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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

Santa Baby

Summary: For over a decade, detective Walter Marshall kept a dirty little secret, thinking no one would ever find out about his past. Sadly for him, you are somewhat of a detective yourself.

Challenge prompt: the song Santa Baby.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Some sexy themes but mostly fluffy floof fluff.

A/N: This is for @toomanystoriessolittletime Christmas challenge, which I am sadly a day late with. Remind me to never sign up to challenges. I stumbled upon erotic book covers that looked a lot like Walter (this and this) so decided it’s a funny idea. I never read these books, so I am not mocking it or the artist who drew it. Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming for helping me out. Not beta’d, I own my mistakes.

Please feedback, comment, reblog if you enjoyed reading. 💖

Title: Santa Baby

It’s not that Detective Marshall was the Grinch or anything, it’s just that he couldn’t afford to be merry. With crime levels peaking during that time of the year, and sunlight being scarce, his body ran strictly on caffeine and stale doughnuts.

The temptation to spend Christmas eve sprawled on the worn-out leather sofa in his office was quite strong tonight. But even big hulking bears had their weaknesses, and as exhausted as he was, he dreaded every morning he woke up without your warm body curled up beside him.

With his energy level blinking red, he finally decided to call it a night and drive home. Heavy growling and thundering drums roared within his truck, the extreme Scandinavian black-metal he listened to served as a complete contrast to the soft snow that fell from the sky and quietly piled up on the sides of the road. Pausing at the street-light, he watched the little crystals striving to form on his windshield and melting just as quickly against the heat of the car.

For a single moment, all the terrors of the night diminished by the little flame that was the reminiscent of you - his little firefly who led him through the darkness, tender as snow and wild as fire. Accelerating just a tad, he imagined you’d be asleep by the time he’d get there, and if not, Walter hoped to at least be in your good graces.

Luckily, ther warm orange hues beaming through the windows assured him that you were still very much awake, and he couldn’t help but spare one of his rare smiles.

Muffled tunes of a familiar song played beyond the door, the bass vibrating through the polished wooden flooring and the walls. Slow and sensual like honey rolling off one’s finger, the jazzy beats filled the spacious house along with the sweetest scent of crushed peppercorn and red berries. Smiling wider, he held onto the doorframe and kicked off his heavy boots.

“Pet?” he called and followed into the living room, hearing you humming along with the lyrics.

“Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me.”

Oh, he was indeed in your good graces.

Sitting on your knees with your ankles hunched below your ass, you wore a velvety Santa hat and a sheer, red nighty finished by fake white fur that outlined your breasts. Your hands held a shiny green present over your thighs, and you gave him one of those coy looks that made him want to fall before you and pledge himself as your servant.

Instead, he crooked an eyebrow and unzipped his thick winter coat, carelessly discarding it on the floor and making his way toward you.

“Have you been an awful good girl?”

Sleeves rolled up; he crossed his muscular arms together while towering over you. His cobalt eyes drank in your sight, trying to decide what to do with you first. The scent of musky sweat mingled with dark cologne wafted over you within seconds, making your chest rise and sink in a primal instinct.

“Oh, I’m definitely going down your chimney tonight,” he growled upon your reaction to his presence and sucked in his bottom lip with growing hunger.

“At least three times,” you dared him in return and then casually lowered your gaze to the box perched on your lap.

The large man caught on the hint and carefully knelt before you. One of his hands reached to stroke his beard while his mind rummaged to figure out what surprise hid behind the shiny package.

“Got something for me over there?” he wondered with a playful beam, “I thought we’re not doing presents until tomorrow morning.”

“Just a little teaser,” you answered. Your eyes shone brighter than the large decorated tree that stood at the corner of the living room.

Being a detective, Walter could practically smell the mischief that drenched every teeny hair on your body. As usual, his naughty vixen was up to no good. It always made him laugh how bad you were in trying to surprise him, which worked in his favour. Walter hated surprises.

Intrigued, he snatched the gift from your hands and shook it against his ear for shy second before beginning to unwrap it. His eyes briefly scrutinised yours, darkening, smokey with lust while he tore at the chrome paper and absentmindedly threw pieces of green wrapping all over the living room.

You watched carefully, your cheeks rounding and filling, your teeth flashing with wickedness upon seeing the colour drain from his rugged face.

“Where…”

Walter paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. Fingers oily with sweat and knuckles turning white, dug into the object held in his hand.

“How did you find this?!”

The snort you’ve been trying to hold back for the last couple of minutes finally made its way out, followed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles that made you fall to your back with your hand held over your torso.

Walter, on the other hand, was anything but amused. He always feared the day someone would dig up his dirtiest secret.

It was more than a decade ago when he was struggling to pay his tuition to the police academy that Walter found an easy and quick way to make money. As a British immigrant who barely had friends and blended with the crowd, he made the mistake of thinking no one will ever know about his short-lived modelling career for cheesy erotic novels.

He should have known better. He might have been a professional police detective, but you had a skill for uncovering the truth.

“Where did you find this?” Walter repeated with a frown, clenching his jaw and waving the colorful book in the air.

Pausing your giggles merely for a second, you took a gander at the cover, focusing on the image of your dear husband’s open white shirt. There he was, the man you knew as a brooding, black-sweater wearing grump, lost in some green meadow with a half-naked chick. A deep dramatic gaze crisped his younger face, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair, and his hand laid flat upon her juicy rump.

Oh the drama!

You tried to speak, but all that came out of your mouth was an uncontrollable peal of chuckles. The corny title of the book didn’t help either; his fiery love rod.

Walter sulked and suddenly shuffled to hover above you, one hand snapped at your wrist before the other discarded the book onto your sternum and joined in restraining your other arm. Led purely by instinct, your legs spread to straddle his wide waist and wrapped around his muscular ass.

Staring at your strong, intimidating husband, the laughter rolling from your lips slowly died down, yet the smile was still smeared between your cheeks, especially once you felt his groin pressing into yours.

“Woman!” the big bear growled at you, “I am not going to ask you more than once, where on earth did you bloody find this?”

“The second-hand bookstore,” you answered and glanced at the book lying upon your chest, “was looking for something raunchy to read when suddenly I noticed a familiar face.” You explained and then swallowed the dryness in your throat.

“At first I thought I was hallucinating with all them Christmas carols eating into my brain, but then when I took a closer peek, I recognised my husband’s ‘fuck me’ stare.”

Walter felt a burn rising in his throat and swerving to tingle at his bristly cheeks. If there ever was a moment when he regretted a life decision, that moment was now. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from you. You were dauntless and unyielding as the ocean, one of the reasons why he was utterly in love with you.

Nostrils flaring, he tightened the grasp around your wrists and rolled his hips into yours, eliciting a small moan from your quivering lips. The thick bulge in his groin hardened at the calling of the hot, wet patch in your panties.

“Name your terms, woman.”

“You are going to read it to me,” you answered without even overthinking and gestured toward the book with your chin. “Every. night. before. bedtime. I want you to hold me in your big strong arms and read me a chapter from ‘his fiery love rod’, or else…”

“Or else?...”

The fire from the mental suddenly illuminated your face, causing dark shadows to form over your irises and the hollows below your brows. “Your friends at the MPD are going to find out about this one,” you paused, “and the 12 others that you made.”

Taken back by your words, Walter gulped, his fingers became moist around your wrists as sheer horror seeped into his mind.

“You... you know about the others?”

You nodded at him and then snaked your legs around the back of his thighs to cage him in your grasp like a fickle dryad growing her roots around a helpless wanderer. With his attention faltering, you twisted your hips and rolled the two of you so you were on top. Fingers lacing into his, you pinned him down and leered over him with cascading triumph.

“12 books, all under our Christmas tree, detective, so you better be good to me tonight and satisfy all my needs.”

Adam apple bobbing up and down, Walter watched you with a mixture of awe and agitation. There was nothing he hated more than losing control, but damn if he didn’t adore his wicked queen, especially when you were in a joyous mood, which, as he found, tended to be contagious. The moments in which the grouchy detective felt at peace were rare to non-existent. It was only in the embrace of your thighs that he thought that for a minute, everything is going to be okay.

Noticing the muscles of his jaw somewhat relax, you reached for the Christmas hat and slipped it off your head, placing it atop of his curly mess instead. Your hands held firmly onto Walter’s shoulders, and with a careful twist, you flipped the two of you over once again and shoved him down your torso while blissfully chanting.

“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry toniiiiiiiiiiight.”

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall

#henry cavill #StephsChristmasWritingChallenge #walter marshall x reader #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 15

18+ only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Because sometimes all you need is a simple reminder of who started this mess in the first damn place 💜

Warnings : as always 18+ only please- dom Zemo, sub Bucky, sub reader, punishment, m/m, m/m/f, light bondage

Authors Notes: Really didn't think I would be posting this weekend but it's a holiday in the states so why not! Still working on the rest by you know, neglecting everything that matters to create this fictional world. Anyhow, I can honestly say this is by far the most graphic story I've written so I'm a little nervous but it's already done, can't change it now, and I honestly don't want to! That said I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!

Nothing lasts forever, especially when it’s this good. And this fabricated reality is about as good as it gets. Still, you know this boat will dock soon and goodbyes will be said. There’s really no way around it, try as you might to come up with a plan to talk Bucky into staying. Even now as you fight to stay asleep, your brain is working hard to create a solution while you refuse to give into your worries so early in the day.

You turn onto your stomach ignoring the dark thoughts, choosing instead to enjoy the feel of a strong arm across your back and a leg, hairy and heavy over both of yours.

Settling again with a content sigh, sleep starts to pull you back under. Thank the stars. You really aren’t in the mood— even if your dreams apparently are.

And what had you been dreaming about anyway?

A little house on a wide cliff overlooking water, and something else? The harder you try to remember the more you feel yourself slipping back into that dream space.

There was a small animal. What was it? A rabbit? Its fluffy body too close to the edge of the cliff. But in the dream you’d stayed standing in the doorway of the little house too indifferent to go and save it….

You feel bodies moving lazily, a stream of breath along your back that tickles; arms and legs and the men they belong to not fully awake and starting to stir like you, even as you quickly slip back into sleep until you’re standing in the doorway of that house again with the warm winds on your face and a view of the French sea below. The drop is dangerous. Deadly even.

Why haven’t you started talking Bucky into staying yet? Because you don’t like thinking about it too much. That's why. You start walking towards the edge of the cliff and you’re fully aware of your worlds crossing over —real thoughts present in your dream.

It’s probably bad luck to resent good deeds, after all that’s what he’s leaving you for. He wants to go off and live the life of the hero he never got to be. That and to keep Zemo’s location safe; but that’s besides the point. Hmm… Look at me, selfish even in my dreams. You smile when you shouldn’t.

Staring over the edge of the cliff it’s suddenly clear how unstable the ground is here and you gasp as it crumbles beneath your feet without warning.

Your eyes open with a start.

Well, that was a bit on the nose. Your subconscious does like to lay it on a thick sometimes, especially when you continue to ignore the things bothering you for too long and you've been setting these feelings aside since the text came through.

But just as quickly as you’re left to shake the shadow of the eerie dream, your frown fades replaced by a slow smile.

There is a very familiar poking at your ass that can sometimes be annoying-- this morning it’s welcome. You reach back and feel for the body that the greeting belongs too, comforted by the warmth and solid muscle of Bucky’s thigh under his tight boxers.

Mmmmm, the source of my distress and my desire, you think and grin into the pillows with a soft moan when his hand, hot and strong takes hold of your hip, massaging as he presses his erection into you.

You’ll talk to him about your dreams later.

Feeling a draft where there should be warmth, you open an eye to find breaks of sunlight in the space between Helmut’s arm and torso. When you turn your head you’re met with the sight of his bare chest, broad and covered in the softest dark hair. His necklace hangs off center, and you, as always, are helpless to it.

Your hand leaves Bucky’s thigh and your fingers slide over the delicate links in the chain and down into the soft chest hair as you turn your head to find he and Bucky locked in one hell of a kiss for so early in the day. It must have been their movement or the sound of their lips that woke you and pulled you from the doom of your fatal fall.

Dreams are so strange…

Your heart flutters when Helmut lays his hand over yours pressing it tight to his chest. “Good morning love birds.” You snicker and watch Bucky pull away from Zemo looking a little embarrassed. He does pause to kiss your cheek however before getting out of bed with a long stretch.

“So where the hell are we anyway?” He asks going to the balcony door, looking out at the passing waves. “Feels like nowhere.”

Zemo is looking down at you, stroking your profile, kissing your nose. “We should be well within the middle of it actually.” He answers, eyes still fixed on you.

“Perfect” You say softly letting him pull you so close that he blocks out the light as your lips meet.

“Breakfast is ready sir,” Oeznik calls from outside the bedroom door.

Zemo grumbles at the interruption but you’re starving. “What? I’m not going anywhere” You huff turning away, trying to escape. “You just said so yourself. I've got no place to go.”

“All by design” He smiles and lets you get up, giving your ass a smack as you go. Bucky is watching from the doorway and laughs at your yelp-hop-rub combination.

Swearing under your breath you go over to the closet, grab your silk robe and pull it on over your shorts and tank top, yawning as you drag your feet over to Bucky. You pat his stomach, kissing him quickly. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Lets go up.” You say tugging at him as Zemo gets up and puts on his own robe across the room. It’s not the thick one you liked from before the raft, but silk like yours— Tom Ford if memory serves— god his influence is strong. How the hell do you remember this stuff?

You watch him scratch at the back of his messy nest of hair like he always does in the mornings, somehow looking both sexy and adorable, alternating between the two with the ease of flicking a light switch. You can only smile at the enigma that is Helmut Zemo and pull Bucky away from the doors.

The three of you leave the room shuffling along, making your way down the hall to the den. Zemo trails you and Bucky accepting a small espresso from Oeznik as he watches the way you and your Sergeant interact. Neither you nor Bucky are necessarily morning people and though it’s nearly ten, you’re both somewhat irritable now that you’re actually moving around and slightly hungover from yesterdays sangrias as you make your way up to the top deck where breakfast will be served.

The sun is so bright you huff about not being able to find your sunglasses and Bucky accuses you of being a diva. The only appropriate reaction is to give him a shove.

Zemo snorts a laugh at your near sibling like banter which you’d established after so many months together, but once you find your glasses on the bar counter and get a fresh cup of coffee and a bloody Mary chaser in your body you’re feeling like a new woman ready to conquer the day… a day spent doing nothing really.

It’s all so casually decadent that it’s nearly sinful. Whats the one? The sin that doesn’t sound as good as lust but feels better after all that fornicating you’ve been doing— Sloth? Yes, you think reaching for what’s left of your blood Mary from the lounge chair, the ultimate of all the sins. Thou shalt not be a lazy ass sloth all day on your yacht.

Cheers.

You read on the deck for a while, play a few rounds of shuffle board with Bucky by the pool and attempt to best Zemo at chess in the den.

Lunch is wonderful, and you think you will need to meet this mystery chef at some point before the trip is over followed by a nap on the bedroom balcony.

When you wake up in the very late afternoon you venture down the hall with your book and unexpectedly find the men in your life moaning on the floor of the den in a tangle of beautifully tanned arms and legs. So you very quietly slip past, feeling a flush rise up your neck to your cheeks highlighting your wide but tight lipped smile.

You stay above decks giving them privacy feeling only the slightest twinge of jealousy. Not because you think you’ve been excluded but because you could use another session like last night.

A shiver runs deep in your belly thinking of the way Helmut brought you to climax, but you’re still more than happy to give them time alone. After all, you’ve had the Baron to yourself for far longer than Bucky.

You sink down onto the upper deck sofa, the image of them entwined, the sounds of their heavy breathing and Bucky’s near innocent moans enough to make you consider touching yourself but you wait, letting the urge build, one of them if not both will take care of you later.

So when Bucky comes up and finds you with a funny look on his face you’re completely confused. “Whats wrong?” You ask putting your book down.

He’s poured a drink and sits down beside you on the couch.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” He says shaking his head tossing back the bourbon.

“Do what?” You have an idea but you thought for sure he’d be eager to try, at least it looked like they were well on their way to his first time.

“Letting him control me, I’ve never had someone tell me no. Not like this.”

“Oh” You smile. It’s the no sex. The lack of it is a cruel form of control but the end results are glorious, if he could just be patient enough. “He won’t let you come?” You ask a little more patronizing than you’d intended.

“No!” Bucky whines taking his cue from you and you stifle your laughter. He’s so cute, even in the throws of his sexual agony. “And it’s making me crazy. I mean I’m already crazy but this is different.” He looks around and leans closer to you. “If you were to so much as look at my cock right now, I’d be done.” He says under his breath.

You let go and laugh rolling your eyes. Dramatics seem to come as naturally as submission to him. “That’s against the rules.” You warn eyeing him sidelong and attempting to go back to your book.

“I can’t take it. Fuck the rules.” He says again pulling the paperback from your hand.

You wave your finger in his face. “James. You’re not allowed.” You say playfully.

“Please.” He begs running his finger down your cheek, brushing your neck and gliding along your clavicle where he knows you’re sensitive.

“I can’t!” You lean away a little surprised by his attempt.

“He won’t know!”

You shake your head “I know but…” You try not to smile.

“I can’t take it.” He insists leaning in to kiss you. “I promise; it won’t take long.”

You give in and laugh sensing his desperation as you kiss. He does feel tense. The muscles of his arm and shoulder are wound tight as a chord. You smile against his lips letting him ease you down onto the couch, your book dropping to the floor as he moans, sliding his hand down your thigh, pushing your knee up and his own hips forward letting you feel what you’re fairly certain is the most rock solid hard on you’ve ever had pressed to your body. You whisper his name as his lips find their way to your neck and his hand slides between you to free himself from those amazing shorts.

“Shame, I had every intention of making your patience worth the effort. But you do love to prolong your torment, don’t you soldat.”

You gasp and Bucky hangs his head as Zemo comes sauntering over. Your laughter is a mix of nerves and feeling like you’ve been caught sneaking around with a boy like a damn teenager. It’s been years since you’ve felt a rush like this. Leave it to the Baron to stir that old excitement again.

“Don’t move” Zemo orders, pointing a finger in your face. You freeze, legs open where Bucky was, your arms tight at your sides. “Sit” He growls at Bucky who obeys begrudgingly as he slides back onto the couch.

Very quickly Zemo shoves your legs closed and grabs you by the arm pulling you up to standing. You lean away as he shakes his head keeping you close, his hold so tight you wince “I thought you knew better by now” He scolds you sounding disappointed.

“I told him not too?” You try looking as innocent as possible. You truly had no intentions of fucking him, but maybe a quick hand job?

There is a flicker of excitement in Zemo’s eyes. It's been so long since you’ve given him a reason to really go for it and you hold in your smile because you’re meant to be sad and hang your head. “I’m sorry Baron.”

He ignores your attempts to apologize and pulls you over so that you’re standing in front of Bucky. He looks you both over for a moment thinking and then smiles. You don’t know if you love or hate to see him looking so pleased. Nothing “good” ever comes of that smile.

“Look James.” He says, waiting until Bucky raises his head. “I want you to see what listening to your eager cock and not my rules get gets you— and her.” He tells Bucky before giving you his undivided attention.

Zemo turns your back to Bucky and you feel his hand between your shoulder blades pushing just a little. You bend at the waist, not all the way, just enough to make sure Bucky knows where his attention should be.

This flouncy little designer sun dress you’ve changed into after your nap only helps direct his gaze as Zemo drags the fabric up slowly so that the reveal of your ass is yet another way to torment him all on its own and you give yourself over to the Baron and wonder how bad this will be.

“Pull them down.” He tells you, his hand smoothing over your simple lace panties. His voice is not so angry as it was when he found the two of you, but every bit as firm, and you glance up at him as you hook your thumbs into the waist band. He nods and you quickly obey, pulling your underwear over the curve of your hips and ass and swear you hear Bucky groan when you bend to pull them from your ankles letting him see the diamond shape of your pussy from behind for just a second, your smile hidden from view.

When you stand again, Zemo offers his forearm. You rest your stomach against him, your hand gripping his shirt, the other you will have to try very hard not to cover your backside with because you know that the breeze will be the last nice thing that you feel.

He tosses your dress back up holding you, adjusting the way he stands just a little so that you are safe but immobile.

“Count them off; to five.” He says leaning just a bit closer. The tone in his voice is confident. Zemo knows that you’re well aware of what this means.

“Yes Baron.” You say exhaling, trying to prepare, but five? Fuck. He does not intend on holding back. If he was being playful he would give you ten or more, but five? He knows you won’t be able to take more that that.

You dig your fingers into his forearm and hold your breath.

The first strike makes you cry out.

The way Zemo can raise his hand and bring it down on your ass is unrivaled. He doesn’t mess around. There is no teasing, no playing, no cute little taps to warm you up. Just instant punishment.

“One.”

Your voice shakes and the rousing heat of adrenaline spreads through your arms and legs.

Again he lifts his hand and brings it down quickly with a stinging force that sends shock waves through your body. Your cry is weaker this time, trailing longer.

“Two.”

You pull his shirt tighter into your fist, your cheeks are on fire already when you feel the air stir as his hand rises again. You wonder if Bucky is watching, you wonder if he see’s how your thighs flex and your flesh shakes when the Baron strikes you.

You close your eyes and draw in your bottom lip trying not to moan, but you arch your back and your hips begin to circle ever so slightly with the anticipation of the next smack. You’re practically whimpering as you offer up your backside for more.

Zemo can feel the light vibration of pleasure sounding in your chest and his laughter is a low, very amused rumble as he raises his hand just a little higher this time.

The next smack lands and you toss your head back with a gasp. You would have gone to your knees if he wasn’t strong enough to hold you up. “Three” You whisper but you don’t move. The air brushes your pussy, wet in spite of your reddening skin.

“Don’t look away.” Zemo says.

There is the answer to your previous question. Bucky likes it, but it’s not always easy for him to watch.

“James!” Zemo snaps and waits. Bucky must be looking again because you feel the Baron move.

The fourth strike comes and you steady yourself knowing you can take it, wanting it, loving it as much as your feel your legs shaking. “Four”

You’re breathing hard, as you anticipate the final blow, desperate for it to be over but sorry for it to end. You rest against him for just a second feeling both safe in his hold and powerless to his dominance.

When the last of your punishment lands you hang your head, rounding your spine unable to offer yourself anymore. You can not pretend and this is why he’s given you so few.

Letting your hips drop as your body shudders and a single tear falls, you whisper, “Five” And only Helmut hears you say it.

Very gently he pulls your dress down, the soft cotton is cool over your burning skin and he turns you around to face him.

He brushes the tear from your cheek, holding you in such a way that you can go limp in his arms. “It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice.” He says smiling at you knowing it wasn’t kind either.

You’d love for him to know just once. Maybe let Bucky give him a slap across the ass to make it fair. But when you look at him the thought is all wrong if not hilarious and you just shrug a little and hang your head again, resting on his chest.

“No breaking rules.” He scolds affectionately, “Even if you’re only trying to help. Understood?”

“Yes Baron.” Your voice is very small.

He gives a nod, kisses your forehead and looks over his shoulder at James. “So, is this what you wanted?”

“No.”

“No… no I don’t think it is.” He agrees. “But I understand. She’s damn near impossible to resist still you must learn to control yourself. Apparently I’ve not made that clear. Perhaps a more direct approach.”

You both look at him wide eyed. What’s more direct than this you think not even close to recovered from your spanking.

“Both of you, go down to our bedroom.” He says as though nothing has ever been more obvious “Take off your clothes. Wait for me on the bed.”

You look at Bucky. He looks at you.

“You fucked up,” You mouth to him.

Bucky just gets up and pushes past you both.

“I suppose you could say I’ve had to get creative with my plans for you. I know that pain is something you can’t respond to in ways that she can.” Zemo says, smiling as he glances down at Bucky and then over his shoulder at you on your knees behind him. “Have you finished?”

You look up from what you’re doing, hoping it’s right. “Yes, I think so?”

He comes around to look at the rope binding Bucky’s wrists. It’s just for show to heighten the experience. Of course Bucky could break free if he wanted to— his strength is no match for a few rough fibers— but this is a training of the mind as well as the body. “You see, pleasure can be just as awful.” Zemo says, his voice making you shiver as he checks your work, tugging and tightening the rope a little more.

Leaning in close, he strokes Bucky’s jaw, his finger reaching to trace the spine of his ear and you smile when the hairs on Bucky’s right arm raise and Zemo loses the air of control for a second simply becoming the man who cares for the other deeply. “The irony of tying you to a chair to satisfy you is not lost on me, based on what I know of your past. But if you can endure it, I promise it will be nothing like the pain you’ve known. I could never hurt you in that way. Still, if at any time this is too much, if it triggers memories that change it from what it’s meant to be, please— James— say the word, your word and it stops.”

Bucky nods. “I will” He says softly.

“Nothing now?” Zemo asks genuinely wanting to know. Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing.”

Zemo gives a confident nod and kisses the back of Bucky’s head patting his cheek a little harder than he needs too. “I only want to make you feel good— eventually.” He teases and Bucky rolls his eyes with a small laugh.

Pleased, Zemo pushes up and goes to sit in the soft chair across the room, notably more comfortable than the one Bucky has been placed in. Although the more obvious differences being, Zemo is not bound, Zemo is not naked, and Zemo has not been so gently stroked and toyed with that he’s been left with a perfectly vulnerable erection like Bucky has.

You’d had a hard time focusing on the ropes as the Baron made it happen. The way he’d taken Bucky in hand, winding down the length of his sex was in a word, mesmerizing. And when Bucky made that sound, that soft, pleading sound and Zemo stopped — his brow raised with such smug confidence— you wondered who would break first, you or Bucky. He’d quickly brought his hand up with one last tease, his fingers swirling around the curving head of Bucky’s member only to let go as though he’d lost interest.

Bucky’s groan was deep. He was beyond frustrated, but instead of breaking out of his restrains and fucking one of the two of you, he sat there just waiting to be punished for breaking rules in the first place.

He watches as you come and kneel before him, naked yourself as you’ve been told to be. He actually looks slightly scared but mostly curious. His erection is as always flawlessly pretty, arching up and back, smooth while perfectly veined and so inciting.

You only know what it is you’re meant to do to him because you’ve had it done to you before. You figure it’s very similar, only the mechanics are different because his is a man. If Zemo doesn’t approve, he’ll tell you.

The Baron in charge picks up his drink, the ice rattling as he takes a sip and lets the scene settle in his sights for a moment. He likes to see the two of you together, his two helpless things— his to play with and his to love.

“Begin.”

Bucky inhales, but you smile at him to show that it won’t hurt— it’ll just drive him mad.

First you take the little bottle of body oil from the floor and put some in your hands rubbing them together.

He raises his brow watching you and starts to relax thinking he might understand now. You take him in hand and start to stroke, you are after all very good at this. Over and over again, up and down his long, thick shaft, curving your hand over the head of his cock until he moans and rolls his eyes shut. When he opens them he does seem a bit confused by this sudden attention and he flashes a smile because it feels so good. If this is all that’s been planned, he could get used to this sort of punishment.

The room is quiet, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the ship, his breathing and the wonderfully obscene sound of the oil you’re using against his skin as you work faster…

It’s not long before you feel him stiffen and his breath grows quicker, his thighs flex, his hips raise an inch and he starts to moan softly, a staccato sound of pleasure that makes even your heart beat faster. He’s been waiting and suffering through so much you can feel the joy of release seeping into every inch of his body.

“You feel it happening?” Zemo asks softly. “The start, the pressure mounting? You see, she is very good. And she will get you there James, every time— right to the edge”

You yank your hand away and he jerks forward mouth open cock twitching with the start of an orgasm he will not have.

“To the edge” Zemo chuckles. “A cruel punishment for a greedy man who must learn to wait.”

Bucky quickly lifts his head, the realization flashing in his eyes as his chest rises and falls. He looks down at you.

You smile and reach for him again.

“Please” He begs breathless.

“Not yet” Zemo says leaning forward a bit in his seat, the drink in his hand all but forgotten. You notice the ice has long since melted as you wait for permission, watching over your shoulder.

He gives you a nod and you turn back to Bucky.

Wrapping your hand around him again, you feel him so solid he’s like stone. His thighs are flexed, his hips raise up in the chair as you begin to jerk your hand up and down and the light reflecting off the oil makes you both shine like gold.

He moans and you watch the muscles of his abs flex as he feels the orgasm coming on, helpless to it and your skilled hand.

“I’m going to come.” He groans sounding sorry for and drops his hips.

“No, you won’t. I did not say that you can” Zemo says like the villain behind you.

“I can’t it hold back” Bucky pants, his voice is thin he sounds like he very well might lose control and you feel him pulse in your palm. You twist your hand around sliding it down to the base thinking it might help hold him off if your focus is less near the collection of nerve endings.

Zemo stands and comes to you, tapping your shoulder. You let him go with a quick up and down and Bucky’s disappointment is the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.

When Zemo looks down at the wonderfully pitiful sight, Bucky shuts his eyes. “Yellow.” He whispers. “Please, yellow.”

“All right.” Zemo says kindly and gives his head a rub. “Rest”

“Thank you.” Bucky manages.

You stand not caring what Zemo says and kiss Bucky’s cheek.

“You okay?” You ask, your hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin to look at his face.

“Please… don’t, don’t touch me for a minute?” He asks and you give an embarrassed laugh understanding his request. You’re not exactly innocent in his torment.

“Of course I’m sorry I…” Your sentence is cut off.

Zemo has you by the back of your arms and pulls you tight against him. “You, not her.”

Bucky sighs dropping his head.

“I’m still confused. Is, this what you wanted?” He asks feigning ignorance though with you naked its clear what Zemo means.

Bucky won’t look.

“Answer me.”

“No, I mean— yes Baron.” He concedes.

You feel Zemo’s laugh along your neck. “You wouldn’t have been fast enough to finish before I found you. Well, maybe you, but not her. Tell me, how quickly can you make her come?”

“What?”

“How quickly?”

You shut your eyes as soon as you realize where this is going.

“I don’t know. I mean she always got there.” Bucky says sounding slightly self conscious.

Zemo smiles. “Two minutes. I can finish her off in just two.”

“Ha!” Bucky doesn’t believe him, who would.

Oh Bucky…

“Tell him it’s true.” Zemo leans towards you.

You nod glancing at them both. “He does this… thing.” You tell Bucky. “He works my spot and my clit at the same time and I come. Fast.” You say simply and totally helpless to it.

“It’s not always the most fun, rarely my first choice; but great when we’re in a hurry.” He shrugs and takes a knee before you even realize that he has. “Open your legs.” He says looking up at you.

Your eyes go wide, surprised to see him down and waiting with Bucky watching. Still, you part your thighs and wisely lay your hands on his shoulders knowing you won’t be able to stay upright without the support.

“This? Right James? This warm, tight, safe place? This is what you wanted?” Zemo asks, teasing Bucky with the way he slides his fingers between your velvet soft folds. You feel him turn his hand and his finger circles your entrance. He sighs and takes hold of your hip to keep you in place.

Two fingers slip inside and you hiss against the stretch, biting your lip as your head lolls to the side. You try to hold in the loudest of your noise but it’s hopeless.

The Baron starts to do his thing and you wonder if you might be able to deny him the pleasure of making you come in front of Bucky again, but just like always you end up gripping his shoulders to keep from falling as he does a perfect come hither with his two fingers as his thumb rubs with the perfect amount of pressure on your throbbing clitoris. He can’t resist and licks your peak for good measure until you hold your breath as he sucks sloppily and until you come on his hand and just as quickly as always. Your wild moaning is nearly feral but you could not care less. It makes you smile to hear him laugh softly so pleased with himself and you and your eyes shut as you pant, catching your breath.

Lowering your head, your eyes only half open, you both look over at Bucky who is glaring at the Baron.

“James.”

“Yes.”

“Stop breaking the rules.”

“Yes Baron.” He says giving in completely.

Zemo smiles and slowly pulls his fingers free from you, raising his hand just enough to show them so wet and sticky and glistening. He kisses your belly and looks up at you. “Go lie down.” He says rubbing your stomach, smoothing his hand over your soft tuft of hair. You’re still floating as you do, happy to go and rest and leave them to it.

“Would you like to come now?” You hear Zemo ask Bucky as he gets up and goes around the chair.

“Please.” Bucky whispers watching you sink down onto the bed on your side.

“I can finish you off just as quickly as I did her.”

“Yes. Please.” He begs through clenched teeth rising up again as if presenting himself to be relieved, the steady rush of blood to his lower half turning his cock a darker shade of desperate as it rises up like a tower ready to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He pants “I’m sorry I tried to fuck her. I’m sorry for breaking your rules. And I will do anything, please just… fuck. Please!”

Helmut leans down hushing him, pressing his face close to Bucky’s, grabbing him around the chest as his left hand comes reaching over his stomach promising an end to the day’s long torment.

He grips the soldiers gorgeous, endlessly taunted dick; your natural lubricant replacing the oil to help glide his fingers along.

When Zemo starts to work Bucky you can see through the look on his face that this is all he’s wanted to do for so long and you are reminded that this is as much the Baron’s discipline as it is yours— as it is Bucky’s.

Bucky makes a deep sound that gets your attention. His body flexes and you think he looks like a bomb ready to blow. A sexy, finely muscled, lightly tanned bomb with a look of pained excitement as his legs open and his jaw flexes.

“Are you mine James?” Zemo asks, his lips brushing his ear,

“Yes” He says pitifully raising his hips, thrusting once into the Baron’s hand just as Zemo lets go. A deep frown fixes between Bucky’s brows as he waits until Zemo grabs again and starts to perfectly stroke him.

Bucky’s mouth opens, his eyes fix on the incredibly hypnotic rhythm of Zemo’s hand.

“You’ve always been mine haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Bucky nearly shouts, his brows turned down with the exquisite anguish of the nearing release.

“Say it again,” Zemo demands, his right arm tight around Bucky, his eyes shut relishing in the control and the love, you listen to the wet rhythm as it gets faster.

“Yes.”

“Say it!”

“I’ve always been yours” Bucky moans loudly and glances over at you unable to keep your hand away from your pussy selfishly wanting to come again.

“Once more.” Helmut says opening his eyes. The muscle of his arm is flexed beautifully as he pounds.

Bucky moans so similarly to you that Helmut just smiles. He knows, he understands the hold he has over you both.

“I’m yours” Bucky manages and the Baron focuses his movement as if pulling the orgasm from Bucky’s body willing it to come forward. He jerks his hand up and away…but this time he’s finished the job.

He holds Bucky as the man cries out, his hips rising high this time, his cock pulsing with a tight up and down as he finally —god, finally— gives a high pitched groan with that first explosive release of come that shoots past his stomach and onto his own chest followed by equally satisfying spasms that send milky droplets flying free into the air and across his stomach onto Zemo’s arms; Bucky’s groaning and gasping near tears with the absolute exhaustion and relief of his well deserved climax, his moans and gasps of surprise so raw and unaffected.

By the time he lowers back down to the chair unable to do much more than sit there, limp and panting with his eyes closed, Helmut is holding him, caring nothing for the mess. He seems to love the sight of the pearlescent results of Bucky’s incredible orgasm as much as you do.

Smiling as he strokes Bucky’s hair, kissing his temple, he says with a tone only Helmut Zemo could manage at a moment like this, “You see. When you listen to me, I make it worth every second, every moment of torment. Yes?”

Bucky nods but it’s weak.

Zemo chuckles softly, kisses him again and reaches down easily undoing the ropes.

“Look at you both.” He says trying to sound angry, as if it’s not all his fault. “You can’t come to dinner like this. I’ll run a bath.”

He leaves Bucky and comes to the bed bending over you, his hand so sticky from the combination is heavy on your belly as he kisses your lips. “Hows your ass?” He asks.

“Still on fire.” You say and he winks as he rises.

“Good."

“You’re pretty quiet over there.” Bucky says splashing you from across the large tub. You’ve both been in for a while now after Zemo took a quick shower and left you alone letting you know he’d be up waiting at the dinner table.

Roused from your daydream but still not sure you want to talk about why you’re so quiet, you glance over and shrug.

“Whats wrong? You’re not mad about what happened are you?” Bucky asks sliding a little closer. The tub is surprisingly big in an already large bathroom and yet again you wonder how you’ll return to real life when this all ends.

“What happened?” You ask him.

“Getting you in trouble? He really put a shine on your backside.” Bucky says, a smile breaking through any attempt at being serious.

You sit up surprised to hear that’s what he thinks it could be. “Ha! No. Not at all. That was amazing… god” You tip your head back, the image of Bucky, naked and tired to a chair with Zemo holding him and whispering in his ear will be seared into your mind for life. “I didn’t know you could come that much.” You say, slowly looking back down at him,trying not to giggle.

“Neither did I.” He says practically blushing before he grins. “Same goes for you.” He tosses right back.

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay well we both know he’s capable of turning us into sex crazed idiots apparently.” You say with a cheeky grin and Bucky laughs shaking his head with a sigh.

“What is it? Some Sokovian spell or something, magic from the old world?” Bucky says with a thick accent wiggling his wet soapy fingers in the air.

Laughing you scrunch your nose. “Nah, that’s all him. Just wait until you’ve been around him long enough to get to the good stuff.”

“The good stuff!” He looks shocked “Well what the hell is all this!”

“This is amazing, but it not… well it’s not him. Theres so much more than sex. Watching tv. Eating dinner in bed. Naps— once he read to me.” You say with a sigh and the room goes silent as you both slip into a day dream laced with Helmuts beautiful voice surrounding you as he reads the classics on a warm summer night…

“You think he sits around daydreaming about us like this?” Bucky asks with a frown. “I worry sometimes.”

“Really?” You ask looking into his big blue eyes. Hundred years old and still so sweet. “Of course he does. Bucky, he wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t spend as much time thinking of us as we do him. Don’t be so naive”

He nods looking out the window and you know he’s just out of practice. He probably had a swarm of girls around him back when his life was normal. Maybe even a secret guy. But how long ago had that been. And since he’d been released from the words, his only real time spent with anyone has been with the two of you. For a moment you wonder if that’s fair. He should go out on dates or something, but then again you did try to get him on some apps. He hated them all. Women swiped right like it was their job of course, but he thought it was strange and wanted to meet them the old fashioned way but when he did he could only focus on what he didn’t like and just compared them to you— and Zemo.

“Hey.” You get his attention again. “I mean it, I’m really not upset about anything that happened earlier. Thanks for being such a rule breaker.” You say with a wink.

“No problem” He laughs as if that was his intention. Bucky’s expression softens as he sits back, the water rocking under the bubbles.

Bubbles. Talk about a diva, is anyone is on this big ass boat it’s him. Two adults having a bath drawn from them; why not throw in the bubbles. You roll your eyes ignoring the way your chest gets tight with the feel of being so adored and loving every second of his over the top ways and focus on Bucky who looks stunning in the bath— your heart sinking just a little.

“So what is it?” He asks unaware of your many distractions.

You look back to the window staring up at the sky for a while. “I’m just… sad.” You say giving in to the truth “I mean, I’m thrilled being here. But I’ve had this idea that I could talk you into staying with us. I keep imagining this life with you and Helmut and I know it can’t happen for so many reasons but I’m stubborn and spoiled. I truly hate not getting my way. So I keep thinking, maybe.”

He goes quiet now understanding, and then you feel his hand on your knee under the water. “I know. I’ve thought about it too. Maybe a little too much. Definitely enough that I’ve almost convinced myself it could work, but no. It just wouldn’t.”

You press your lips hesitant to say in case you might offend him but decide to just go for it. “And you’re sure it’s not just that you miss it? Saving the world and everything? I mean, I can see how it would be appealing— from controlled killer to stoic hero.” You tease gently, wiggling your brows up and down until he laughs a little, probably more annoyed than you’d like, and whatever facade you’d put on crumbles. The look of heartbreak turns your brows down, twisting your face with the agony of losing him. He looks surprised to see you so broken about it and finds your hand through the water.

“Hey hey hey.” He pulls but you’re not in the mood to be comforted. Bucky hates when you don’t let him coddle you, but he knows better than to fight it so he simply answers your question. “Yes.Well. No I mean, it’s nice. But honestly, if you really want to know, I could get used to being domesticated.” He shrugs letting go of your hand as he looks towards the shower where Zemo was and you swallow the tears that have been overpowered by your intrigue.

Managing a laugh at his expense you poke his arm on the rim of the tub. “Really? By me or Helmut?” You ask and swear you see him blush.

“You’ve already proven you can turn me into a homebody, and happy to be there, so —Maybe both?” He shrugs and there is such a tone of possibility in his statement that you’re instantly transported into a world in which the three of you are living happily. Maybe in this Mediterranean paradise, you’ve just come home from the market with ingredients for a dinner that Bucky has asked you to pick up and you help him cook while music blasts in your small but bright kitchen and you dance around until the house smells delicious and you set the table, flirting and toying with one another until everything looks beautiful before rushing to sit just as your Baron comes through the door…

Even here and now sitting in the tub with you, Bucky looks like the sweetest house husband glowing a soft gold in the light of the sun. What you wouldn’t give to be his forever. His his and hers, you think and your chin quivers with the threat of happy miserable tears.

Bucky isn’t oblivious to your hurting but he’s trying to keep strong, he can’t give in to you, not this time. “We’ll never know if I stick around.” He says and your little vision fades “I think I’ve got one visit, maybe two in me before someone notices an avenger hanging around their town and his cover is blown. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I’d never forgive myself."

“I know.” You say and only realize that your head is down when his hand, which is covered in white bubbles reaches to lift your chin.

“Hey, come one. None of that. We’ve only got a little bit of time. I just want to make the most of it. Give me enough good memories to finally forget about whats left of the bad.”

You smile and nod, blowing the bubbles away before they go up your nose. “Fine.” You sigh and look back out the window hugging your knees. “Buck, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He says only cringing a little when you call him Buck.

“Do you think you might ever love him?”

Bucky freezes. He looks— odd. Uncomfortable. Exposed? You realize very quickly that he already does, even if he’s not aware of it and decide not to push him

“It’s okay. I was just curious.” You say and try to calm him with your smile “We come from very different worlds. Letting myself love a man like Helmut Zemo took little to no effort for me, for you— I know why it might come as a shock. But I think you’ll find, when you do admit it to yourself and to him, he might just surprise you with how quickly he says it back.”

#zemo x reader #bucky barns x you #winterbaron #winterbaron x you #buckybarnes/zemo #tfatws #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #winterbaron fic #baron helmut zemo #zemo #self insert #yacht life #these two #i love them so much #also ouch

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high-functioning-lokipath · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight In Paris - Scott x Reader (Surprise Character x Reader) - Words: 2418

You sat down at your computer with a sigh. You really needed to edit your post for today and reply to a few asks that had backed up on your Tumblr page. But instead you decided to work on a new project. You looked at your desk and nodded approvingly. "Ok! Coffee, music, blank document, photos from when I was 7, and photos from last summer. Ready!"

And that's why birds do it, bees do it

Even educated fleas do it

Let's do it, let's fall in love

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped off the plane in Paris. She'd been here once before as a little girl but those memories had faded and the magic of Paris had been lost. "This I do remember," She muttered, crinkling her nose as the pungent smell of jet fuel filled her nostrils. She rushed through the airport wanting to get to her sightseeing plans as soon as possible. The hotel she'd made reservations at was small but quant. After checking out the room, dropping off her luggage, and freshening up a bit, she headed out into the city just in time to catch the golden sunset reflecting across the elegant architecture.

As she walked up and down cafe lined streets and avenues dotted with interesting shops, she couldn't help but wish she could have seen Paris in what's been called its heyday. Y/N laughed at her own line of thought, remembering the lesson of the movie she'd watched not 3 nights before. Midnight In Paris was one of her favorite movies. And it had one of her favorite actors too. Even if his screen time in it totalled only about 5 minutes and 34 seconds. https://youtu.be/yIcTbQj4bZw

Eventually, dinner time came so she stopped in a small cafe/bar to order a meal. "Mercí," She told the waiter after being seated. She decided to order some wine too, of course.

"Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle," Someone called out to her as she left the restaurant hours later. The wine had left Y/N substantially more tipsy than she expected after only a few glasses.

As she made her way back to the hotel, she giggled, thinking of the movie once again as a nearby clock struck twelve and marked a new day. Shaking her head, she told herself, "It's just a movie. Things like that don't happen in real life."

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle," A gentleman exclaimed, stumbling out of what seemed to be a small nightclub and bumping into her, knocking her to the ground.

"No problem," She replied, dusting herself off and standing. Glancing inside the bar, she saw it had an oddly warm and inviting atmosphere for such a loud place. Deciding that the night was still young, she walked in.

"Hello!" A young lady with a heavy southern American accent exclaimed, walking up to her. The air was smokey and there was an old song playing that Y/N knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. "Well don't you look different! Wearin' pants to a party like this! Don't worry, darlin'! You look just fine!" Y/N nodded silently, shocked at the woman's reaction.

"Women have been wearing pants for decades now!" Y/N thought to herself.

"Are you alright, darlin'?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Y/N replied quickly. She suddenly realized who the young woman was. Or at least looked like. "Pardon my confusion, but I'm afraid I had a bit more wine with my dinner than I had planned." She chuckled lightly and shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

"Nothing to apologize for," a man spoke up from behind her. "Zelda has a way about her that does that to people regardless of their sobriety." Y/N turned around and fought the urge to gasp in surprise. "Scott Fitzgerald," He said, holding out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you!" She reached out and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you too," She replied with a grin, seemingly unable to look away. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. It was just like the movie! "I'm Y/N," she finally said, still smiling at Scott.

"Well, I'll be off then. I've spotted quite a few interesting pursuits for the night, so," Zelda said with a smirk. "I'll be off!"

"Just be home at a reasonable-and she's gone," Scott sighed. He chuckled awkwardly and took a slow drag from his already lit cigarette. "My sister is bound to drive me to insanity one day!"

"Your sister?" Y/N exclaimed. Scott nodded, eyes lit up with amusement. They both laughed loudly and Y/N shook her head. "You do know most everyone else thinks you're married!"

"I have noticed people tend to assume that," He chuckled, leading her towards another group of people. "I'd like you to meet some friends of mine," He said. As Y/N followed him around the room, she found herself mostly stunned into silence at seeing each face that she'd come to know from rewatching Midnight In Paris a million times. She took a sip from the drink that had somehow found its way into her hands and glanced around the room as Scott was busy talking with someone she couldn't remember the name of.

"There's no way this is happening," She muttered to herself hours later. Laughing quietly, she shook her head. "I probably hit my head on the pavement and am having a concussion-induced/Paris-induced dream. And the wine probably didn't help. That's got to be it! Well, perhaps I should wake myself up now," She reasoned. Squinting at a clock, she figured the sun should be rising soon so she started making her way to the door.

"Leaving so soon?" Scott asked, grabbing her arm before she walked out.

"Yes," She sighed. "It was wonderful meeting you, Scott. Thank you for a lovely evening."

"Will you be around tomorrow? There's another party."

"I'll try to make it," Y/N replied, not wanting to disappoint him even if it was a dream. "Goodbye, Scott," She smiled. Gathering her courage, she stood on her tip-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She turned away quickly and ran out the door. In her rush, she stumbled on an uneven part of the sidewalk and fell down.

"Are you ok?" A young lady asked a few moments later. Y/N looked up at the stranger and nodded embarrassedly.

"Yes, I just," she stopped mid-sentence when she turned and saw the bar she'd just walked out of was completely empty. "I just tripped," she said slowly. "Um, thank you."

"No problem," The girl smiled. "Au revoir!" She called out, continuing on her way.

Y/N went back to her hotel and took a brief nap to refresh herself for the day. Eventually, she put the night's events aside mentally and moved on with her plans. That is until she found 'the dress'. She was passing a line of boutiques and in the window of the last one was a Y/F/C 1920's style drop waist dress. It even had a matching hat and purse. Half an hour later, Y/N found herself back in the hotel room trying to get her makeup just right to match the outfit.

"I don't know what I'm doing," She told herself as she walked back to where she'd been the night before. Sitting on a bench across the street, she waited. For what exactly, she was not sure, but she knew she had to wait. Soon enough, the clock struck 12 midnight and, just like in the movie, an old car made its way down the street. Y/N was so distracted trying to look inside the vehicle that she didn't notice the change across the street.

"Y/N! Y/N, you came back!" Scott yelled as he and a few others came out of the bar. She ran across the street now that the car had passed to meet up with him, grinning like mad.

"Scott! I didn't-" she paused, chuckling lightly. "I didn't think I would see you again."

"Didn't I tell you there was another party tonight?" He asked, slightly confused. Y/N nodded, still grinning, and decided not to explain for now.

"Where are we off to?" She asked, linking arms with him. He smiled and they headed to one of the cars parked nearby. The night went by in a flash. Near morning, the group found themselves at a small cafe/bar. A few had already gone home and the rest were preparing to leave. Soon it was just Y/N and Scott left. She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"What's so funny?" He asked. "You know, you get the oddest look on your face sometimes. Like you've gone somewhere else," He commented.

"I have," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, I've always wondered what it would be like to be here," she said, gesturing around her. "Or even somewhere else, another time. And it's been wonderful! But you were right! A person really can't live in the past. It's just not possible."

"I'm not sure what I said to help you," He chuckled. "But it's funny, I have a character that should learn that lesson," Scott commented. "I'm working on the book right now but I think I've just gotten an idea from you. Thank you," He smiled.

"Oh! That's right!" Y/N said, realizing her favorite F. Scott Fitzgerald writing wasn't even released, and apparently not even finished yet.

"Perhaps we should be making our way home," He said, glancing outside at the rising sun. He stood and held his arm out for Y/N to hold. "Let me walk you?" She nodded and they headed outside into the crisp morning air. She pointed in the general direction of her hotel, wondering somewhat what would happen when they arrived. "Are you cold?" He asked her.

"No, I'm fi-" But before she could finish, he had already draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Thank you," Y/N replied, blushing brightly. She pulled the charcoal suit jacket around her, genuinely glad for it's warmth. When they were about a block away, she stopped, turning to look at him. "Scott," She sighed. "I can't come back. I'm afraid if I do-" she paused again, looking around at the beautiful city just starting to wake up. "I guess I should thank you. You've been so kind to me and I appreciate it. It made my visit to Paris so much better."

"I'm glad to hear that, Y/N," He replied. "I will miss you. But I am, at the very least, happy to have had the pleasure of meeting you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, surprising Y/N. She closed her eyes and sighed into the kiss, trying to commit every feeling to memory. "Goodbye," She heard him say, one they separated. She didn't have the courage to open her eyes and watch him go however.

"Goodbye," Y/N finally whispered to herself when she opened her eyes and saw the city, modern and bustling all around her. Y/N wiped away the few stray tears and broke out into a run, wanting to get back to her hotel as fast as possible. As she rounded the last corner before the building, though, she collided with someone walking around the same corner. Y/N lost her balance, the person she ran into being much taller, and fell down. "I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed. She was rushing to pick up the items she dropped when she saw a hand held out to her.

"It's alright," The man said. "No harm done. Now can I help you up?" He asked, smiling sweetly.

"I-uh, well, yes. Thank you," She stuttered. He helped her gather her things and handed them to her.

"Were you heading to the hotel?" He asked. Silently, she nodded, not trusting her own voice at this point. "Well, then, let me walk you back. I was heading there myself." He smiled at her as they started walking down the sidewalk. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tom."

"Done!" You exclaimed. Letting out a sigh of relief. You had been needing to write that for a long time but you never quite felt up to it. "Holy crap!" You yelled, looking at the clock. It had taken much longer than you expected to write it. You knew your husband would be home shortly so you rushed out to start dinner.

"Honey! I'm home!" He called out, walking through the door. He was grinning like mad, obviously in a good mood if he was using such a cliche line on you.

"Hello, Tom," You smiled, as he came up behind you, giving you a hug. He peppered your neck with small kisses, making you giggle loudly. "Tom! Stop that!" You exclaimed, wriggling out of his arms. "I need to finish dinner."

"Alright, darling. I'll change then," He relented. A while later, once dinner was safely cooking in the oven, you heard him call out to you from the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" You asked, walking to the doorway. Then it hit you. You'd left the document open on your laptop which was on your desk in the bedroom.

"What's this?" He asked, pointing to your new writing.

"It's for the blog," You said honestly. He knew you had a Tumblr page, although he still refused to see what was posted about him on there. Just one mention of the site could still get him embarrassed.

"Yes but," He glanced at it again, brows furrowed. "That's not how it actually happened, is it?" He asked, quite confused. You chuckled and shook your head.

"Well now, I can't very well ask Scott to verify my story, can I?" You smirked.

"Of course not," He chuckled. "Although I must say you did an excellent job of adapting the story of how we first met!"

"Thank you, dear," You smirked, walking away to the walk-in closet you shared.

"What are you not telling me?" He asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," You replied innocently. When you walked out of the closet you completely ignored Tom, whistling as you headed back to the kitchen.

"What is that you're wearing?" He called out, running after you. You laughed as he caught up with you in the living room. "Is that a new charcoal suit jacket?"

"It's not new, Tom, not new at all."

TAGLIST FOR THIS POST:

(my apologies if you didn't want to be tagged for this but I'm going to include all my Loki, Marvel, and RPF lists on here since you may enjoy this)

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@serpentargo

@khena

@nyx2021

@kaz11283

@weasley-main-lover

@up-to-mischief

@lokislittlesigyn

@darkacademicfrom2021

@lokiwhxre

@loki-laufeyson965

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

@lokislittlesigyn

@gaitwae

@mysticunicorn7

@kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay

@thoughts-and-lovely-illusions

@for-hearthand-home

@lokistoriesblog

@alexjcrowley

#midnight in paris #tom hiddleston #f scott fitzgerald #f scott Fitzgerald x reader #scott x reader #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #Midnight in paris oneshot

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444piscesprincess · 4 years ago

Text

childhood friends to lovers/growing up together sterek fic reclist

uhh this kinda got a lil angsty but i recommend you pick a growing up together fic and listen to this song i promise you will not regret it

https://open.spotify.com/track/5Dz8nrwQlPLE68WaTEIqY5?si=aogjMc1aToSALmAlfQOR7A

anyways as usual check tags please!!

(click on the title for the fic)

you know you're on my mind

bibliosexual

Summary:

If there’s one thing Derek’s learned in life, it’s that crushing on someone who lives on an entire other fucking continent is probably a bad idea.

(hs!au + texting!au + childhood friends to lovers the ULTIMATE fluff fic)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) (series)

yodasyoyo

Summary:

Stiles is six years old when he first hears Derek's voice in his head.

Or what happens if you have a soulmate bond, in a universe where soulmate bonds don't exist?

Up Down Lock Unlock

isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Summary:

“Why are you going into grandma Ito’s apartment?” he asked.

Derek turned to him, key sliding into the lock. “What do you mean?” He tried to turn it, but the key wasn’t budging. Maybe the lock was sticking again, it’d been doing that the past few days.

Stiles was staring at him like Derek was stupid.

Derek did not appreciate sass from a ten year old.

“That’s grandma Ito’s place.”

“No,” Derek said calmly, pulling the key out and then shoving it back in, wiggling it a little when it continued to refuse to unlock the door. “This is my place.”

“I think you’re on the wrong floor then, because that apartment belongs to grandma Ito.”

(time travel counts as childhood friends right?)

the difference between going back and going home

thepsychicclam

Summary:

Stiles and Derek were inseparable growing up, but then college, jobs, and life happened. When Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills a decade later, he doesn't expect to reconnect with Derek, and he sure doesn't expect to fall in love with him.

It's Such a Gas When You Bring Up the Past

orphan_account

Summary:

Stiles finds a box of old photo albums that dredge up the sweet, the funny, the adorable, and the mildly heartwrenching parts of his and Derek's past.

(mainly a friends fic but its too cute to not include)

It's Always Been You

charlesdk

Summary:

Stiles' love life was practically non-existing, always had been. He was always terrible at picking up clues when people hit on him (it had happened, Erica had been witness to it and had been the one to let him know it was happening in the first place) because he never expected anyone to do so.

He wasn't the most desirable guy around, he knew that. He was loud, extremely nerdy, never knew when to stop talking, not exactly much of a looker if you asked him, the list was endless.

Point was, he never did know when someone was flirting with him. Which was probably how he ended up in the fight that would change his life for the better.

Lead You Home Again

GotTheSilver

Summary:

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body.

An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

Kingdom By The Sea

kilaem

Summary:

Lydia grabs his arm and pulls him down in the seat next to her. “When the hell did you find time to bag a guy like Hale?”

“We’re friends,” Stiles feels his face heat up, and then the team are running out and Derek sees him and smiles. His blush gets worse.

“Oh really?”

“Our moms were friends, okay? We’ve been in diapers together.”

“I thought you two hated each other.”

Those That Bump In The Night

bleep0bleep

Summary:

A boy’s head appears upside down, hanging off the bed. “Is anyone there?” he calls out curiously, looking right at Derek’s eyes. Caught, then. The protocol for being deliberately seen by a child is just to look as strange and fearsome as possible. No one would believe them, anyways. But Derek is tired, and he’s been running and scared, and now he just kind of flickers, curling out a tendril of dark smoke, hoping that he’s a little bit scary. No such luck. The boy’s eyes widen. “Oooh, are you the bogeyman?” “Bogeyperson,” Derek says, before he can help himself.

When Stiles was a boy, he had an imaginary friend named Derek. Ten years later, Derek comes back, and is very, very real.

Five Times Derek and Stiles Kissed For Practice (And One Time They Didn't)

mikkimouse

Summary:

In which Derek and Stiles grow up together and practice kissing, roughly in that order.

216 + 1: Words To Say Instead of I Love You

briggs

Summary:

Derek and Stiles have been best friends for fourteen years. They have their differences, sure, but it's never been a question for them. Their friendship has been the most solid thing in their lives -- until suddenly it isn't anymore.

Funny how just a few choice words can throw fourteen years of friendship off-balance.

a collection of "Bro, That's Gay" one-shots that actually ended up turning into a concrete storyline.

hope is the thing with feathers (part of a series)

ShanaStoryteller

Summary:

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

"Then he's facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There's Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that's his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man's chest so he knows he's alive, but he's not waking up. He shoves away his hood so he can shout, "Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there's a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!" Nothing, he's not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they're having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" There's a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it's all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet. "

(one of my favourite fics like EVER)

it came from the trees

whatshouldntbe

Summary:

“Don’t worry, Scott caught me up on everything,” Kira assures with a bubbly smile via video-chat. “You and Derek, huh? I probably should have seen that coming. I always thought it might be Cora, but Derek was the one that looked at you how I used to look at you.”

Stiles goes a little pink. “It’s still kinda new but, yeah. I really like him. He’s...” Beautiful. Patient. Smart. Painfully honest. Sweet.“...a total dork.”

Kira laughs and laughs. When she gets herself together, she replies, “Yeah, those little hearts and stars in your eyes definitely say different."

Stiles moves from the shiny, fast-paced lifestyle of Los Angeles to the foggy, sleepy town of Beacon Hills so his dad can become the new sheriff. Newly fifteen, he does his best to finish out his freshman year of high school (by staying under the radar) when he suddenly becomes the Beyoncé of the Supernatural community. And, without much prompting on his part, he ends up catching the eye of one of the most prominent Werewolf families in all of North America. It literally all starts with a stuffed animal(s).

(oh god this fic is the literal best even though its abandoned it ends at okay-ish place. this is one of the best hale family characterisations ive ever read. if you squint it can be a childhood friends to lovers fic but im including it anyway bc its amazing)

Promises aren't Meant to be Broken

paradis

Summary:

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed.

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

(more laura and stiles besties centric but totally worth a read)

The Things We See

MelodramaticSalad

Summary:

Stiles grew up in the life of knowing that there was always more to life than what others saw with a first glance. Even as a child he saw things that no one else seemed to and always had a fascination with the unusual.

Some considered him an unusual child, but Claudia welcomed every single quirk her son displayed. His mother had a few special talents of her own and thrilled her to see it in her son as well. She'd raised Stiles to always keep his mind open and as grew and started to display his powers, she began to teach him how to use them. She even taught Stiles about werewolves at a young age, his infatuation with them growing once he had learned the truth about her closest friend.

Stiles spent nearly every possible moment that he could roaming the Hale house, following after the middle child most of the time. Derek was three years older than Stiles, but the bond they developed with each other was something their mothers considered out of a story book. Like Derek, Stiles was sensitive to his emotions, but unlike Derek, Stiles didn't need a scent to figure it out. He could feel it.

take me back

matildajones

Summary:

“I dare you to kiss me,” Stiles taunts, and he’s not expecting the way Derek says a naughty word under his breath and then leans forward.

Stiles yelps. He just dodges Derek’s mouth before he’s laughing wildly and running through the trees, calling out a series of ew ew ew as Derek chases him back home.

#sterek #sterek fic recs #childhood friends to lovers #au #growing up toget #reclist #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hale pack

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m00nycore · 4 years ago

Text

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 . 𝒐𝒏𝒆 . 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 .

ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒?

[𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡]

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑐

𝑡/𝑤 : 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎

𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ;; @dreaming-about-fanfictions @thesweethufflepuff

“he looks so like james! i mean, remus, can you believe it?! his eyes are exactly the same, just like lily’s! you talked to him on the train, you saved him—what is he like?”

and remus smiled at her, shaking his head. he hadn’t seen lucy this happy in years—and it was as if they were young again, as if the horror had never happened.

she had fiercely loved harry since he was born. all she had wanted since lily and james passed was to be able to take him in. harry gave her hope.

“exactly as you would expect him to be, and that was only at the first impression,” he was leaned against the desk in his new office, and lucy had insisted on helping him unpack.

remus had almost forgotten she had dimples.

“i will never forgive albus for not letting me take him in, moony—“ she cut herself off, quickly, very quickly, almost as if she were scared.

and lucy potter was scared.

she never used their old names. not until dumbledore dubbed her professor vulpes—and that wasn’t her, it wasn’t. she was playing a part.

but remus lupin smiled and it just about broke her heart.

“vulpes,” he said it warmly, as if greeting an old friend. in some ways, he reckoned, he was.

“moony,” she repeated. lucy potter was reminded about what it felt like to be young.

to new beginnings, he thought to himself, as he sipped his hot chocolate.

it was the first day of term, the first time that the third year students filed in the room—and lucy potter was almost scared to see him. harry potter: the only other potter in the school—the only other potter left.

the first few lessons went smoothly, and remus was, amazing, she thought. absolutely amazing.

harry walked in, looking skeptical, accompanied by a ginger-haired boy—a weasley, she knew it.

the potters loved their gingers, didn’t they?

harry’s eyes scanned the room and stopped at his aunt, who smiled.

she wanted nothing more than to run up, to hug him tightly, to cry. she wanted to apologize for not being able to take him in, she needed to know if he could ever forgive her.

harry deserved to know everything about his parents. harry deserved to know remus, to know her, as well.

sometimes lucy liked to think that she deserved to know him, too.

the wardrobe that she and remus had pulled out began to shake, and she saw a few of the students step back, eyes wide, some faces paling.

rising from her place, she walked forward, giving a little wave as she stood beside remus.

“welcome,” remus began, nodding at the crowd. “i am professor lupin—it is very nice to meet you all.”

“i’m professor vulpes,” she added. the name still sounded foreign on her tongue. “lovely to meet you!”

the cabinet shook once more.

“ah, i suppose that’s our cue to begin the lesson, yes?” remus asked, rhetorically. “intriguing, isn’t it?” he paused. “would anyone like to venture to guess as to what is inside?”

“that’s a boggart, that is.”

“very good, mr. thomas,” remus praised. “now, does anybody know what a boggart looks like?”

“nobody knows,” a girl’s voice spoke, and lucy realized it was hermione granger, the student using a time turner to take as many classes as she could. admirable.

“when’d she get here?!” ron weasley demanded. harry seemed to have good friends—apparently, the three of them were an infamous trio.

“boggarts are shape shifters,” she continued, ignoring ron. “they take shape of whatever a particular person fears most. that’s what makes them so—“

“—so terrifying,” remus finished, smiling. “yes, yes, yes.”

the students were soon practicing the riddikulus charm, wandless, and still flinching when the wardrobe shook.

neville longbottom was called forward by remus—another reminder of the past that made lucy want to cry.

it was marleen who had managed to find the mead—and dorcas’ idea to mix it with juice.

the girls were all laughing, gossiping, talking about their love lives. lucy was laying across lily’s lap, looking up at alice.

“frank?” alice questioned, again, with lily nodding at her. “i’ll have babies with him, mark my words.”

remus encouraging him made her smile. she was unable to keep that adoration out of her face—remus was infallibly kind.

alice and frank would have been so proud.

but her blood boiled, it absolutely boiled, when neville admitted his biggest fear was snape.

“frightens all,” remus remarked, among the laughter of neville’s peers.

“truly,” she added, winking at neville. she never approved of her brother and... his best friend... bullying severus—but he was cruel.

thus, lucy laughed the loudest when she saw him in mrs. longbottom’s clothing, and beamed at the smile that neville wore. he looked like alice.

the children formed a line as remus put a record on the phonograph. remus loved jazz—and she had grown fonder of it as well. she couldn’t listen to a lot of the music she used to.

“now, i want everyone to picture the thing they fear the very most, and turn it into something funny. ron!”

snape instantaneously transformed into a giant spider, and ron looked absolutely petrified, hesitating a few seconds longer than he should have.

“you’ve got it, ron!” lucy exclaimed, nodding at him. “think of something funny, come on!”

“riddikulus!” the spider suddenly had skates on each of its eight legs, making it slide around the floor. ron high-fived harry as he made his way to the back of the line.

pavarti patil feared snakes, seamus finnegan feared banshees, and dean thomas’s boggart took the form of a disembodied, living hand.

she tensed when harry stepped up—and remus caught her eye.

as the boggart shifted, fear began to fill harry’s eyes, as well—and it increased when the boggart took the form of a dementor.

without thinking, lucy bolted from her seat to stand in front of him—and her boggart took form.

a black dog.

“riddikulus!” she shouted, forcing her voice to sound calm and willing her body not to shake.

padfo—the dog turned into a plush toy, and remus came to her shoulder to send the boggart into the wardrobe and lock it with the flick of his wrist.

“alright, well, sorry about that! that’s enough for today, why don’t you all collect your books from the back of the class? that’s the end of the lesson, thank you!”

the students groaned, and remus began lecturing on how you shouldn’t have too much of a good thing.

lucy turned, facing harry, and patted his shoulder. he looked a bit put out, and she was suddenly worried her protectiveness had embarrassed him.

“it’s alright, harry,” she assured him, a maternal smile on her face. her first time speaking to her nephew in more than a decade, and it was impossible not to feel shaken. “at least your boggart wasn’t a dog.”

remus wasn’t like the others.

james would have been the one to ask if she wanted to talk about it.

peter would have beat around the bush trying to decide if he should ask her.

remus just offered for her to not sit in for the next few lessons. she refused. he smiled, and hugged her.

and he... if he were there, he would have just demanded to know. and she would have told him. she always told him.

lucy refused to even think his name—and when she did, it felt like hell. then there were the memories—the memories, oh god, they burned.

a wolf, a stag, a rat, a fox, and... a dog.

five people trying to fit under the same cloak. the black lake during sunset. running from the source of the noise. sleepovers in the wrong dorm, and late night trips to the kitchens.

the mandrake leaves james stole that they had to keep in their mouths for an entire month, and her crying from frustration if she failed. the silvery glow of the full moon while they stared out onto the grounds until morning, waiting for when they could run to the hospital wing.

the precious time spent with lily. study sessions turned to giggles and long conversations. the two of them were thick as thieves, and lucy never pushed her to james. in fact, she smacked her in the back of the head when she admitted her feelings for him. lily evans loved kate bush and the grease soundtrack. she showed her the muggle way of life—which lucy adored.

she found sisters within alice, marlene, and dorcas. alice was bold behind her sweet face and gave the best advice. marlene had everyone wrapped around her finger in the best possible way. dorcas had a quiet charm, similar to remus’, and she was unspeakably in love with marlene... who in turn was unspeakably in love with dorcas.

her brother flirting with lily. lucy would race him through the halls, from filch, and whoever was caught would take the fall. their strange twin code of conduct, their togetherness and alliance to each other—only broken by trying to push each other off of brooms at quidditch practice. he was protective, but never smothered her. she remembered them crying from happiness when they finally were able to transform into their animagi forms. they had a very similar laugh. james was her ride-or-die.

convincing peter to let her pierce his ear. scrawled notes being passed through class—he was a great confidant, and she would hold his secrets just as well. she had punched snape in the face, she had lost her control, just because he had brought peter’s name up. he was great at charms, great at giving advice.

laying on remus’ shoulder after the full moon, reading the same book with him, even if he had to pause while she finished the page. sharing snacks, genuine, true laughter and happiness, and giving him innocent, feather-light kisses on his facial scars to make him smile. rambling conversations, messy notes hidden between pages of books and under pillows. his ability to separate her from the trouble they found.

and...

muggle rock music. cigarettes. making his family’s lives hell. barked laughter and stupid dares. he always insisted she was his favorite potter—unless she worked with the other boys against him. the promise of forming a band. when he grabbed her wrists and shushed her—she’d ruin their cover, they were supposed to be hiding from filch. the cold hands in hers while they ran from the scene of the crime.

crime.

and she was back in reality, sitting in remus’ office with him while he planned lessons.

“do you remember the mandrake leaves?” she had asked, in a very small voice, as if he wouldn’t remember, though she knew it was impossible for him to forget.

remus ran a hand over his face.

“i remember well, lucy,” he sighed. “you were too hard on yourself.”

swallowing, and willing her voice not to shake, she stared at him before speaking.

“we all were... but he was harder on himself, remember? he would get mad, start kicking things and trying not to cry.”

remus lupin’s eyes were far away.

it hurt him too.

eventually, they walked to the great hall for dinner.

harry potter wanted to put together the pieces.

a black dog. the black dog.

he had seen that dog, he had gotten the grim, and it was their new professor’s greatest fear?

he knew the expression on her face—it was the one he, himself, wore when he was scared.

harry wanted to believe in coincidences, but doing that when he was harry potter wasn’t the best idea.

“professor vulpes,” ron began, from his seat on the couch. “she’s kind of fit, isn’t she?”

hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “honestly, ronald, of all the things... i’m confused as to why she’s even here.”

harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“well,” hermione began, sounding very slightly unsure. “i’m sure if dumbledore thinks it’s smart for her to be here, it must be alright... but we’ve never needed two professors for one class.”

“i mean, he said she’s helping lupin, isn’t he?” harry added. “i like professor lupin, i feel like he’ll be the best teacher we’ve had. and vulpes... she seems nice, too.”

“i agree,” hermione told him, hastily. “it’s just that it seems a bit weird, is all...”

“she seemed to know lupin pretty well,” ron commented. harry and hermione looked over.

“well, it just seems like they’re familiar with each other. they’re in perfect step with each other, almost, did you notice? they watch each other. and why did she run in front of harry like that?”

“i dunno,” harry grumbled. “maybe trying to save me from embarrassment?”

hermione rolled her eyes. “or, she could be trying to help you?”

“i don’t know,” harry still had a twinge of bitterness in his tone. “she seems familiar to me, though.”

“hmm.”

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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ericsonclan · 3 years ago

Text

The Words I Always Wanted to Say

Summary

Overall Word Count

Chapter 1: The day of the proposals arrives with neither member of the couple suspecting what's in store.

Aasim had felt like puking all day. It wasn’t the sort of mood he’d hoped to be in on the day of his proposal, but he knew deep inside that postponing it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He’d already rescheduled three times and each day that was supposed to be the day had brought the same queasiness. His nerves would get to him no matter what. He simply had to power through.

Still, if he waited a bit longer then maybe he could rethink the whole picnic aspect of the proposal and spare his stomach the struggle…. No. Clementine would kill Aasim if he told her he was moving back his plans again. She’d already given him enough grief about the ring he’d held onto for a year. If he rescheduled for a fourth time, Clem wouldn’t need to throw Aasim to the walkers. She’d bite off his head herself.

Walking toward the front of the courtyard, Aasim spotted the object of his affections, his one true love. Ruby was making conversation with Clementine, something about the weather and what they should do about the vegetable garden if things got too stormy. Clementine spotted Aasim coming their way and excused herself, giving Aasim a knowing look before walking off. She and Omar were going hunting today.

Ruby noticed Aasim coming toward her a moment later. Turning toward him with a smile, she started to speak just as he did.

“Do you-” Both of them paused, waiting for the other to speak but the silence lasted a moment too long and they both started again. “I wanted to ask-” They stopped again, chuckling at their timing.

“You go first,” Ruby said, waiting patiently.

Aasim cleared his throat, swallowing the lump in it before he spoke again. “I was thinking today would be lovely for a picnic. Are you free?”

Ruby’s brows furrowed slightly. “Well, actually, I had some work I needed to finish up in the greenhouse,”

“I can wait,” Aasim leaned back against the picnic table, trying his best to look casual.

“Actually, it could take a while. Maybe you’d like to join me?” A small smile played on Ruby’s lips.

“…No. We need to do the picnic. Now,”

“But you just said you could wait,”

“I-I lied!” Aasim could feel his face heating up. This was a terrible start. Maybe he should abort today’s proposal after all.

Just as Ruby was about to say something further though, Prisha’s hand appeared on Ruby’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Ruby. I can make sure everything is sorted out in the greenhouse. It’ll be ready for you once you’re done with your picnic,” She looked meaningfully into the redhead’s eyes till Ruby sighed and nodded.

“Alright. It can wait a bit longer, I guess,” Turning back to Aasim, she slipped her warm hand into his. “Now whereabouts did you say this picnic was?”

“If you’ll just follow me…” Aasim turned toward the admin building, his breathing gradually returning to normal. His heart however still beat a frantic staccato within his chest. As they walked, he looked down at his love. “I’m sorry if I was forceful back there. It wasn’t my intention,”

“I know,” Ruby gave her boyfriend’s hand a small squeeze, a soft smile on her face. “It’s sweet of you to put a surprise together for me. My plans can wait,”

“As soon as our picnic is done, I can head over to the greenhouse with you and help finish up whatever work needs to be done,”

“That’d be heavenly,” The sparkle in Ruby’s eyes set Aasim’s heart fluttering. He knew how much the greenhouse meant to her. And time spent together after the proposal, just the two of them, sharing kisses over the planters full of turnips and tubers, would be the perfect ending to what Aasim hoped would be a truly magical day.

Ascending the staircase within the admin building, the pair made their way to the headmaster’s office. Ruby looked round in mild confusion. “Are we grabbing snacks from here and then heading out?”

“Actually, I had a special spot in mind for our picnic today,” Aasim nodded toward the double doors that led out to the balcony. Ruby quirked an eyebrow then headed over to the closed doors. Opening them slowly, she gasped when she saw the spread set out before them.

A faded gingham picnic blanket held the treasure trove of treats Aasim had amassed in the last few weeks. A multi-tiered tea tray constructed out of welded pieces of scrap metal held a multitude of tiny sandwiches. Each was composed out of a pair of old saltines with various fillings in the center from sliced spam to stewed rabbit Omar had prepped in the fashion of pulled pork to garden veggie sandwiches with all manner of fresh vegetables nestled between the stale crackers. Beside the tea tray lay their three teapots, each chipped and broken but still retaining their original dignity and grace. The varied aromas drifting from them told Ruby they each held a different blend of tea. Their finest set of china was also stacked neatly to the side, ready for fine dining. A cracked porcelain container held a good portion of the sparse supply of sugar the group had stowed away accompanied by a small jar Ruby knew to be the last of their honey. A huge bouquet composed of various wildflowers gave the finishing touch to the romantic display.

“Oh, Aasim…” Ruby was at a loss for words as she took everything in.

Silently, Aasim wrapped his arms round Ruby and gently kissed her cheek as he hugged her from behind. “I wanted to put together a surprise worthy of you,”

“This is all too much! Why, if we use up the last of the sugar-”

“Then I’ll trade for more. Don’t worry, my dove. I always find a way,” Loosening his embrace, Aasim sat upon the picnic blanket and motioned for Ruby to do the same.

The two of them settled in for a decadent lunch, both of them eating their fill as the world went by around them, the clouds drifting lazily across the warm, sunny sky as the day went on. As Aasim poured another cup of chamomile tea for Ruby, he found himself lost for a moment in her bright blue eyes. He really could stay like this forever with her. And that’s exactly what this proposal meant: a promise of forever. Not just for things to stay the same but for them to build a future together. Feeling the panic rise within once more, Aasim did his best to keep his composure.

“Something bugging ya, Pookie?” Ruby looked at Aasim over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip.

“It’s nothing, my love,” Aasim paused for a moment, looking out at the courtyard below. Willy was on watch with AJ beside him. Both boys were chatting excitedly, clearly intrigued by something just beyond the walls. Likely a funny looking walker knowing those two. Louis and Violet were at the picnic benches, Louis mending a pair of pants while Violet worked on one of the rabbit hides she was in the process of tanning. Prisha had just emerged from the cellar with a box full of metal pipes balanced in her good arm, likely continuing her seemingly endless quest to restore the school’s plumbing. Turning back to Ruby, Aasim grinned. “Do you know why I chose the balcony for our picnic today?”

“The view?” Ruby mused, glancing through the repair section of the railing down at their friends below.

“That was certainly a factor, but not entirely the full reason. I wanted us to have our lunch up here in order to celebrate all we’ve accomplished. From up here you can see it all: the greenhouse, the vegetable garden, the paddock for Molly, Milky Way and Comet. Even a few years ago, we didn’t have any of those things. It shows how far we’ve come, and I think a primary factor in our success is each other. Together, you and I truly can accomplish anything, even returning a former wilderness to civilization,”

Ruby nodded, admiring their work along with Aasim. “We certainly have accomplished a lot these past few years. And that’s thanks in no small part to you. I don’t think anybody could compete with your work ethic, ‘Sim, not even me,”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Aasim turned back to Ruby, his eyes on her. “Perhaps it isn’t the most romantic thing to say, but one of the things that first drew me to you was seeing how hard you worked. Every day, rain or shine, without fail. At first I thought it was simply a matter of pride, as it is with me. But the longer I observed you, the more I realized why you really work so hard. It’s out of love. You work so that those you love can have better lives and I can’t think of anything nobler than that,”

“Sounds like you were watching me for quite some time,” Ruby looked down at the picnic blanket, her cheeks ruddier than usual. “Now that I think about it, I never asked you what the moment was that made you realize you were falling for me,”

“I don’t think it was any one moment. For a long time, I saw my admiration of you simply as mutual respect. But as the years went on, my feelings gradually shifted into something more. Seeing you grow from the girl who stole my pencil case on my first day at Ericson into such a beautiful, fiery woman of integrity and valor, I can’t remember when I crossed that line from liking to loving you. But I do know this, Ruby O’Donnel. I have loved you for a long, long time,”

Reaching into his pocket, Aasim pulled out the wedding ring. He’d spent the last few weeks polishing it night after night till it glowed with its original radiance once more. It was far too large for Ruby’s finger, likely a man’s ring before, but the beauty of the symbol was there nonetheless. Shifting so that he knelt with one knee forward just as he’d always seen it done in books and long-lost movies, Aasim held up the ring in both hands. “Ruby, my love, will you marry me?”

Ruby was quiet for a second. Then another. Aasim could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he held his pose wondering if someway, somehow, this had been the wrong move to make. Finally, Ruby broke the silence. “I want to show you something. Come with me,”

She could tell Aasim was nervous. Hell, she would be too if he’d left her high and dry after asking the question first. Ruby felt a twinge of guilt at leaving him so perplexed just for the sake of her pride, but she couldn’t say yes just yet. There was something she needed to do first, the very thing she’d been planning in the greenhouse before Aasim sprung the surprise picnic upon her. It wasn’t far to the greenhouse. Once they were there, he’d see why she’d brought him.

The courtyard was empty as they walked through it and the area surrounding the greenhouse too. Aasim looked more and more nervous with each step he took but followed Ruby willingly, obliging her when she opened the greenhouse door for him and motioned for Aasim to enter first. As soon as he did, Aasim let out a reverent gasp.

The entire greenhouse was aglow with candlelight. Mason jars of purple, red and green covered every inch of the space, lined up along the shelves, on the edges of planters, tucked along the sides of the walkways and even a few suspended above them. Some strands of twinkle lights also ran along the bases of the planters, bartered in a recent trade Aasim had been a part of. Flower petals were scattered over the ground, all leading to a central point before their feet. The petals there formed a simple message: I love you.

“Do you like it?” Ruby whispered, causing Aasim to turn round.

“Ruby, I… it’s glorious,” Aasim’s voice caught a bit, his eyes watering lightly.

“Now that you’ve seen it, I bet you’ve figured out why I wanted to go so badly to the greenhouse earlier today. And why I didn’t want to say yes just yet. Cause first I want to say my piece,” Clearing her throat, Ruby pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from her pocket and began to read. “My love, I can’t remember the first time my eyes turned in your direction in that special way. I’d always thought you were cute, but considering that our early days started with me being more than a bit of a bully to ya, I never thought anything would come of that. Then the world fell apart and we were both so busy surviving I didn’t even let myself believe love was anywhere in my future.

But somewhere along the way, deep within my heart of hearts, I think I always wanted it to be you. Truth be told, our first kiss might have happened a couple days sooner if you’d just asked more politely. I’m happy with the way things ended up though. I’ll never forget our first kiss and I’ll never stop thanking the good Lord you came back to me that day.

This has been something I’ve wanted to do for a while. More than a while, probably from the very start. But I had all sorts of silly thoughts in my head that you had to be the one to propose first or it wouldn’t be proper. That was all a load of horse apples though. So, I put all this together to ask you a question, a question I hope you’ll answer the way I’ve been dreaming. Aasim…” Ruby paused, fishing something out of her pocket. Lifting it up, she revealed a tiny, glittery pink ring, so small it would probably only fit on Aasim’s pinky. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Before either of them could say anything further, Aasim cupped Ruby’s face and pressed his lips to hers in a deep kiss. That kiss turned to another then another till finally Aasim pulled back and took the ring Ruby had offered. Slipping it as far down as it would go onto his pinky, Aasim held his hand out to admire it.

“Darn, it’s an even worse fit than I thought,” Ruby mumbled. “I’ve been searching all over God’s green earth for a proper ring of some sort and all I could scrounge up was this dress up ring I had from way back before the school even fell,”

“I love it,” Reaching toward the table behind her, Aasim grabbed a length of twine and the gardening shears and snipped off a portion of it. Slipping the ring onto the twine, he tied it around his neck, letting the ring rest just below the zipper on his hoodie. “Honestly, mine is probably an awful fit too. It’s embarrassing really,”

“Are you kidding? You propose with a bona fide gold ring while I use a cereal box prize and you’re acting as if it’s the same thing?” Ruby shook her head, taking the twine and scissors from him and cutting her own piece. Gingerly taking the ring from Aasim, Ruby looped it though the twine then tied it round her neck where it lay snugly just below the collar of her shirt.

The two of them smiled at each other, lost in the happiness of the moment before chuckles escaped their lips.

“I can’t believe it,” Aasim murmured, shaking his head. “For both of us to choose the exact same day… what are the odds? When you didn’t answer my proposal and brought me down to the greenhouse instead, I wasn’t sure what to expect, perhaps a rejection, but certainly not this.”

“Now that’s the silliest thing I ever heard!” Ruby exclaimed, lightly whacking her betrothed on the arm. “As if I’d ever say no to you! I just didn’t want you to steal my thunder!” Her eyes turned to the greenhouse, admiring the décor. “Thank goodness Prisha knew the last few pieces of the plan to get this greenhouse gussied up. I don’t know what would have happened without her help,”

“Prisha knew? She and Willy were the ones who made that tea tray for the picnic! She was in on both plans,” Aasim looked toward the door. “Was she the only one who helped you set this up?”

“Well, Louis was involved too. He was the first one I told about the proposal,”

“And if Louis knew then Clementine knew. Clem was the first one I confided in about the ring,”

The couple shared a look. How far did the others’ involvement go? The courtyard had suddenly been empty as they were heading toward the greenhouse. Was it still empty now? Hand in hand, the pair opened the door and stepped outside.

The courtyard was no longer empty after all. In fact, everyone was there. The others stood round one of the picnic tables, chattering excitedly. As soon as they saw Aasim and Ruby though, they suddenly went quiet. That was until AJ stepped forward.

“Happy wedding!” he shouted, tossing a handful of tinsel into the air. Willy joined him, throwing his own handful and blowing enthusiastically on an old kazoo.

“Boys, remember, it’s ‘happy engagement,’” Prisha corrected gently before her eyes returned to the happy pair. “Congratulations, you two. We couldn’t be happier for you,”

“It’s like I’m giving away my own children,” Louis commented, wiping a mock tear from his eye. “They grow up so fast,”

Clementine shook her head good-naturedly, taking Louis’ hand in hers. “Congratulations, both of you. Seeing as we all knew both your plans, we’ve been working on a little surprise of our own,”

“It’s PANCAKE DAY!” Willy shouted, jumping around ecstatically. Omar lifted up a plate of pancakes that had been hidden on the picnic benches, Violet holding a second plate. Both of them smiled at the happy couple.

Aasim and Ruby shared a smile of their own then stepped forward, joining the group for the celebratory feast. The day hadn’t gone how either of them had expected, yet it had blossomed into something more beautiful than they’d ever dreamed. As Ruby sat down at the picnic table, Aasim’s hand in hers, her family surrounding her, her cheeks glowed with excitement. “Let’s get to planning some weddings!”

#twdg #fanfic #rusim #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdgs4

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Bleeding Heart | Adam x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Pairing: Adam x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: It is the first Farmer’s Market of the season and Charlie hit the motherlode. Including some beautiful flowers. What she forgot was Adam telling her that Bleeding Heart has a powerful effect on vampires. Can she survive the night?

Warnings: Smut, Sex pollen, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex

It was the first Farmer’s Market of the year and Charlie was up early to head out. She pulled the pillow off of Adam’s head to kiss his lips. There was a bit of dried blood in the corner of his mouth. Adam sighed into her lips and Charlie slipped her tongue into his mouth. Adam pulled her onto the bed, tugging at her top, one of his old black vee neck tees tucked into short denim shorts.

“I can’t. It’s the first Farmer’s Market of the season and I want the pick of produce. I have to go.”

“No.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her onto his chest, latching onto her lips.

“Adam. Don’t be like this. I will have my cell phone on me at all times. The pepper spray is in my tote. It will be a year in the fall.”

Adam stopped kissing her and pulled back to stare into her emerald green eyes. Charlie smiled down at him. He still didn’t like her going out alone, particularly at night. But Simone explained to him that sheltering Charlie could do more harm than good. That normalcy would help.

“How long will you be gone?” Adam released his grip on the shirt and let her black Chucks touch back onto the floor.

“Two hours tops. If I will be any later, I will call. Will you answer?”

“Probably not.” he groaned, replacing the pillow on his head.

“Fine, then I’m leaving the pepper spray.” She dug through the canvas tote from when she started at the hospital that she used to carry home all her purchases.

“Hand me the phone.” Adam extended his hand and Charlie slapped the iPhone they purchased for him four months ago, over his protest.

“I changed the ringtone.”

“Great. To what?”

“Baby Shark, your favorite.”

“Fuck.” Adam groaned, muffled by the pillow.

“Love you, darling.” Charlie called out, giggling on her way out.

“Love you too.” Adam responded, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.

The Farmer’s Market was even better than last year, with a few bakeries and flower vendors besides all the produce. When Charlie arrived ten minutes after opening, it was already bustling. She sampled juicy strawberries before purchasing a flat along with several pints of blueberries from the same vendor. She arranged to pick it up on her way out. At another, Charlie snagged several bundles of asparagus for a risotto recipe she wanted to try, along with some fresh herbs, including basil, chives, and marjoram. She wandered into each stall, sampling breads, candies and produce. She treated herself to some decadent triple chocolate cookies, Adam liked to taste the chocolate on her lips.

“Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.” One vendor called out.

Charlie spun to see colorful blooms spilling out of buckets. She smelled lilies and daisies, picking out beautiful pink, yellow and purple blooms for a bouquet. Her eyes landed on a dark pink bloom. She traced the heart-shaped drops.

“Lamprocapnos spectabilis,” The vendor offered. Charlie quirked an eyebrow. Adam rattled off Latin names more times than Charlie cared to count. Sometimes she would listen intently, while other times she smiled and nodded while thinking about the latest book she was reading or a rerun of The Vampire Diaries.

“Bleeding Heart.” Charlie responded. Adam talked about it one time, but she couldn’t remember the details of the conversations. She plucked several stalks and added them to bouquet while fishing out a few bills to pay for the flowers.

On her way out, she grabbed several bunches of beetroot for her morning juice on days Adam feeds on her or she collects blood to help replenish some nutrients. She glanced at her phone while heaving the strawberries under her arm. One hour and thirty minutes. Plenty of time to make it home before Adam panic called her. She didn’t want a repeat of the day the train broke down on her way back from lunch with Elise and Miriam in Boston proper.

Charlie hipped open the door after jimmying the key into the lock with her hands full.

“Adam!” she called out into the silence.

Charlie suspected he was still asleep, with several hours until sunset. She pushed aside the alarm clock Adam insisted he was “improving” to drop the flat of strawberries and her tote. She grabbed a pitcher from on top of the fridge, cursing for letting Adam putting it away the last time she made lemonade, rising on the tip of her tippy toes. Wiping off the dust, Charlie filled it up with water and dropped the flowers into it. She shifted some of them around before placing the pitcher on the table and set about prepping the vegetables.

Adam woke to smelling sauteed vegetables, basil, and garlic. When he rounded the corner, he smiled to see Charlie standing over the oven stirring something in a big pot of something delicious smelling. She bounced from foot to foot as she stirred and chewed on a cookie.

“What are you cooking?” Adam sidled up beside her.

“Risotto. Is the garlic too much? I can throw it out if it’s too much.”

Adam smiled and pecked her curls with his lips. “It’s fine. That’s an old vampire’s tale.” Adam turned her to kiss her lips. “Chocolate.”

“I got cookies at the market. Do you like it?” she smirked, knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

The spoon clattered to the floor as Adam pushed Charlie against the counter and lifted her to sit on it. Adam pushed her legs open with her hips and bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Ow, Adam.” He ignored her cry and pawed at her shirt, lifting it over her head. “Adam, darling, I have to stir the risotto.” Charlie pulled him off of her.

Adam panted, something he never did. His eyes were black, with only the slightest hint of ice blue on the rim. He lunged for her throat, baring his fangs.

“ADAM!” Charlie yelled and shoved him back with all her might. He hit the kitchen table as he stumbled backwards. The pitcher knocked over, spilling water and flowers everywhere. Adam turned around and snatched up the flowers.

“Where did you get these?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

Charlie blinked several times and took a few breaths before answering, reminding herself she was not back in that apartment.

“At the market. Please don’t yell at me.” she answered before sliding off the counter and picking up the spoon. “Why?”

“Fuck!” Adam stormed off and slammed the door of the second bedroom.

“Shit!” Charlie switched off the stove and went to check on him.

He locked the door when Charlie jiggled the handle. She knocked.

“Adam?”

“Go away!” he yelled, pacing the floor. He wanted nothing more than to rip the door off its hinges and throw Charlie onto the bed.

“No.” Her voice clear, cutting through the haze in his mind. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She yelled through the door.

Adam stopped in front of the door and pressed his head against the wood.

“Bleeding Heart.”

“I picked it up at the market. Lamprocapnos—”

“—spectabilis.” Adam finished. “Do you remember what I said about it?”

“Uh….” Charlie racked her brain to pull the information from her subconscious.

Adam slammed his fist against the door. “Damn it, Charlie!” he hissed. His cock strained against his pants. “Think sexual catnip for a vampire.”

“Oh… Oh!” Charlie’s eyebrows raised. “And you are…”

“Fighting the urge to fuck your brains out.”

Charlie smirked. She swiped her hand on top of the door frame until she found the small metal rod. “And that differs from any other Saturday how?”

“Not funny, Charlie.”

Charlie fiddled with the knob until she heard a click and turned the knob.

“I think it is fucking hilarious, Adam.” She stepped into the room.

Adam blinked. “How did you?”

Charlie held up the key. “Remember when you insisted on updating all the doorknobs in case I locked myself in here during an attack?”

“Shit.” Adam pivoted to turn away from Charlie. “You need to leave Charlie.”

“Well you and I both know that it is not happening. So take off your pants.” Charlie pulled her shirt off and unbuttoned her shorts, slipping them off.

“Excuse me?” Adam turned to find Charlie unclasping her bra wearing only a pair of panties. “Were you not listening? I’m sick. I could hurt you.”

“No you won’t.” She dragged her panties down her legs, bending at the waist.

Adam marched over and pushed Charlie against the bed, ass in the air.

“You are going to regret this, love.” Adam tugged his pants down. “I won’t be gentle.”

Charlie wiggled her ass. “I know, I’ve read your porn collection.”

Adam buried himself inside of her in one smooth motion. Charlie gripped the bed for support.

“Yes!” Adam hissed as he snapped against her.

“Fuck me.” Charlie muttered, dropping her head to the mattress.

“Over and over.” Adam grunted. He rutted into Charlie’s pussy at a bruising pace. Soon she fluttered around him.

“I’m cumming, Adam!” she screamed as her orgasm washed over her. Adam came, but his cock throbbed for more.

“On your back.” Adam ordered. Charlie scrambled to lie on her back. Adam crawled behind her and position his shoulders between her thighs.

“I thought you needed to—”

“I’m pacing myself.” Adam grunted. “So I don’t hurt you.”

“I don’t think you could to do that—”

Adam licked along her sensitive folds, causing her to shudder. He gripped her thighs and ate her up. His tongue darted into her, wanting to drink up every drop. Charlie moaned and gripped Adam’s head, her nails clawing at his scalp.

“Ah!!” she screamed as she came again and collapsed against the pillow.

Adam’s cock ached and burned. He gazed down on Charlie, her eyes fluttering closed. Adam wanted her. He wanted to fuck her until the bed broke and she screamed for him to stop. He wanted to drink from the scar on her neck until she passed out. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Adam crawled up to lie next to her. He fisted his cock with a fervor. His hand moved fast and with a purpose. He closed his eyes to focus on the pressure and friction. As Charlie’s tits pressed into his arm, he popped open an eye.

“Let me.” Her hand reached for his shaft. Adam’s eyes widened, and he stopped his stroking.

“I can’t ask you to do that. You need rest.”

“I’m fine and I’m not asking.” Charlie gripped his shaft and jerked up and down. Adam’s hand fell away.

“I…”

“Shh.” Charlie hushed. “Let me help you.” She swiped over his weeping tip and Adam bucked his hips.

“Fine.” Adam groaned.

Charlie smiled and shifted down Adam’s body. She took him into her mouth. Adam shifted to stand up, but Charlie reached up and pushed him back down. Her tongue swirled around and Adam gave up any idea of stopping her.

“Darling, yes!”

His fingers tangled in her curls, not pushing her head but gripping for support. Charlie’s one hand gripped the base of his cock firmly and the other cupped Adam’s balls. She hummed against him, sucking with an urgency. His ball tightened.

“Charlie, I’m—” Adam warned, but too late when Charlie’s tongue caught the underside of the head of his cock.

With a guttural moan, Adam came hard. His legs cramped tight while Charlie continued to lick, taking all of him in. Adam had to pull her off of him. His lips crashed against hers and they tasted each on their tongues. Salty and sweet. Charlie straddled Adam’s hips, and he sat up with her in his lap.

“I’m still hungry, my love.”

“I know.” Charlie’s voice hoarse. She wiggled, teasing her folds along him.

“Not just that. I am going to fuck you while I feed from your neck.” Adam wasn’t asking, but stating a fact.

Charlie nodded, curls bouncing. Adam wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her onto his cock, easing her down. Charlie hissed as her walls stretched around Adam.

“You are perfection, my darling.” Adam purred as he kissed down her neck. His tongue laved along Charlie’s scar. “You were meant for me.” She arched her back while Adam rocked and bucked underneath her. Charlie’s arms reached around Adam’s torso and she pulled herself as tight against his chest as she could.

Adam bucked inside of her, feeling Charlie contract around him. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he nipped at her neck and she let her head fall to the side. As his fangs sunk into her soft flesh, Charlie gasped and moaned at the overstimulation.

“Adam, please…” she begged, writhing in his grasp. Her release teetering on the edge and the sides of the world grew fuzzy as Adam fed.

“My love.” Adam released her neck and crushed his lips against hers. The taste of metal and sex on his tongue along his cock pulsing inside her tipped Charlie over the edge.

“ADAM!” she screamed as her nails scratched down his back. She clenched hard around him and as he came too, he sucked on the wound one more time.

The two of them collapsed onto the bed, a heap of sex, sweat, and flesh. Adam closed his eyes, sated at last while Charlie dozed off, her head on his chest.

When Adam woke, clear-headed and sore, Charlie was already gone from the bedroom. He found her in the kitchen, cleaning the giant pot which once held her garlicky risotto.

“That was a week’s worth of meals you ruined.” Charlie tsked, a smile teasing the corners of her lips.

Adam wrapped his arms around her, taking her sudsy hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

“An apology?!” Charlie feigned shock. “I need to write this down.” She wiped off her hands on the apron and reached for a small notebook on the counter.

“What do you even write in there?” Adam wondered out loud. He noticed the water and flowers from the table gone. Charlie would have been certain to throw them away outside.

“Notes.” she responded cryptically.

“What kind of notes? You aren’t writing more rules are you?”

Charlie clutched the notebook against her chest. “None of your business.”

In a flash, Adam snatched the notebook away and flipped through the pages.

“That’s cheating, Adam.” Charlie lunged for the notebook.

“I don’t fight fair, you know that.” Adam smirked. “Nibble behind left ear = rolls onto back.” Adam read out loud. “Are you taking notes on me?”

“No comment. Give it back.”

Adam flipped a page to see the latest note about Bleeding Hearts.

“How long have you been documenting?” Adam handed it back. Charlie tucked the notebook into a back pocket.

“Since the habanero incident.”

“I told you, I drank too much blood that day. The peppers had nothing to do with!”

“You writhed in pain all evening in bed, Adam. You’ve gorged yourself before. That was something else. You were unbearable.”

“So the notes?”

“Help me make sure nothing happens to you.” Charlie fidgeted with the edge of her apron.

Adam embraced Charlie, running his hands over her hair. “I thought that was my job.”

“Perhaps it can be both of our jobs.” she suggested.

“Now I like the sound of that.” He pecked her lips and pushed up the sleeves of his robe. “Let me help you clean up.”

Charlie smiled and shoved a towel into his hand. “I wash you dry.”

Adam reached for the now clean pot as Charlie turned her attention to the knives and cutting board.

“I saw your note, Charlie.”

“Hmmm?” She glanced over at him.

“We are not doing this again on Valentines.” His smile betraying his genuine feelings.

Charlie turned off the water and spun on her heels, ready to fight this out.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #adam and charlie #the reluctants

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devotedwaywardangel1 · 4 years ago

Text

Nostalgia

Dean x Female Reader

Fandom: Supernatural

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: Cancer, mentions of assault

A/N: For @dontshootmespence‘s 8K angst challenge the prompt was Cancer hope you enjoy.

~~~~~~

Sam was in the library typing away on his laptop in search for a new case. However the quiet tapping was interrupted when Dean's phone went off playing Bohemian Rhapsody, there was little hesitation for Sam to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Sam? Hi! It's (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)! It’s been a while you want me to grab Dean.”

“Yes please.”

Sam got up and walked to the kitchen where Dean was scoffing down a sandwich he held out the phone for Dean to grab. “Its (Y/n).”

Dean choked snatching the phone bringing it up to his ear. “Hi, are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly safe but I need you to come to Dallas hospital ASAP.”

“What’s wrong? I’m on my way.” Dean started to panic, as he gathered essentials.

“It's easier to explain in person.”

“Ok I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.

Zipping up both of his backpacks he rushed to the garage to get to the Impala. “Sam!” He yelled.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to Dallas, don’t know when I’ll be back, call if something happens.” Dean rushed out leaving behind a confused Sam.

He started up the engine in the Impala and quickly got on the highway going as fast as the speed limit allowed him, hoping it would take little over eight hours. She said she was safe so he could afford the luxury of not breaking any highway codes. He thought back to the day he and (Y/n) first met.

He had been fifthteen when yet again his father dropped him and Sam off a Bobby’s house. Sam greeted Bobby with a hug and wandered off to read the extensive collection of books the house held. Dean hugged Bobby tightly. “How are you?”

“I’m good Dean, I’ve got a few new cars in, would you like to help?”

A small smile graced his face. “Yes please.”

“You know where to go.”

Dean walked round to the garage only to see a pair of denim covered legs under a red and white 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28. Unsure of what to do he coughed. Startling the person as there was a thud and a painful groan. Rolling out from under the car, Dean saw that this was a girl around his age hair messy and grease on her nose. “What the hell dude, you shouldn’t startle a girl under a car!” She glared menacingly at him.

“Sorry.” He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and got up, wiping her hands on her tattered jeans. Walking up to Dean extending her hand to him. He shook it, she had a good grip on her he thought. “What’s ya name, freckles?” She grinned cheekily.

He snorted. “It’s Dean, greasy.”

She let out an amused laugh. ”Okay then, Dean, I’m (Y/n).”

At that Bobby walked in. “I see you two have already introduced yourselves then.”

Dean sighed remembering how content he was back all those years ago. She gave off a contagious feeling of home and safety. Sam didn’t know this but that had matching tattoos done when they were eighteen. As a promise that no matter how far they drift apart they would always be there for each other.

They had told Bobby that they were going into town for supplies, it wasn’t exactly a lie they were getting supplies as well so they were bending the truth a little. Both newly adults had already chosen what they were having. He had chosen a long sword, because he thought it was cool and had always seen himself as a fearless knight. (Y/n) on the other hand had decided to go with a heater shield design, she said it was to represent victory and protection. “Besides a lot of knights that used longswords had a heater shield seeing as we are a pair it made sense.” She spoke enthusiastically.

Dean tried to wave it of as it seemed stupid but he could help agreeing with her assessment. It became apparent early on in their friendship that (Y/n) had a habit of analysing everything. Sometimes it helped on hunts when she was an excellent strategist but it was like she couldn’t turn it off, yet Dean had the habit of shifting on his feet because of the nagging feeling that he may have to fight at any moment. So he really couldn’t complain they were just the by-products of being hunters from an early age.

He had decided that he was going to go first based on the logic that he is older. Creating a rise out of (Y/n). “You’re older by two months seriously it hardly counts.”

Dean laughed. “Yes it does, besides I beat you here.”

“Okay.” She huffed playfully.

Dean had the longsword tattooed on his left calf while (Y/n) had the heater shield tattooed on he upper right arm.

That was one of the best days in Dean’s life, funny how something so frivolous could mean so much to him. But it did, they were best friends til the last shots fired. Though they dared dream that they grow old and end up playing poker at some old folks home when each other’s kids visit them with grandchildren. Of course Sam would be there too, it was one hell of a dream that’ll never be true.

Then he thought about the first time she saved his life.

They were twenty three and it was a ghost hunt, simple enough but it was a big thing to the two amatuer hunters, their parents letting them go their own way even if it was for a little bit. They had figured it all out relatively quickly. The spirit had been a man by the name of William Brookes who had been killed over two decades ago by a woman he was attempting to assault and he had been killing women who fit her general description. Once the ghost had found out that they were doing and started to retaliate. Dean decided to distract the ghost by firing rounds into its ecto-mist composed body. While (Y/n) doused the bones with petrol and salt. Dean was thrown back by the spirit and he couldn’t get to the shotgun quick enough, he closed his eyes thinking that he was going to die until he heard (Y/n) shout. “Oi bitchface.” Successfully grabbing the ghosts attention as she flicked the match on top of the corpse.

Causing it to shrivel up and burst into flames. Dean let out a breathy laugh in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A couple moments of silence past. “Burgers and beer?” He asked, reaching for her hand.

“You know me so well.” She helped him up.

Dean parked the Impala and ran into the hospital, the journey had taken around eight hours to complete, and to the front desk causing the receptionist to jump. “Sorry, my friend (Y/n) (L/n) is here and I would like to see her.” There was no room in his tone to argue even though he wanted to be somewhat polite.

The receptionist looked at him sympathetically as he called a nurse over to take Him to the patient.

“She said you would be here, follow me.” She had a sad look in her eyes.

He followed her to the elevator, hands in his pockets as they went up to the third floor. Dean didn’t want to make conversation he just wanted to get to (Y/n). Why was it taking so long?

As soon as the elevator dinged Dean tried to get the nurse to hurry up but to no avail. Eventually the nurse stopped and whispered mournfully. “She’s in there.”

Dean rushed in but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw her, heart shattering at the sight. She was deathly pale compared to her natural complexion, practically had no muscle even with her experience hunting, eyes dull but still held hope in them, she no longer had any hair. He wanted to scream and cry about how frail she looked but a lone tear shed itself instead. She smiled kindly. “Hiya freckles.” She spoke so quietly Dean almost couldn’t hear her.

“Hi Greasy.” He choked a sob as he reached for her hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner but I knew you would of done something stupid.” She held his hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb.

“Don’t apologise, you’re right I would have.” He confesses.

“A part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but I wanted to spend my last day with you.” She admitted solemnly.

“I know, but you of all people have the right to ask this.” He caressed her cheek gently.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“This is the only place I should be sweetheart.”

“Do you remember our first kiss.” She reminisced softly.

“I’ll never forget.” He smiled

They were seventeen and sitting on Eastwood’s, (Y/n)’s Camaro, bonet listening to the Ultimate Queen album. Looking at the waterfalls glisten as the sun was setting at Falls Park, eating pizza and drinking cola. Neither of them thought of it as a date when they decided to go out but it's funny how things turn out when one looks back on memories.

Love of my Life started to play, igniting something within the pair of them, but it was Dean to talk first.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, nearly nervous.

It wasn’t his first kiss, nor hers but this was (Y/n) and he desperately didn’t want to wreck the only sturdy friendship he had.

“Of course.” She smiled blushing ever so slightly.

He placed his hand on her cheek and brought her close to his face as they gazed into each other’s eyes. (Y/n) momentarily bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers. They leaned in further before Dean initiated the kiss which was chaste but passionate he wasn’t holding back. She put in an equal amount of care and love into that kiss.

Both wished it would never end. But like all good things in the lives of hunters it never really lasts.

He looked at her lovingly. She went serious for a moment. “There are a couple of things that I have to ask of you.”

“Anything.”

“No soul-selling, no spells and no voodoo shit okay.”

He hesitated. “I promise.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He sighed.

She smiled sadly at him and kissed his hand. “The last thing I would like is for us to watch the sunset one last time.”

“We’ve got half an hour until then.” He kissed her forehead.

She smiled radiantly at him as he went to talk to the nurses. All of them were more than happy to help out, naturally they all loved her. Dean had never met a hunter who could speak ill of her.

She was in a purple sundress and brown leather sandals when he came back picking her up bridal style and carried her to the roof where there were a couple of blankets and some cola. “Oh Dean, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, we’ve got fifteen minutes until sundown sweetheart.” He placed her on the blanket.

He got her to lean on him as she no longer had the strength to sit up by herself, he pulled up a blanket over their legs. Arm wrapped around her to keep her warm. She wasn’t much of a talker so most of the time was spent in a blissful silence. The fiery orange sky reflected beautifully in her eyes and she smiled softly feeling her life slipping away but she wasn’t scared, only worried about the ones she was leaving behind but she knew they’ll be fine she was sure of it.

“Everything is going to be okay, Dean.” She whispered.

“It would be better with you.” He held her tighter.

“Not much I can do about that.” Her voice was becoming weaker.

“No…”

“You know the funeral arrangements.”

“Yeah, we’ll hold it at your safe house in Wyoming.”

“You keep Eastwood but I swear if anything happens to him you are screwed.”

Dean laughed slightly. “Thank you.”

“I love you.” He breathed

“I love you too.”

Dean kissed her, it was short and sweet full of regret for what could have been. The tranquil silence took over again. He manueved them to get (Y/n) between his legs and placed his head on top of hers.

It was another fifteen minutes until the last breath left her body, in the arms of the man she loved. Dean knew almost immediately as he let himself cry, heartbroken sobs was the first thing the nurse noticed as she came up. She stood there waiting until she felt that she could console him. But right now she let him mourn.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #female reader #x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer

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birdlord · 4 years ago

Text

Everything I Watched in 2020

We’ll start with movies. The number in parentheses is the year of release, asterisks denote a re-watch, and titles in bold are my favourite watches of the year. Here’s 2019’s list.

01 Little Women (19)

02 The Post (17)

03 Molly’s Game (17)

04 * Doctor No (62)

05 Groundhog Day (93)

06 *Star Trek IV - The Voyage Home (86)

07 Knives Out (19) My last theatre experience (sob)

08 Professor Marston and his Wonder Women (17)

09 Les Miserables (98)

10 Midsommar (19) I’m not sure how *good* it is, but it does stick in the ol’ brain

11 *Manhattan Murder Mystery (93)

12 Marriage Story (19)

13 Kramer vs Kramer (79)

14 Jojo Rabbit (19)

15 J’ai perdu mon corps (19) a cute animated film about a hand detached from its body!

16 1917 (19)

17 Married to the Mob (88)

18 Klaus (19)

19 Portrait of a Lady on Fire (19) If Little Women made me want to wear a scarf criss-crossed around my torso, this one made me want to wear a cloak

20 The Last Black Man in San Francisco (19)

21 *Lawrence of Arabia (62)

22 Gone With the Wind (39)

23 Kiss Me Deadly (55)

24 Dredd (12)

25 Heartburn (86) heard a bunch about this one in the Blank Check series on Nora Ephron, sadly after I’d watched it

26 The Long Shot (19)

27 Out of Africa (85)

28 King Kong (46)

29 *Johnny Mnemonic (95)

30 Knocked Up (07)

31 Collateral (04)

32 Bird on a Wire (90)

33 The Black Dahlia (05)

34 Long Time Running (17)

35 *Magic Mike (12)

36 Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (07)

37 Cold War (18)

38 *Kramer Vs Kramer (79) yes I watched this a few months before! This was a pandemic friend group co-watch.

39 *Burn After Reading (08)

40 Last Holiday (50)

41 Fly Away Home (96)

42 *Moneyball (11) I’m sure I watch this every two years, at most??

43 Last Holiday (06) the Queen Latifah version of the 1950 movie above, lacking, of course, the brutal “poor people don’t deserve anything good” ending

44 *Safe (95)

45 Gimme Shelter (70)

46 The Daytrippers (96)

47 Experiment in Terror (62)

48 Tucker: The Man and His Dream (88)

49 My Brilliant Career (79) one of the salvations of 2020 was watching movies “with” friends. Our usual method was to video chat before the movie, sync our streaming services, and text-chat while the movie was on.

50 Divorce Italian Style (61)

51 *Gosford Park (01) another classic comfort watch, fuck I love a G. Park

52 Hopscotch (80)

53 Brief Encounter (45)

54 Hud (63)

55 Ocean’s 8 (18)

56 *Beverly Hills Cop (84)

57 Blow the Man Down (19)

58 Constantine (05)

59 The Report (19) maddening!! How are people so consistently terrible to one another!

60 Everyday People (04)

61 Anatomy of a Murder (58)

62 Spiderman: Homecoming (17)

63 *To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (95) Of the 90s drag road movies, Priscilla is more visually striking, but this has its moments.

64 Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (92)

65 *The Truman Show (98)

66 Mona Lisa (86)

67 The Blob (58)

68 The Guard (11)

69 *Waiting for Guffman (96) RIP Fred Willard

70 Rocketman (19)

71 Outside In (18)

72 The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (08) how strange to see a movie that you have known the premise for, but no details of, for over a decade

73 *Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country (91)

74 The Reader (08)

75 Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (19) This was fine until it VERY MUCH WAS NOT FINE

76 The End of the Affair (99) you try to watch a fun little romp about infidelity during the Blitz, and Graham Greene can’t help but shoehorn in a friggin crisis of religious faith

77 Must Love Dogs (05) barely any dog content, where are the dogs at

78 The Rainmaker (97)

79 *Batman & Robin (97)

80 National Lampoon’s Vacation (83) Never seen any of the non-xmas Vacations, didn’t realize the children are totally different, not just actors but ages! Also, this one is blatantly racist!

81 *Mystic Pizza (88)

82 Funny Girl (68)

83 The Sons of Katie Elder (65)

84 *Knives Out (19) another re-watch within the same year!! How does this keep happening??

85 *Scott Pilgrim Vs The World (10) a real I-just-moved-away-from-Toronto nostalgia watch

86 Canadian Bacon (92) vividly recall this VHS at the video store, but I never saw it til 2020

87 *Blood Simple (85)

88 Brittany Runs a Marathon (19)

89 The Accidental Tourist (88)

90 August Osage County (13) MELO-DRAMA!!

91 Appaloosa (08)

92 The Firm (93) Feeling good about how many iconic 80s/90s video store stalwarts I watched in 2020

93 *Almost Famous (00)

94 Whisper of the Heart (95)

95 Da 5 Bloods (20)

96 Rain Man (88)

97 True Stories (86)

98 *Risky Business (83) It’s not about what you think it’s about! It never was!

99 *The Big Chill (83)

100 The Way We Were (73)

101 Safety Last (23) It’s getting so that I might have to add the first two digits to my dates...not that I watch THAT many movies from the 1920s...

102 Phantasm (79)

103 The Burrowers (08)

104 New Jack City (91)

105 The Vanishing (88)

106 Sisters (72)

107 Puberty Blues (81) Little Aussie cinema theme, here

108 Elevator to the Gallows (58)

109 Les Diaboliques (55)

110 House (77) haha WHAT no really W H A T

111 Death Line (72)

112 Cranes are Flying (57)

113 Holes (03)

114 *Lady Vengeance (05)

115 Long Weekend (78)

116 Body Double (84)

117 The Crazies (73) I love that Romero shows the utter confusion that would no doubt reign in the case of any kind of disaster. Things fall apart.

118 Waterlilies (07)

119 *You’re Next (11)

120 Event Horizon (97)

121 Venom (18) I liked it, guys, way more than most superhero fare. Has a real sense of place and the place ISN’T New York!

122 Under the Silver Lake (18) RIP Night Call

123 *Blade Runner (82)

124 *The Birds (62) interesting to see now that I’ve read the story it came from

125 *28 Days Later (02) hits REAL FUCKIN’ DIFFERENT in a pandemic

126 Life is Sweet (90)

127 *So I Married an Axe Murderer (93) find me a more 90s movie, I dare you (it’s not possible)

128 Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (67)

129 The Pelican Brief (93) 90s thrillers continue!

130 Dick Johnston is Dead (20)

131 The Bridges of Madison County (95)

132 Earth Girls are Easy (88) Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum are so hot in this movie, no wonder they got married

133 Better Watch Out (16)

134 Drowning Mona (00) trying for something like the Coen bros and not getting there

135 Au Revoir Les Enfants (87)

136 *Chasing Amy (97) Affleck is the least alluring movie lead...ever? I also think I gave Joey Lauren Adams’ character short shrift in my memory of the movie. It’s not good, but she’s more complicated than I recalled.

137 Blackkklansman (18)

138 Being Frank (19)

139 Kiki’s Delivery Service (89)

140 Uncle Frank (20) why so many FRANKS

141 *National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (89) watching with pals (virtually) made it so much more fun than the usual yearly watch!

142 Half Baked (98) another, more secret Toronto nostalgia pic - RC Harris water filtration plant as a prison!

143 We’re the Millers (13)

144 All is Bright (13)

145 Defending Your Life (91)

146 Christmas Chronicles (18) I maintain that most new xmas movies are terrible, particularly now that Netflix churns them out like eggnog every year.

147 Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse (18)

148 Reindeer Games (00) what did I say about Affleck??!? WHAT DID I SAY

149 Palm Springs (20)

150 Happiest Season (20)

151 *Metropolitan (90) it’s definitely a Christmas movie

152 Black Christmas (74)

THEATRE:HOME - 2:150 (thanks pandemic)

I usually separate out docs and fiction, but I watched almost no documentaries this year (with the exception of Dick Johnston). Reality is real enough.

TV Series

01 - BoJack Horseman (final season) - Pretty damned poignant finish to the show, replete with actual consequences for our reformed bad boy protagonist (which is more than you can say for most antiheroes of Peak TV).

02 - *Hello Ladies - I enjoy the pure awkwardness of seeing Stephen Merchant try to perform being a Regular Person, but ultimately this show tips him too far towards a nasty, Ricky Gervais-lite sort of persona. Perhaps he was always best as a cameo appearance, or lip synching with wild eyes while Chrissy Teigen giggles?

03 - Olive Kittredge - a rough watch by times. I read the book as well, later in the year. Frances Mcdormand was the best, possibly the only, casting option for the flinty lead. One episode tips into thriller territory, which is a shock.

04 - *The Wire S3, S4, S5 - lockdown culture! It was interesting to rewatch this, then a few months later go through an enormous, culture-level reappraisal of cop-centred narratives.

05 - Forever - a Maya Rudolph/Fred Armisen joint that coasts on the charm of its leads. The premise is OK, but I wasn’t left wanting any more at the end.

06 - *Catastrophe - a rewatch when my partner decided he wanted to see it, too!

07 - Red Oak - resolutely “OK” steaming dramedy, relied heavily on some pretty obvious cues to get across its 1980s setting.

08 - Little Fires Everywhere - gulped this one down while in 14-day isolation, delicious! Every 90s suburban mom had that SUV, but not all of them had the requisite **secrets**

09 - The Great - fun historical comedy/drama! Costumes: lush. Actors: amusing. Race-blind casting: refreshing!

10 - The Crown S4 - this is the season everyone lost their everloving shit for, since it’s finally recent enough history that a fair chunk of the viewing audience is liable to recall it happening.

11 - Ted Lasso - we resisted this one for a while (thought I did enjoy the ad campaign for NBC sports (!!) that it was based on). My view is that its best point was the comfort that the men on the show have (or develop, throughout the season) with the acknowledgement and sharing of their own feelings. Masculinity redux.

12 - Moonbase 8 - Goodnatured in a way that makes you certain they will be crushed.

13 - The Good Lord Bird - Ethan Hawke is really aging into the character actor we always hoped he would be!

14 - Hollywood - frothy wish-fulfillment alternate history. I think the show would have been improved immeasurably by skipping the final episode.

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slasher-party · 4 years ago

Text

Behind the Mask: Welcoming Leslie Vernon & Taylor Gentry for Asks!

J: From the beginning of time, mankind has created and shared cautionary tales in every medium: plays, books, campfire stories, tapestries, sculptures, even cave drawings. And when movies were first being made in the late 1800s, they were no exception to this rule. It took less than a decade after the creation of cinema for the first 'scary movie' to come out, and the century that followed brought to life black lagoon creatures, bloodthirsty counts, and abominations of science who redefined humanity's understanding of terror.

In the 1970s, Leatherface first lifted his saw, and the Prowler made his first phone call, kickstarting the slasher genre that we now know and love. It's a simple formula: a misbehaved group of teens, a brave young girl, and a terrible monster. But through this formula, we were given stories that kept us up all night, made us fear the deep end of the pool, and had us thinking twice about staying out too late on Halloween night.

Around the 2000s, the genre began to change, but one man stayed convinced that these slashers had found the key to unlocking the secret of human fear. He took it upon himself to modernize the slasher-movie formula and reawaken the evil that his predecessors embodied, all while keeping their traditions.

(Warning: Spoilers for Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon ahead!)

J: To kick things off, I should be clear: this is one of my favorite movies. Ever. If you love slashers like we do and you haven’t checked this film out, you’ll definitely want to stop reading here and go put it on. Trust me: you do not want this one spoiled! Now, into the review.

V: The mockumentary styling of the majority of the film was a brave new departure from normal Slasher-types, and I honestly adored it. Found-footage movies tend to not be as immersive to me, but this one found its way into my heart very quickly.

J: The cinematography was a huge part of what made this movie so fantastic. You have these abrupt shifts between their documentary footage and reality that were so well executed. You also get cameos from some of the best in the business: Kane Hodder, Robert Englund, and Zelda Rubinstein! I felt extra special recognizing Kane on sight~

V: In the universe this movie takes place in, every slasher’s legacy is real. Every murder, every survivor! It all happened, and was broadcasted for the world to know. How people don’t live in fear already at this point... I will never know. Leslie Vernon, with a giant mass of murderous icons to follow, is a self-proclaimed slasher newbie. Throughout the film, we find out Leslie is planning a very big, very special day: his return from beyond the grave - to haunt Glen Echo as a living legend.

J: And if you’ve made it this far into the review I assume you already know: Leslie hires a film crew to document his rise to infamy, claiming to be stalking a group of teens with a survivor (final) girl among them. In the end, his real target was the woman he had hired to make his documentary: Taylor Gentry. And she is an incredible addition to the survivor hall of fame.

V: She may not have understood everything right from the get-go, but she filled Leslie’s expectations perfectly in the end - he had been watching her for a long time, he claims, and everything he was meant to become relied on her. The two unknowingly worked in tandem until the final curtain, and it was everything the new Slasher could’ve hoped for. Honestly, very romantic???

J: To me, the best thing about this film is the way it comes across as a love-letter to everyone who adores the genre. It’s packed full of references, insider terminology, characters hinted to secretly be slashers we know, and it’s all tied together with the shiny, red, charismatic ribbon that is Leslie. He’s fun, he’s funny, he’s traditional, he’s a genius. His goal was to show the world that mass communication and modern culture had not killed the slasher way of life, and I believe whole-heartedly that he accomplished that goal.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great honor that we begin our welcoming ceremony for the Glen Echo slasher himself. The one and only Leslie Vernon!!

“Well, I think the real honor here goes to me,” the man gushes, hand on his chest as he approaches us, his letter held gently in the other, “I’m thankful to be acknowledged and recognized for my work! Heh, this is like receiving some kind of slasher Grammy~” Leslie chuckles. “But I digress. Thank you everyone for your interest in my work - I promise not to disappoint…~”

V: And every dark must come with its fair share of light - he would agree he couldn’t have done any of this without her. So it’s our pleasure as well to be introducing, alongside the Harvest Murderer himself, Miss Taylor Gentry!

Taylor steps up beside Leslie, bundled up in a turtleneck sweater and armed with nothing but a home video camera. She avoids the slasher's eyes, but gives him a silent nod of acknowledgement before thanking the hosts. “Thank you, for inviting me. I’m, just as interested in these answers as… everyone else,” She shrugs briefly, managing a smile. “I think this footage might start to make up for… what happened with my last attempt at a documentary. I might ask a few questions of my own; if, that’s alright. ehem...” -- Leslie bites his tongue as she speaks, sort of looking aside, “Hey, I uh,” he speaks up after a moment, rocking side to side with his hands in his jeans pockets, “I’m sorry I… stole your film, the first time. I hope you understand, heh, it… had a lot of info I couldn’t have getting out.” He explains, almost shyly. “...I wanted it to be published- I did! So. I’m sorry. And- for- nearly strangling you to death. Heh...” She nods, hugging herself but keeping her eyes down. “Job requirement. Right.” “Yeah- yeah! It’s all just part of what we’re meant to do.” He slings his arm around her and shakes her a little. “No hard feelings. It’s an amazing documentary; I just… gotta do some editing for you, that’s all~” “For ten years?” Taylor questions pointedly, stiff in his embrace. “Al-right, so I had to lay low a long while; I’m sorry! Sheesh… they don’t make cards for this, Tay - I’m doing my best here.” Leslie near whines, tilting his head down toward her. “... Well, I’m sorry, too.” Her shoulders fall. “For… stabbing, and crushing, and... burning you…” “Hey, it’s all part of the job.” He reassures her lightly, offering a smile. “I’m proud of how well you handled it all. It was flawless - just like I knew it’d be.” The man muses, reminiscing fondly.He turns her to face him, practically gushing. “...You gotta remember how I said EVERYTHING I do relies on ‘her’; the only thing you crushed was my pre-existing expectation of you! You nailed it!” Taylor tries her best to hide it, but a smile breaks through her tough exterior. Unsure of whether or not it’s a compliment she should thank him for, she opts for a flustered nod instead, involuntarily beaming. J: Looks like the two of them are gonna get along just fine! Les & Tay are officially open for asks!

#behind the mask #leslie vernon #taylor gentry #leslie ask #slasher ask #this took a while but there's a lot of hidden stuff in this fandom #gonna do a post on all of that soon!!#so stoked about this addition!

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summoner-kentauris · 3 years ago

Text

im not editnig this because its 1 am and i have to work tomorrow suffice to say it almost certainly got errors

i would call this emotional h/c ish territory. people having messy problems but coming out of it okay. alfonse dealing/not dealing with his hel curse. al and zash dealing with the fact that no one wrote him lettterrrrrrssss. no one was more surprised than me to find this one ends positively

Alfonse Gustavsvin, First Sword of the Order of Heroes and Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Askr has made some serious mistakes in his life.

Not the kind of mistakes his father would have called mistakes. Not the little things he’d once dragged himself over the coals for. Those things that Kiran calls “healing” to forget.

No, he’s his own man now, or at least he’s trying to be, and in that vein he can admit that he, himself, has made mistakes. Little ones, like sneaking away to practice, when he should have been balancing books, and causing a few hours headache for Anna when she had to do it late at night. Normal ones, like letting Kiran fly the Aether castle. He’s even made some big ones.

He’s not sure what category to class forgetting to tell Zacharias about that tiny small thing with Hel and all that.

He doesn’t even realize he’s made said mistake until he’s face to face with Zacharias again, and Zash is bleeding from a nasty cut on his head, and his shirt is torn and he’s sweating and wincing and grabbing a rib and begging the Order to help his sister-

That’s when it hits. He didn’t tell Zacharias. By the level of desperation in his voice, no one had.

Alfonse finds he doesn’t curse very often unless its around Zacharias, and he really has to work hard at it then, because, well, shit.

He tries to break the news as diplomatically as he can.

He can recognize Zacharias by his lance work alone.

He doesn’t need to see Zacharias’ eyes to read heartbreak.

He’s not surprised that Zacharias doesn't seek out the healers that night. He’s seen the what Bunrun- Spring Bruno can do with a staff. Fuck. Another thing Zacharias doesn’t know.

Focus on breaking the news about an amnesiac bunny summon version of him later.

Death first.

Zacharias sits, peculiarly still, as far away from camp as he can get. The cut on his head looks better than it had looked, which is nonetheless worse than it ought to. He doesn’t touch Zacharias. He believes him about the curse, really, he does, even if often his heart doesn’t want to. Wants him back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because if there’s one thing thinking you were gonna die in nine days did for you, it was help you be a little less equivocating. “I should have told you.”

“You were busy,” Zacharias says, simply, without looking over at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You were busy, meaning, someone had told him the whole story before Alfonse had got to him. You were busy,meaning, Zacharias is always making up a narrative in his head. There’s nothing to apologize for, meaning, inevitably Zash is writing himself out of that narrative. Again.

Alfonse sighs.

“What were you told?” he says, in lieu of anything better.

“It matters not.” Zacharias goes to rise. “I must-”

“Sit down, Zach,” he says, maybe with more force and less weariness than he thought, because Zacharias does immediately. He almost looks surprised. It would be funny, if Alfonse wasn’t so tired.

“When all this is over,” he says, without thinking, “I’m going with you.”

Zacharias turns and stares at Alfonse through his mask for a long, long moment.

“What?”

He can’t match his stare. Not with the mask on. Not when something that hurts and stretches is unfolding itself, like a spine clicking.

So he doesn’t. The heavy night is deep. It looks endless, but only because its so dark. There’s no way to see a beginning, so there’s certainly no way to see an end.

Zacharias makes a huffing sound. “You can’t come with me. Alfonse, you can’t, I- the curse alone.”

“Nine days.” The voice doesn’t sound like his own. “Nine days.”

Zacharias falls silent. Alfonse feels silent, too, except he’s talking, so he can’t be. He’s moving his hands, so he must still be here.

“I didn’t want to see you,” he says. “So I didn’t tell you.”

Fool that he is, he doesn’t realize its true until he’s saying it. Until its real and invisible in the night air.

Zacharias sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything.

“I wanted to think,” he continues, “that I didn’t want you to see me like that. But it’s not true, is it? I didn’t want to see you, to see you and know you were-”

He cuts himself off when he realizes what he means to say. But, there are mistakes, and then there are mistakes.

And he misses his friend.

“…right,” he finishes. “Curses can be solved by death.”

“I know,” Zacharias says, after a beat. His tone is calm, even. “I’ve known that for some time. You know I believe that. So, then… what’s truly troubling you?”

“It’s funny, right?” That’s answer enough, right? “Nine days and all I could think about was how I didn’t want you to show me up.”

“Mm hm,” Zacharias mms. “And the truth, this time?”

Alfonse snorts. “What makes you think that’s not?”

If Zacharias cracks a smile, Alfonse chooses not to notice it out of the corner of his eye. None of this is funny.

“You’re clenching your left hand, where you usually hold your shield. I thought you’d broken that tell?”

He does laugh at that. His laugh doesn’t sound right. It sounds hurt. Why is he the hurt one?

“This isn’t… this isn’t funny,” he tries.

He’s not prepared for Zacharias to lightly reach out to touch his face. He’s not prepared to notice, suddenly, the tears that have begun making their way from his own eyes. He’s not prepared for feeling like someone has shoved Fólkvangr through his heart.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why am I… why am I crying?”

“Oh, Alse,” Zacharias says, and then nothing else. He’s too busy pulling Alfonse into his arms, hugging him tightly, pulling his head close and holding him.

Alfonse doesn’t know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop.

“I don’t… I don’t...”

Zacharias doesn’t say anything. Not when Alfonse starts making choking ugly crying sounds, not when Kiran and Sharena show up in a panic and he waves them off. Not when Alfonse finally beings to quiet into something he can pretend isn’t weeping.

Zacharias is quiet for a long, long time, until there is only the sounds of distant camp, and restless insects.

“Did you kill it?”

It takes Alfonse a moment to realize where he is, that someone is speaking, that it’s Zacharias who’s speaking.

“Hel?” he adds.

Alfonse carefully works his way out of Zacharias’ arms. It’s so cold in the night, but… “I… yes.”

“Good.”

Mistakes he’s made, that he keeps on making. He wishes he could go back. It’s so cold in the night.

“We were supposed to be together. It was supposed to be Embla, supposed to be together-”

“Aren’t we?”

The interruption throws Alfonse for a second. He swivels to look at Zacharias. Masked as always. And yet, Alfonse can feel Zacharias’ eyes on him.

“Aren’t we what?”

“Together. You and I. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here. That counts, doesn’t it?”

It’s like the earlier not-crying has wrung all the words out of him. “I...”

“I’ve learned a lot, being away,” Zacharias says. He looks back out across the night. “Very little has been useful, I think. Some of it, though… Does it matter?”

He turns back to face Alfonse abruptly. “Does it matter? That you didn’t tell me? I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t. I’m so ill of it, so… does it matter? Can I choose to let it go?”

“I...” Alfonse doesn’t like feeling dizzy. Doesn't like feeling cold. Wishes someone was hugging him again. Wishes it was Zacharias. “It’s not that simple, I…”

“There’s too much complicated in the world, Alse. There’s so, so much of it. I… know not what deserve is, or what right is, but I find myself wanting to ask all the same: can we be simple again? Let’s be easy. Let’s let it all go and just…”

“I didn’t write you.”

“And I wasn’t there,” he counters. “And next time, something will happen and you’ll run off without me and it will be the end of the world, and I won’t be there and you didn’t tell me. You hurt, I hurt, none of it’s our fault. So hang it all. It’s been a decade. If neither of us is going to change, do you really think our feelings will?”

“I thought I was going to die,” Alfonse says. His voice sounds small. He can’t bring himself to hate it. “I thought I would never see you again. So I though it would be easier to just accept it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a man who stood in a bunny costume and promised to kill a god for me, now does it.”

A spark of an emotion that’s not empty despair.

“This- this isn’t funny!”

Zacharias smiles a bit. “Apologies. My sense of humor has been warped by the voice in my head, you know, the one that regularly demands I disembowel everyone I’ve ever loved.”

He can’t stand this cold. “Hold me, please.”

And Zacharias does, without a pause.

He falls into a running a hand through Alfonse’s hair. It’s soothing, in a way Alfonse hasn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe ever.

“It truly isn’t that simple, is it?”

Zacharias talks to the open air. Alfonse doesn’t want to leave the warm he’s found in order to look at him, so he doesn’t.

“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Zacharias says. His hand doesn’t falter in Alfonse’s hair. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“Me too.”

That’s pretty simple, Alfonse thinks as they sit there. Two people, being sorry that they can’t properly care for the person they care about. None of it really their fault at the end of the day.

“Alright,” he says, suddenly. “We’ll let it go.”

“Mm?”

He leans up. He untangles himself.

“You’re right,” he repeats. “I promised we’d kill gods together. But, if we’re going to be defiant, well… oughtn’t we do it right?”

Zacharias tilts his head. “What?”

“I was so afraid,” he says, simply. “No more. Damn the gods. I chose you.”

Zacharias’ smile flickers, then settles into something softer and more familiar. “And if we fail?”

“Hm.” Alfonse settles back into Zacharias arms, it feels different, somehow. Less like running. “Well, we’re still young, you and I. Plenty of time to make some interesting mistakes.”

At that, Zacharias genuinely laughs, and then relaxes. He goes back to fiddling with Alfonse’s hair, and, frankly-

Frankly, he’s had a shit day, but in that moment he’s never felt better.

#my wips

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bbbarneswrites · 5 years ago

Text

Small Places

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm? Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 3,809 words

Notes: Here we are with a new piece after all these months! The songs we got for this one are The Moon by The Swell Season and Cellar Door by Angus & Julia Stone. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback always welcomed! <3

The small studio stays right in the heart of Brooklyn, surrounded by themed bars, bright restaurants and a crowd of millennials that makes him cringe every once in a while.

It’s a shoebox.

A bed that fights for space with a small couch, a kitchen that can be sized by two of his steps alone and a cramped bathroom with a bathtub that he honestly can’t fit in. But be as it may, Bucky has never been in a more comfortable, warm and welcoming atmosphere.

A bed with polka-dotted, fluffy blankets, a couch with bright colored and quirky pillows, a kitchen with a line of gifted succulents by the counter and a bathroom with filled shelves of sweet smelling products.

Pictures on the walls, sketches and love notes hung to the fridge, shared clothes thrown over in little corners.

Everything is so lively and familiar—it feels like home outside of his home.

The four walls of your little studio have been witnesses to so much. Whispered love confessions, frantic murmurs of comfort, quiet pleads in between moans, anger filled little lies, and the list can only go on.

There’s a Friday night.

Discarded containers of take-out on the coffee table, and maybe a carton of Ben & Jerry’s forgotten around after a fight over the last spoon. Netflix midway through a random episode of Stranger Things because yeah, Bucky has a growing crush on Winona Ryder. Peace fills up every fiber of his being, and looking down to the sight before him, things can’t feel more right.

“Your heart is beating so fast.” You mumble quietly, chin leaning up to rest upon his chest. A flesh arm tightens around your frame, and a lazy grin grows on your lips. “Are you nervous being around me, Bucky?”

The lightness laced to your voice is familiar, a tone he’s heard many, many times within the warmth of a shared trustfulness.

A smile curls up his lips. Even then, the sound never fails to make Bucky content and happy.

“I’m always nervous around you, baby.” He jokes, a gentle kiss pressing to your temple that earns a happy hum from your chest. “You’re way out of my league.”

Bucky’s smile widens with a muffled whine of protest, and his vibranium hand reaches out to push a strand of hair away from your eyes when you shift on the way-too-small couch. With your face still buried to his chest, there’s no space left between both of you. The fluffy hem of your socks tickles his legs and the skin of his tummy rise up in shivers under your fingers.

Meanwhile, Erica Sinclair goes off about capitalism on TV.

Despite the length of your relationship, a small part of him still gets surprised over moments like this.

Soft fingertips reaching out to his marred left shoulder, a light touch to trace the harsh and old outlines of his scars, by now the only ugly looking, physical reminder of a time of his life that’s best left behind to be buried and forgotten.

With a little giggle escaping from your mouth, Bucky halts his thoughts to focus.

“You’re cute.” You wink playfully, biting your lower lip to hold back another laugh. His cheeks instantly flush a little under the fairy lights of your walls. “This little scar here looks like a stick figure.”

The touch feels nice as your index finger brush over a particular spot near his collarbone. Though he’s observed every single detail of the marks in several occasions, more than enough to make him very familiar with its designs, he immediately takes your hand with his own. Wrapped fingers together, you guide him through his little stick figure.

It’s a little joke, he knows, but Bucky still grins as you make him trace the funny lines of a quirky drawing to his own skin.

And when you tip his chin with your thumb a moment later? Warmth radiating from your body pressed up to his? And lips sweetly meeting his own?

That’s his peace.

There’s a Wednesday morning.

After arriving from a mission, sore muscles and half-healed scabs, Bucky just couldn’t see himself going back to the apartment he shares with Sam—especially after a two week long mission, taking in everything that his partner had to say. And trust, Sam Wilson has a lot of things to say.

To top of it all, he’s missed you.

Missed your laugh and your kisses and your touch. The way you tuck his hair behind his ears, the plush of your lips to the base of his neck. Your cuddles and your warmth and your care. Two long, painstaking slow weeks.

The place is warm as he steps in, slits of moonlight escaping through your blinds. Coming home to you feels right, takes off an edge from his heart, as if everything is right in the world again.

Only silence as Bucky slips under the blankets.

Bleary eyes barely taking him in.

And a happy but tired hum before a familiar frame cuddles to his side.

Sleep welcomes him right in.

Any person that lives in New York can easily list a series of upsides and downsides to coexisting in a studio apartment this small. An upsidde is that you can see and hear everything and the downside is that you can see and hear everything.

White numbers cover up your face on the screen of his phone as it marks 3:36AM. The shuffling and clashing in the kitchen isn’t unusual except for the late hour. Barely four hours of sleep later, and Bucky’s watching a pajama-clad you pour chocolate into a bowl through squinted, heavy eyes.

“Think I need to put you on a sleep schedule.” He murmurs. The sound is low but enough to make you jump on the spot, turn around with a scowl that makes him chuckle. “Come back to bed.”

The tense features of your face melt into a mix of worry and dejection.

“I can’t!” You cry, hands coming up to cover your face in frustration, words all muffled. “I promised I’d bake brownies for the book fair but I was so tired and I meant to take a nap while waiting for you but I just slept and now I woke you up!”

It takes two steps until Bucky has your frame into his arms, a perfect fit that rises butterflies in your stomach after the two, very long weeks. With vibranium fingertips brushing along your cheeks in a gentle caress, every negative feeling slips away.

“You were waiting for me?” Bucky pulls back a little, enough to see you pout through a nod. A loving smile grows easily to his mouth right before a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

Brownies are made in record time with two sets of wandering hands.

And are successfully sold out by two excellent sellers.

There’s a Monday afternoon.

Clouds are looming over the city. Cold, bitter winds singing loud enough outside. The first few signs of fall can be spotted by a quick walk in the neighborhood by now, trees turning into different shades of brown as pumpkin orange starts to pop everywhere.

Back to a few hours earlier, Bucky begrudgingly kisses you goodbye at the cramped doorstep, fixing your heart-shaped earmuffs with a wish of a good day at school. No paperwork or assignments under his name for a change, the place shelters him from any unexpected Avenger responsability, and he’s more than glad to wait home for you.

Separated dirty clothes, clean dishes back to the cupboards, made-up bed with fresh sheets, organized books and trinkets and papers for the small study table.

Homecoming isn’t as comforting.

Between quiet sniffles, red-rimmed teary eyes and angry huffs of frustration with the addition of a warm tea cup, Bucky cuddles you up to his lap until peace has settled again.

“You gonna tell me who I’m killing tonight?” He jokes half-heartedly, chest a little bit lighter as you giggle quietly, offering a slap to his arm. “Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

A single look from you and his heart swells with affection, the feelings hidden behind the simple act never failing to leave him speechless, wondering if there’s another shoe to drop.

There’s always another shoe to drop in his life.

“You don’t do that anymore, remember?” You say softly, a smart smile playing on your lips that’s followed by a tired, but now content sigh. “I’m okay, promise. Just a bad morning in school that wasn’t expected.”

Hands brought closer together and a kiss pressed to your knuckles by his lips.

Bad days take no excuse.

“Okay, doll.” Bucky frowns, eyes squinted in pretend suspicion as he smirks. “You really sure though? I can call Sam.”

“I’m sure, goober.” You roll your eyes through a laugh, instantly leaning closer until his lips are brushing to your own. “It’s all better now with you.”

Seventy years of a missed life, most of which he’s spent nearly under seven feet underground, locked up like an animal and abused for selfish power. Ruthless damage to every inch of his being, every sliver of hope taken from him without permission for decades. Now, eight years after a seeming never ending storm, Bucky finds reason in all of this.

It feels good to know that she’s with him too.

And if the day ends up to both of you curled up in the back booth of the diner down the street, ordering a late night breakfast with pancakes and eggs and bacon, then it’s a good day after all.

There’s a Thursday night.

The day has been slow in the apartment given your day-off from school. Silence and a few movies on Netflix are your companions, except for the visit of your friendly neighborhood stray cat, Alpine, who climbs up to your windowsill every day without fail. Bucky is usually the one who feeds him, and mostly the one who’s unofficially adopted the kitten.

A pause here for a quick, improvised meal between homework, another pause there for a bath under glittery bath bombs.

Being away from him is normal.

His missions can last to mere hours to unexpected months. Living within the job is basically the norm, all with recruits training, team meetings and securing duties. Your classes are demanding, both physically and mentally. It never ends and never leaves you, always something to be started or done back home.

Either way, anxiousness never leaves you in a week like this.

Nearing a certain date on the calendar, Bucky’s plagued by restless nights.

It feels like a sore spot in his body, one he knows all about it but still can’t help but be upset at, poking and prodding around as a way to remember it. Despite knowing his best-friend way too well, Steve’s choice wasn’t one taken lightly back then.

The reasoning is fair and understandable but it doesn’t lessen the bitterness of a brief meeting after a six year long disappearance.

Not much can be done by now, but two years after Steve’s official death, Bucky still plays what ifs in his head.

After gentle coaxing in between kisses in the night before and encouraging hugs and squeezes in the morning after, Bucky spends the whole day back at the compound, a scheduled therapy session set to the calendar of his phone.

When sunlight falls to a sheet of night stars, familiar but heavy steps sound like music to your ears.

A random song playing through your laptop and slow beats welcome Bucky home.

It takes a single look at you until he’s sighing relieved, hauling your frame up to his arms in the middle of the small kitchen, where you both barely fit in during busy mornings with shoulder bumps and mumbled but playful complaints.

Sure it has been a pretty nostalgic day but nothing beats being right there.

“You smell good.” Bucky says, an almost shy mumble against your hair, his arms gently tightening around you. “Peach?”

The easy but definitely familiar guess makes you smile instantly. Heat rises on your cheeks, your chin rests on his chest as your eyes look for his own, very blue, very alive compared to a few hours back. Golden detailed fingertips brush your cheeks and a content hum escapes from your lips instantly.

“That bathbomb you gave me, remember?” You smile, voice sounding small and equally as shy until Bucky tips down, his lips meeting your own in a featherlike kiss that makes you sigh. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky smiles, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and then, the smooth sway starts. Finding rhythm with the slow beats still playing background, you can’t help but feel your chest lighter. In that moment, neither of you need to share words to know, he doesn’t need to tell you about his session for the feelings to sink.

Despite any doubt and above any insecurity, being right there feels just right.

It’s not his day and age. For a long time, he was nothing but a misplaced piece of the universe. Then without his best-friend, just an unknown face for the team to swallow.

Not anymore.

There was a time of misplacement and sure, he no longer has Steve on a back-up call but life has given him good things. Good people. Sam and Wanda. Love. You. And in that moment, after a long day of reflection, Bucky just feels thankful above any odd feeling.

“Feelin’ great.” He muses. It’s genuine and it makes your smile widen upon his accent slip, only cut short by Bucky’s lips briefly meeting yours again. “Thank you.”

Background music switching to an upbeat song and the shared slow, careful sway doesn’t change.

“What for?” You frown, wide eyes flicking between confusion and amusement through a quiet, huffed laugh. A beat until you look up through your eyelashes, and a sheepish shrug. “I haven’t done anything.”

Bucky bites back the reply—you’ve done everything and more, you’re everything—words for another time, other plans, a day with a better start. After all, he’s not going anywhere.

This is his place now.

And in the end of the day, that’s all it matters.

There’s a Saturday afternoon.

An array of long dresses and skirts mix-up with button-ups and printed ties on the bed, make-up and skin products all over the cabinet. The sun slowly lies down to a soft hue of orange that paints the bedroom space, and the off-beat singing coming from the bathroom makes you smile every now and then.

A coat of lipstick to the lips, mascara to the eyelashes. A well-placed hair pin to the side of your hair. Out of the bathroom Bucky gets, black suit and tie in place, not a wrinkle on sight to the white button-up shirt. The singing turns to a faint humming.

Short hair, trimmed beard. His blue eyes are alight. Positively beaming.

It’s just a few hours to go until the big event starts—Mr. and Mrs. Wilson anniversary, which they’re celebrating with one big ceremony to renew their vows with their children present. Bucky, much to Sam’s feigned dismay and Darlene Wilson’s stubborness, is now considered one of them.

In the very few opportunities you got to meet Darlene, she was nothing short of sweet to you and incredibly motherly to your boyfriend. Not much is needed to see how happy Bucky is to be participating in their day, and you can’t help but beam right back at him.

“Looking so handsome!” You grin, watching through the mirror as Bucky sits on the bed, shiny black shoes set on the floor. His lips are holding back a smirk. “I mean it, Bucky! This hair? I’m marrying you.”

At the words, Bucky looks up.

Between the Blip, his missions, your classes and whatnot, neither of you ever discussed the possibilities of a long-term future.

Have you both thought about it, though? Absolutely.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Bucky sighs. Quickly settling into his shoes, a crooked smile curves up his mouth as he stands up, gentle fingers around your satin clad waist. “You’re so beautiful. I’m a lucky bastard, aren’t I?”

It feels like your brain instantly turns to mush over his words, and your tongue stumbles to find proper words to reply his sudden sweet outburst. Heat spreads through your neck and cheeks as you lean back against his chest, feeling Bucky’s arms wrap you completely with such warmth like home is supposed to feel.

Watching your reflections through the mirror, you can’t help but think how comforting the situation is, even if it can look silly to anybody else. How comforting is to see you with him, the changes, the little quirks that remain the same after a straight up mess.

How funny is it that you want to turn your little comment into reality?

How funny is it that Bucky wants that moment of certainty to freeze?

“You’ve got to help me with something.” You break the silence, smiling shyly before reaching out to the small jewelry box sitting on your make-up cabinet. A silver necklace with a studded little star is pulled out. “Please?”

Smart fingers wrap the necklace around your neck with ease, the touch of vibranium rising shivers to your skin as Bucky closes it with a little kiss pressed between your shoulder blades.

There’s that little moment of silence again until a sigh escapes from his lips, a beat of hesitancy rushing through his body before he’s fishing for the black box in his pocket. A box he’s been carrying for way too long now, just waiting for its buyer to build up the damn courage because that’s all it takes.

I mean it, Bucky! I’m marrying you.

“I’ve got something else for you to wear tonight.” Bucky says. Heart pounding violently through his chest, so much he thinks you might hear it, but voice sounding as light as ever under your curious eyes. “I—I’ve had it for a long time now. And I know it might not be the perfect moment but you just said you’d marry me.”

Turning around to face him, your mouth immediately falls open. Chest to chest, your eyes searching for his. And ss Bucky lifts the little velvet box and flips it open so, so easily with his metal thumb, your choked, disbelieved laugh fills the room.

The ring is beautiful.

No fancy stones, just a simple, silver band formed to wrap around a finger with its two ends meeting together on the top.

Both of you kept meeting each other over and over through accords, battles and sudden disappearances.

It’s meaningful enough to make your heart beat faster.

“You can’t be serious. Are you?” You ask dumbly, a silly smile soon growing on your lips as Bucky gives a playful glare. “You are. Holy shit, Bucky!”

“You aren’t sayin’ yes, baby doll.” Bucky jokes, starting to feel jittery with nerves despite a small grin. Under the anxiety and accent slip, he’s just loving to see how positively astonished you look. “I’m sweating under this suit and it won’t be good for—”

Red lips crash upon his in a rush, your fingers fisting the lapels of his suit so hard that Bucky almost stumbles on his feet, making him pull your body flush against his own. He’s sure your fingers are wrinkling his jacket just as much as his metal ones are wrinkling the delicate fabric of your dress. And your make-up, thank God, you’re wearing the smudge-proof lipstick.

There’s no time to breathe between quick, several pecks and a gasped but definitely excited reply.

“I am saying yes!”

There’s another Satuday afternoon.

A pair of booted feet walks through the tight hallway of the shoebox apartment, laughter completely filling the place as a pair of heeled feet bumps the wall in a funny noise.

The white sandals are a perfect match for the white mini dress, its hem flowing over very familiar thighs, showing a little too much because the position—or general space really, isn’t the best. Turns out that despite your skepticism, Bucky can carry you in bridal style through the cramped space. Even though, you can easily spot a stain in the back of his blazer because of a knocked vase.

It doesn’t really matter.

As Bucky puts you down, your heels are kicked off and you immediately reach out to the memory board on the wall, pinning up a marriage certificate like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

When you turn around, Bucky is sitting by the edge of the bed just like one week ago, but now sans apprehension of an insecure man.

“We’re married!”

The gleeful tone of your words make him smile right away, pulling you closer with a gentle tug until you’re standing between his legs. Towering over him, your hands cup both of Bucky’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over the sharp, stubbly cheekbones. Your heart swells in your chest, happiness and love and calmness, because everything about the day really had been simple.

A city hall wedding with Sam, Wanda and Sam’s parents as witnesses, exactly a week after their own second wedding. Very simple and easy, as the decision of marrying each other had been.

“You’re officially a Barnes.” Bucky grins, hands brushing down the back of your thighs. Gentle fingertips under the hem of your dress, he silently urges you to sit on his lap. “Told ya, got me in trouble.”

“You say that as if you didn’t want to marry me.” You scoff playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck as settling down over him. “You can’t fool me. I totally noticed you were nervous back there.”

Not bothering to deny your words, Bucky shrugs. Even though he was nervous, it doesn’t really matter. Wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the quietness of the apartment, all he cares about is you.

A little kiss pressed to your neck.

“Well, you’d be nervous too if you were marryin’ the prettiest girl in the world.”

A laugh and a little kiss pressed to his nose.

“Well, I was nervous marrying the prettiest boy in the world.”

And then—Bucky’s lips are meeting yours in a soft kiss that swallows a sigh, hands steady and gentle around your waist as he dips down to the bed under your body. It feels like you’re both back at the ceremony again, high on your love and completely unaware of everything that isn’t each other. And he kisses you once, twice, three, four times.

Just enough to ground him, to remind him that this is what his life came to.

Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm?

Yeah, well. This little shoebox apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.

This might be just it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #another fic of mine ending with marriage #oh well

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