people would be eating prepared food, Hunter had no idea. But he had a sneaking suspicion, after recent conversations, that there was some sort of challenge going around the office that involved his attention, and their enthusiastic questions about his sausages only furthered his increasing need for caution.

It was nearing time to close, although he wasn’t in any hurry to get home to the empty house. Omega would be home the following day, so he’d busied himself with extra hunting time as well as some organizational tasks around the butcher shop that he’d been putting off for a while. He found it strangely cathartic as he wiped the counters after putting everything away, enjoying the smoothness of the stone surface as his mind wandered across the various aspects of life on the island.

The gentle tinkle of the bell hanging inside the door caught his attention, and he ventured out from the back room. It was another one of the office ladies, the one he’d spoken to about the emergency beacon for Omega. She was wearing a long brown skirt with a plain blue shirt tucked into it, and her brown hair was tucked into a loose braid at the base of her neck. He wracked his memory for her name, surprised that he was coming up entirely blank, but was saved from speaking by her gentle greeting.

“Hi,” she said, offering a halfhearted wave as she carefully closed the door behind her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as her eyes flickered around the shop. “Man, I’ve never seen any place so clean,” she admitted with the faintest chuckle that was oddly endearing. Or perhaps it was just the most emotion he’d seen from her. “Also… We Meat Again? Did you come up with the name?” She was fighting to keep her face neutral.

“I lost a bet.” He grinned at the memory, shaking his head fondly.

“Ah, well… It’s fantastic. I’d like to open a cheese shop next door and call it… uh…” she faltered, clearly not having thought this far into her own joke. “Something cheesy…” She cringed, then continued, “Are you all wrapped up for the day?”

“Just about,” Hunter said, leaning on the counter opposite her. “But what were you looking for? I think your coworkers bought enough sausage to go around for quite a while…”

“Yeah…” Her gaze found his face for a moment before returning to their leisurely perusal of the signs, glass cases, and other elements of the storefront. “They have a bit of a herd mentality sometimes.” Her tone was hard to discern, and Hunter tilted his head, assessing her body language. She seemed a little bit sheepish and a little unsure of herself, and he didn’t get the sense that she was part of the whole office debacle, which put him at ease a bit. “Anyway – I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I was going to stop by and check the place out, so… check,” she said with a small smile, moving her index finger in the shape of a check mark in the air.

“Can I get you anything?” he pressed, rubbing his hands together slowly as if itching to make himself useful.

“I don’t want to make you undo all your tidying,” she answered, eyeing the slabs of meat in the case.

“It’s alright; it’s a quick clean-up if you’re not asking me to butcher an entire caraboose,” Hunter said, smirking at the resulting shock on her face that quickly melted into mildly enthused humor.

“I’m not sure I’d want to see that,” she said with a smile, pointing toward the thinly-sliced fambaa fillets. “But if you wouldn’t mind wrapping up a pound of those bad boys… perhaps then my mouth will stop watering.” He nodded, a courteous grin of his own passing across his face as he moved into action.

“They were bad boys,” he mused, laying out the butcher paper before fetching the steaks. “Took advantage of some nearby stampeding kod’yok to try to sneak up on me. Probably would have taken a decent chunk out of my leg if I didn’t have enha… If I hadn’t been paying attention.”

“You… uh… You hunt this all yourself?” she said, eyes widening slightly as he gave a curt nod. “That sounds intense. How do you do it?”

Hunter shrugged, folding the thick brown paper in careful layers to create one neat little package, “I was trained from a young age… had lots of practice… And it seemed to address a need around here, so I’m glad to have a place to apply my… skills.”

“You’ve been a butcher all your life?” she asked, shifting her weight to her other foot to pull her shoulder bag into reach, digging absently for her wallet.

“Not entirely. Did some other stuff here and there. Whatever it took to get by at different stages of life,” he answered evenly, weighing the package and printing a small label. “How about you?” he continued, shifting the focus.

“I know how that goes,” she said, delicately placing the money into his hand and taking the package from him. “Um, I had a few different jobs on Coruscant. The last one was an administrative aide for a senator’s office. I thought it would be glamorous,” she admitted, again letting out that quiet chuckle as though laughing at herself, then turning somber. “Needless to say, it was decidedly not what I expected.”

“So you came here?” Hunter asked, tucking the money into the drawer beneath the counter.

“Yep,” she said. “The thrilling adventures of Lyra. Coming soon to a holoscreen near you.” He chuckled, running the towel across the counter again as he committed the name to memory. “But really… It’s wonderful here. So peaceful and quiet. It’s like closing a door on the chaos of the Core Worlds.”

“Been here long?”

“Not really… Almost two years now. But long enough to feel pretty settled.”

“Hm. Any inside info I should know?”

Lyra laughed again, almost nervously this time, shrugging as she looked at the counter, “About what?”

“The island. The planet. The comings and goings. We’ve been here for a number of months, but it seems to be almost too quiet. I guess I have a hard time believing that anywhere could be a perfect little safe place.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I know the feeling. But as far as I’ve seen, the Empire doesn’t seem to know nor care about anything out here, so that keeps most of the issues away. Not a lot of conflict otherwise. Haven’t even seen many pirates. There aren’t any valuable natural resources other than what sustains everyone on the planet itself, so it just doesn’t get much attention. It’s been a nice change of pace, for me at least.”

“Sounds like the sort of place the unsavory type might go to disappear…” he mused, brow furrowing slightly. Crosshair often accused him of seeing threats anywhere and everywhere, which was ironic coming from the snarky sniper, but the sense of responsibility that had rested heavily on Hunter’s shoulders for the entirety of his created life so far was hard to shake. He sensed an immediate wave of discomfort emanating from Lyra, and he turned to face her more fully. “Sorry,” he said, realizing what it may imply. “I just mean… You haven’t seen any shady types lurking around, have you?”

“Just that tall, scowling, gray-haired man with the eye tattoo,” she said, keeping her face carefully neutral. The flashes of humor and wit were so fleeting that Hunter questioned whether they happened at all. She must have known who he was from the school’s initial orientation day, or from Omega’s enrollment paperwork, where all of her brothers had been listed as emergency contacts and trusted guardians.

“Mmm,” he agreed, tightening his lips to hold back a smirk. “Yeah, we should watch out for that one. Anyway… Sorry if that’s an odd thing to say. Just trying to get a feel for a new place, you know…”

“I get it,” she said, in the same gentle tone she’d used in her office when he’d asked her to keep the emergency beacon. He couldn’t tell what it was about her that created an air of compassion, understanding, and quiet assurance, but it had a settling effect that he appreciated. “It’s nice to feel safe,” she finished, simply and quietly.

“It is.”

They stood silently for a moment, pleasantly surprised by the sense of agreement and the notable lack of awkwardness, then Lyra took a step back, tucking her bag behind her shoulder and lifting her chin slightly to give Hunter another tiny smile.

“Thank you so much for these,” she said, nodding toward her purchase. “I’m excited to try out a dry seasoning rub that I haven’t used in years.”

“Sounds fancy,” Hunter commented, his interest piqued. “You like to cook?”

“I do,” Lyra admitted, running an hand absently up and down the outside of one arm. “Maybe too much,” she laughed, a little self-conscious. “I love being home. I have a little garden with herbs and vegetables, way too many pots and pans, and a disproportionate love of food. So I enjoy coming up with new recipes and trying new things.”

“Well I’m sure your family members aren’t complaining. Or whoever gets to eat it,” Hunter corrected, realizing he still didn’t know much about her situation.

“Just me,” she said with a small shrug. “Well, that’s not true – I take some meals to neighbors at times. But it’s just me and my cozy little cottage. And the critters in the garden, I suppose. I’m not very exciting.”

“Excitement isn’t always all that it’s cracked up to be.”

“Very true,” Lyra agreed. “Well, if you ever need some fresh herbs for all your steak adventures that Omega talks about, I’m happy to share. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve in the thrilling realm of meat marinades.” Every word of hers felt somehow self-effacing and unapologetic at the same time, and Hunter found a small smile on his face.

“And you said you weren’t exciting,” he said dryly, earning a little snicker from her. “Although, to be honest, I’ll take all the help I can get… As grateful and appreciative as Omega and Wrecker are, I think we’re all getting a little sick of the same three meals. I wasn’t really made for… domestic life.” His tone grew somewhat sad at the end, echoes of his creation and purpose surfacing above his efforts to find his way in a new stage of life.

“I think we all find ourselves thrown into situations we’d never would have guessed, at some time or another in our lives,” Lyra mused, a nearly imperceptible ache in her own slightly husky voice. Her gaze grew distant for a moment, caught only by his sharp senses before she shook her head minutely and seemed to return to the present. “Feels like getting a new pair of shoes. Awkward and clunky at first, then you wear them in until they seem to fit perfectly. You know?” Hunter’s hum of agreement was lost in her words as she continued, “Unless they’re high heels. Those are just cruel and unrelenting.”

“Now that I definitely wouldn’t know about,” he said, ducking his head to run an idle hand over his hair, most of which was pulled back near the top of his head.

“You’d be wise to keep it that way,” Lyra said with a smile, feeling the conversation coming to a close. “Anyway… Thanks again for this,” she said, patting her bag, “And I’ll see you next time!”

“See you,” Hunter echoed, watching her slip demurely out the door. He sighed, casting a glance around the shop and mulling over her words. The only shoes he’d ever known had been combat boots, made as much for him as he had been made for them. It had been simple, in a way… And then his singular, straightforward trajectory exploded like a firework into a million different paths, leaving him scrambling to try to choose the best one for him and his squad. It was hard to believe that now, after years of chaos and tumult, he could settle into something like a simple island life.

He finished the few remaining clean-up tasks and turned the sign on the door before locking it behind him, taking a deep breath of the fresh air before starting his walk home. Part of him wanted that sense of autonomy and freedom that nat-borns took for granted, and yet part of him balked at the thought. Why? He had no idea. But he shrugged off the thoughts as much as he could, resolving to continue on, one step at a time… while remaining prepared for anything.

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