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just-my-fandom · 4 years ago

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Chapter 2: Trick or Treat, Freak

Summary: After Will sees something terrible on trick-or-treat night, Mike wonders whether Eleven’s still out there. Nancy wrestles the truth about Barb. Dustins sister finally talks to Mad Max, but doesn’t get the response she wanted.

Tag list; @folly-olly @chinchillagirl18

Story list; Chapter 1

Note; Damn I suck at keeping up with series’, I’m sorry it took me five months to get the second chapter in, school and work is keeping me (too) occupied! I also started improvising in the end because my Netflix has been cutting out, and I don’t know the episode word-for-word by heart!

“Oh! I want to see those pearly whites!”

You and Dustin are dressed all out. Gray suits and large backpacks, each holding your own proton blaster. Side by side, you aim your blasters at one another, smiling at the camera your mother held up,

“Who you gonna call?” Claudia hums the Ghostbusters theme song, and laughs when you purposefully hit Dustin in the shoulder with your blaster.

You skid your bike to a stop just outside the school, laughing when Will runs up, yelling, “Ghostbusters!”

“Hey, Spengler!”

“Egon!”

“Venkman!”

“Whoa whoa.” Mike pulls you away from Lucas, pointing to Lucas’ name tag on his suit, “Why are you Venkman?”

“Because I’m Venkman.” Lucas states, Mike shaking his head. “No, I’m Venkman.”

“Why can’t there just be two Venkmans?” Will asks, innocently, Mike scoffing and glaring at Lucas. “Because there’s only one Venkman in real life. We planned this months ago.”

Mike presses a hand to his chest. “I’m Venkman. Y/N’s Barrett, Dustin’s Stantz, Will’s Egon, and you’re Winston.”

“I specifically didn’t agree to Winston.” Lucas crosses his arms, Mikes eyes widening in an ‘are you serious’ expression. “Yes, you did!”

“I don’t think he did.” You look at Will, who shakes his head. “No one wants to be Winston.”

“What’s wrong with Winston?” Mike looks at you, and you press your lips together, tightly. “Winston joined the team super late, he’s not really funny, or a scientist.”

“Yeah but he’s still cool.”

“If hes so cool.” Lucas snips, “Then you be Winston.”

“I cant.” Mike sighs, and your eyes scan the school yard as they continue to argue, furrowed brows relaxing with realization. “Shit.” You face the group, “Guys?”

The four boys look at you, and you point past them, to the kids getting off the bus. “Why is no one else wearing costumes?”

Standing at your lockers side by side, Will watches you unzip your suit and step out of it. “You wore clothes underneath?”

“You didnt?” You pick up the suit and bag and shove them into your locker, slamming it shut before picking up your bookbag, turning and jerking to a stop to stare at Max, who rolled down the hall towards you on her skateboard.Your eyes watch as she skids to a stop in front of her locker, putting her board inside and grabbing her books for the next class.

“You really like her, huh?” You blink and look at Will, shaking your head as you sigh, deeply. “No. It’ll go away.” Your eyes shift back to the red head. “I hope.”

“Why dont you just talk to her?” Will asks, and you frown, finally turning your full attention to him. “She called us stalkers and creeps. I dont think she’d want to be friends with a creepy stalker.” Without realizing, your eyes are on her again, “Besides, she probably doesnt even like girls.”

“You never know until you talk to her.” Will raises an eyebrow, and you squint your eyes. “Since when did you get so good at this kinda stuff?”

“My mom has a boyfriend.” Will shrugs, and you snort, nodding towards the classroom you both shared down the hall. “C’mon.”

. . .

Max opens her locker and shoves her first and second period books inside, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion.

A small clearing of a throat causes her to glance over, finding you, shifting your bookbag on your shoulder, and a nervous smile on your lips. Cute.

“Uh, hey.” You wave, and instantly drop your hand to your side, “I’m Y/N.”

“I know.” She nods, once, shifting onto one foot, “You’re a stalker like your four buddies.”

You laugh, nervously, shaking your hand as you pull at the sleeves of your shirt. “No. No, we weren’t stalking you. I-I mean my brother and my friend, Lucas, were, but I was just curious. You’re new here in Hawkins and I saw that you really like Dig Dug at the arcade.”

“So your brother is Dustin?” Max raises an eyebrow, and you nod, “Great. So you’re related to a stalker.”

“My twin, actually.” You flinch, “That’s not what I came to you about. Halloweens tonight, and since you’re new to town, I was wondering if you wanted to go trick or treating with us.”

“No thanks.” Max slams her locker shut, stepping back, “I dont hang out with stalkers.” You press your lips together when she turns around, walking down the hall to the classroom you also had to walk to.

“Great talk.” You exhale, shakily, glancing around before following her. You drop down into your desk and heave a deep sigh, Will glancing over at you then to Max settled in the back, “So?”

“So what, Will?” You mutter, dropping your notebook on your desk before crossing your arms, leaning into your seat. “Did you talk to her?”

“Did I talk to her?” You repeat, and Dustin looks over his shoulder at your harsh tone, “Yeah I talked to her. She called me a stalker and a creep. Us stalkers and creeps. So she wants nothing to do with me.”

Will frowns and glances at Dustin, before he watches you prop your chin on your hand, and write the notes on the board.

. . .

“You’re late.” Billy is propped up against his car, cigar in hand as he watched Max round to the passenger side,

“I had to pick up make up homework.”

“Jesus, I don’t care.” Billy tosses his cigar down, stomping on it before tossing open his door, “Late again and you’re skating home.”

Max waits until he’s in the car before rolling her eyes, settling in next to him and curling up against the window. Halfway down the road is when Billy decides to speak up again. “God, this place is a shithole.”

“It’s not that bad.” Max protests, quietly, mind taking her back to you. She had seen how quiet you were in class today. She caused that by being cold to you in the hallway.

“You liking it here?” Billy snips, eyes glancing at her then back to stare at the road, “It smells like literal cow shit.”

“No.”

“Then why are you defending it?” Billy narrows his eyes to Max, but misses her rolling her eyes a second time that day. “I’m not.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“It’s just.” Max sucks in a deep breath, trying to make sure she didn’t have an attitude. “We’re stuck here, and.”

“Yeah. Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Max mutters, so Billy raised his eyebrows and glanced her. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Billy raises his hand to his ear, “Whose fault is it Max? Say it.”

“No.”

Billy clenches his jaw, hand jerking to shift the gear of his car, which lurches when it suddenly picks up speed. Max’s eyes snap to the road, where up ahead, four figures pedal on their bikes. You and the party.

“Billy, slow down.” Max demands, Billy chuckling and looking at her. “What? Those your buddies?”

“No! I don’t know them.”

“Well I guess you won’t care if I hit em, huh?” Billy drums his hand on the steering wheel, eyes settled on you reaching over to shove Dustin, “Bonus points if I hit all of them in one? Or maybe just the girl.”

“Stop, that’s not funny.” Max turns in her seat, mind racing. She just met you. Is she really going to lose you before she has a chance to be friends?

You look over your shoulder at the loud roar of Billy’s car, your eyes widening when the car jerks to speed up, your gasp inaudible from how hard you suck in, “Guys. Guys, we gotta move!”

“Billy, stop!” Max orders, hand reaching out to jerk the steering wheel away from the group, to the opposite side of the road.

Your bike wobbles so you fell sideways, jaw hitting the rough road so your head jerked back up, groan loud as Dustin fell into the grass, Mike and Lucas dropping their bikes to scram back into the road, both grabbing your arms but their eyes remain on the car now speeding away.

“What the fuck?!” You jerk your arms away and rub your jaw, hissing before pulling your hand back, staring at the blood on your fingers and palm,

“Was that...?” Dustin points to the car, before looking at you, catching the blood on your face and hand, “Ah, shit.”

. . .

“I swear to God, if I get another 3-Musketeers I’m going to kill myself.”

You snort and toss your hair up into a lose ponytail, taking your candy bag back from Mike as you glance at Lucas, who holds up said candy and grimaces.

“What’s wrong with 3-Musketeers?” Dustin asks, foreign high offense to the dark skinned males statement,

“What’s wrong with 3-Musketeers?” Luke repeats, chucking the candy so Dustin barely caught it, grinning at it before shoving it into his bag, “No one likes 3-Musketeers,”

“Yeah, it’s just nougat.” Will agrees, shrugging at your scrunched nose face,

“Just nougat?” Dustin protests, Will nodding, “Just nougat. It is top three for me.”

“Eh, top five.” You squint, ignoring Dustins glare,

“Top three?” Mike breathes, Dustin repeating in agreement, “Oh, God, give me a break!”

“Seriously, I could eat a whole bowl of nougat, straight up!”

Suddenly, a figure wearing a white mask jumps out in front of you, your brows furrowing when the four boys at your sides all screech, your eyebrow raising as you glance at them, then to the figure, “That’s it?”

“Seriously?” The figure pulls off the mask to reveal Max’s face, her mouth gaped as she stared at you. “Out of all of you I’d expect you to scream.”

“I’m not a pussy.” You snip, Dustin hitting your shoulder with this back of his hand. You roll your shoulder away from him, narrowing your eyes to your twin.

Max nods her head and turns, only getting five steps before she glances over her shoulder, noticing that you nor the four boys had moved to follow her, “You guys coming or what? I heard we should hit up Loch Nora, that’s where the rich people live, right?”

“Seriously?” You mock, Max’s face slightly falling at the irritation in your voice, “I thought you didn’t want to hang out with us because we’re ‘stalkers’?”

“Look, I didn’t mean that,” Max sighs, and you hum, tilting your head,

“Was that before or after you had your brother almost kill us?”

“Wait. What?” Will looks at you, confused, Max shaking her head and narrowing her eyes.

“You think I did that on purpose? He’s an asshole either way, and, he’s not my brother.”

“Whatever.” You look down at your bag, “Let’s just go to Loch Nora.”

. . .

“Another full size. Like, seriously, rich people are such suckers.” Dustin shoves another snickers bar into his bag, handing you a full (favorite/candy) bar so you smiled, elbowing his arm, “Wait.” Dustin looks at Max, “You’re not rich, right?”

“No.” Max laughs, “I live up Old Cherry Road.”

“That’s totally tubular.” Dustin speaks, looking at you to see you shaking your head, nose scrunched up, “What? Did I say it wrong?”

“Just don’t say it at all.” You demand, and Dustin rolls his eyes, glancing over when Lucas chucks another 3-Musketeers at him.

“Hey.” Max speaks up, your eyes shifting to her. “Look. I’m sorry I called you guys stalkers.” She shrugs. “But I mean. You guys were spying on me a lot.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit to that.” You breathe out a laugh, pulling out a sucker to unwrap. “But like I said earlier today, we don’t get a lot of new people here in Fucktown, so we get every chance we can to see a new face. Especially a cute one.”

You stop mid way of putting the sucker in your mouth, eyes widening in realization to what you had said. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Max shrugs, eyeing you. “I never said I didn’t think you were cute.”

“So you think I’m cute?” You grin, Max rolling her eyes.

“I’m not admitting it.”

“I’ll take it.” You click your tongue, looking over at Mikes shout for you. You see him knelt beside Will, whose hands are over his head in an attempt to curl himself into a ball.

“Will?” You drop your bag to move forward, kneeling down in front of your best friend so you could grab his wrists, noticing how he flinched roughly, “Will, it’s just me.”

“I saw it again.” Will breathes, his eyes snapping up to you. “The thing I saw at the arcade.”

Your brows furrow as you glance over to Mike, who shakes his head, informing you he didn’t know what Will was talking about. “Okay.” You murmur, pulling Wills hands so he began to stand up with you. “Let’s get you home.”

“Wait, you’re just going to stop trick or treating?” Max asks, and you glance at her, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Yes. I am. Dustin, take my bag. Eat my candy and I’ll pop your bike wheels.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dustin clutches your bag and his to his chest, gasp loud. He watches as you link your arm through Wills, leading him down the street back towards Mikes house to call not only your mother, but Joyce.

“Are they, like, a thing?” Max asks, crossing her arms as she turns to the three boys left with her.

“Ew, gross.” Dustin scowls, nose scrunched. “They’ve been best friends since like, first grade.”

“Besides.” Lucas shifts his bag to hang over his shoulder. “Y/N likes girls.”

Max nods, slowly, glancing in the direction to where she could see your back, her feet bringing herself to follow after your brother.

#max mayfield imagine #max mayfield x reader #maxine mayfield #stranger things max #max x reader #stranger things one shot #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader

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enby-crisis · 4 years ago

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Wish I was (Dolores) Five x reader

Summary: You knew Five as a kid but when he left it felt like your life was on pause. When he comes back to stop the apocalypse you wake up as your thirteen year old self and seek the academy out

Word Count:1396

Warnings: None

Requested: Yes

1994 April (five years old) You sat under the dogwood tree in your front yard. You were reading a book about flowers and their meanings. Flowers were your friends. No one wanted to hang out with a freak who could grow plants the way you do. It was getting late and with the setting sun, cold. Shivering in your overalls, you pause to think about weather you should go in. Your mother hasn't called you in yet and you wanted to read as much as you could before bed so you stiff it out, knowing she'd make you stay inside if you went back in. There was a strange sound followed by footsteps in the grass behind you. Startled you drop your book and half-spin to peer behind your tree to see a school boy fixing his tie as he looked around your yard. "Hello? My name is (Y/n). What your name?" You ask. You have never seen this kid before but maybe he was new and didn't know about the rumors surrounding your name yet. "Five." He blankly stated. "Five? Like the number?" You question. "Yes like the number." He glanced at your book, "Plants?" "Oh.. um yeah I like plants. I actually really like flowers." You say, hiding the book under your leg. You were not in a hurry to tell him you could spontaneously grow plants out of the palm of your hand. "Well gotta do something in this shithole huh girly?" He noted. "That is not a very nice word." You pout. "You would be right. It's not a very nice word. So don't say it." The boy studied you. "Wanna see something cool?" He asked. You nodded shyly at him. "Yeah." He held his hand out to you and you stood to take it. The second you grabbed his hand he pulled you up and you were across the street from where you stood. You cleared your blurry vision before focusing on Five. "How did you...?" "I can teleport. It's how I ended up at your house. I wanted to see how far I could go." He explained. "I can do something cool too." You rub your face with one hand and drew his attention to the other where a blue tulip blossomed from your palm. "Here you can keep it. I promise it won't die." Five plucked it and smirked at you. "What does it mean?" You smile, "Trust." 1999 December(Ten years old) You sat in the grass, cold but content with looking at the stars. With your mom at work and your babysitter asleep, it was a perfect night to freeze to death trying to find peace in the sky. Until a blue flash of light brought your attention to the previously empty space in front of you. A space where now a smug looking boy in a "private school" uniform stood with his hands pushed in his pockets. "You should be asleep." Five states the obvious. "You should be at the academy reading German or something." You huff in retaliation. Five sighs, pulling his hand out of his pockets and takes his blazer off. He drapes it over you before sitting beside you. You give him a strange look. He shrugs, "I think it looks better on you." You smile to yourself, "Thank you. But why are you here? It's too late for either of us to be up." "Heh you caught me." Five rubs his hands together. "I wanted to run an idea by you." "Okay." You hum. "Do you think I can time travel?" Five asked. "I don't know. I think the real question is do you think you can time travel? Because I didn't know I could do half the thing I could do until I tried." You share. "I think I can but Reginald won't let me try." He pouts. "If you think you can then try. Why?Do you need the old man's approval for everything?" You smile at him. Five jumps up. "You're right. I won't know unless I just do it." You follow him up, "Well when you get to the future come here. To this tree, I'll leave you a present." Five holds his hand out and you hand him back the blazer before he dissipates in a flash of blue. 2019 March (30 years old.) Waking up as a younger version of yourself was not how you planed on spending your day off. You looked like a preteen. Again. After your small fit of angry though, you cleared your head enough to know what step to take next. It was about time you pay a visit to the Umbrella Academy. You researched it on the train back to Texas. It took almost a day to go back home. Once you figured out where the academy was, you walked from the train station to the academy. You braced yourself and knocked then quickly looked down at your vans when the door opened. "Um excuse me can you-" You begin. "(Y/n)?" You hear a male voice say. You look up to see a familiar young boy. "Five?" A million things ran though your head. You had to fight the urge to punch him. But you also had to fight the urge to kiss him. You always loved this boy. Always. Even when he left you to dry when you were teens. You didn't give him that flower for nothing. You though "soulmates" would be pushing it but he was your one and only love. Your blood boils at all the times you tried to date other boys only to be left again and again and this boy was the root of all of that. "Long time no see. You look terrible. Want a margarita?" He quipped, holding up his own alcoholic beverage. This stupid pre-adolescent boy had the audacity to make this a joke. You were not amused. "Five I haven't seen you in almost twenty years and the first time I do see you, you look exactly like you did the night you left- the night you left me. And of course you did something else to ruin my life so I am only going to ask you this one time okay? Why am I twelve?" You rant. "Um long story short? Because I am. Also you're thirteen. Not twelve." Five holds the door open for you and you push past him.

You have never been to the academy before but what you saw wasn't what you expected. From all the stories Five told you when you were kids you expected a boarding school or a prison but this was a house. A home.

"Dolores this is (Y/n)." Pause. "Yeah from when I was a kid." Another pause.

"Shut up, you're embarrassing me." Five said with a blush.

"Who the fuck are you talking to?" You jeered.

Five pointed to the bar where half of a mannequin in a poke-a-dotted shirt sat holding a half melted margarita. "You've got to be kidding me." You sigh, " you left me to live with a doll for twenty years? You know what? Screw you Five. I'm done." You spin on your heels toward the door to leave.

"I got the flower!" Five half-shouted as he pulled your arm to stop you.

You turn back to face him, absolutely shocked that he had remembered a conversation you had two whole years before he got the courage to time travel.

He reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulls out the Forget-me-knot bloom you had planted a year after he disappeared.

"I know what this one means too. And-and I never forgot you either. I'm so sorry I left the way I did. You deserved some kind of warning and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before you left but I love you. I really actually love you and when I I grew up in a future where you weren't there and I think I fixed it. You look like you did the day I left because you're tied to me. This is our second chance. My second chance. If you'll let me have it. There was not a day in my 45 years that I didn't regret leaving without you. I know I can't ever make it up to you but let me try. Please." He confessed.

You smiled, "Okay Five."

@rainbowunicorn763

#number five #five x reader #five hargreeves #number five x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua season one #five x reader fanfic #fanfic #x reader fanfiction #dolores #five x dolores #The Umbrella Academy #five the umbrella academy

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simplybakugou · 4 years ago

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Forever with You

↝ It all started with his love for meat buns… now Kirishima reminisced on the time you first met to help him find the courage to propose to you.

BINGO SPACE: Engaged

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!kirishima x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; FLUFF (just a lot of cuteness :)) ⋆ WORD COUNT: 3021

A/N: here’s another bingo piece for the @bnhabookclub event! it was my first time writing for kirishima so please let me know what you think! thank you to @sugacookiies for requesting kiri for this prompt (love you xin!) credit to @eraserhead-transparents for kiri cap!

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.02.2020✐

“At least give me a hint?” You asked, peering up at Kirishima with hope laced in your eyes.

Kirishima shook his head as you both continued walking down the path. “Nope, no can do. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

You crossed your arms begrudgingly over your chest. “It’s not fair. What if you’re leading me to my death?”

Kirishima chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulders. “Come on! You know I’d never let anyone hurt you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re Red Riot for a reason,” you said, wrapping your own arm around his waist as you leaned into him. That morning you woke up and got ready like you did every other morning only for your boyfriend disrupted your plans as he entered your apartment unannounced and whisked you away, claiming he had somewhere he wanted to take you. No matter the amount of questions you had for him, you followed him anyways and here you were, still walking down the street as he led you to wherever this mystery destination was.

“Alright, we’re here!” Kirishima exclaimed.

You rose a brow in confusion, dazily blinking at the sight before you. “What’s this?”

“What do you mean? It’s a park!” Kirishima said, stating the obvious. He walked over past the front gate of the park, sitting down on one of the wooden benches. He patted the space beside him and you sat down, still bewildered about why he had taken you there in the first place.

“Eiji, I’m still so confused,” you said after a few minutes as he just sat and watched the families playing in the area along with those who were working out and doing other physical activities.

“Do you know what this place used to be?” Kirishima asked, still looking off into the distance as he watched with a smile at the numerous kids running around and playing amongst each other.

You shrugged. The park was in Musutafu where you and Kirishima spent a good amount of your adolescence in back in your respective high schools. As time progressed you both strayed away from the city, pursuing your career and Kirishima becoming a pro hero. But since you and Kirishima were dating, you eventually moved back to Musutafu with him although you lived separate from one another for the time being.

“How could you not recognize this place? This is where your cafe used to be!” Kirishima said.

“Really? That was here?” You asked in astonishment. “It’s been so long since that place closed down I forgot where it was. And this whole place looks completely different.”

“Yeah, I passed by here a few days ago and that was when I realized.” Kirishima looked down with a smile on his face. “That cafe meant a lot to me… it’s where we first met.”

You grinned along with him. “Even though I hated that place sometimes at least that shithole gave me you.”

Kirishima laughed at your words, his nerves calming slightly thanks to you. He felt beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck and his forehead, taking his mind off the crucial task he wanted to fulfill in a matter of minutes as he listened to the sound your voice as your reminisced on the time you met the love of your life.

***

Back when Kirishima was in U.A., he would find himself stopping by a cafe which was on the way to his school that sold the best meat buns. In his first year he would go almost every afternoon after school just for one meat bun but sometime in his second year, he saw an unfamiliar face behind the counter. It was a girl who seemed to be around his age. She seemed laidback, conversing with customers when needed but overall was detached. Above all else, she was absolutely beautiful to the point where Kirishima nearly choked on his own breath at the sight of her.

Quite evidently that girl was you, a teenager who was helping her father run his cafe after school. Although you didn’t want to be there on most days, some customers made your experience worthwhile.

And then there were some that made you feel absolutely enraged.

“Give me your number, I won’t hurt ya,” the sleazy man said as he continued to attempt to flirt with the young girl who was quite obviously uncomfortable with his harassing.

“Please leave me alone,” the girl said in a low voice, trying to evade eye contact with the creep.

“Come on, I know you want me,” the man said as he slid his disgusting hand towards the young girl’s bottom.

At that moment, Kirishima had walked into the shop after a long and productive day at school. He was ready to step in but was stopped by your voice as you tossed a used coffee filter at the man’s head. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you, you dumb fuck,” you spat in disgust.

The girl managed to get away in time, quickly thanking you as she sped out the door. The man, who was now covered in coffee grounds reached out to grab you from over the counter until Kirishima stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, forcefully bringing it down to his side. “Hey, man, why don’t you just leave before you make things worse for yourself?”

The man shoved Kirishima’s hold from his wrist as he stepped backwards, making his way out. He made sure to give you a piece of his mind, spilling out profane words from his mouth as he left. You simply rolled your eyes, flipping him off before turning to Kirishima. “Thanks for that. I deal with enough assholes like him so it’s nice to have some help.”

Kirishima chuckled. “No problem!”

Since that day, the bubbling feeling in Kirishima’s chest grew the more he saw you. From the first time he saw you, in which he was a bit hesitant to speak to you since the encounter with the sleaze, your conversations with Kirishima only expanded the more you saw him. You were assertive, a trait Kirishima admired, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind. But at the same time you were chill and Kirishima couldn’t help but blush everytime you knew his order by heart with a wide grin on your face.

For the rest of his time at U.A. High, Kirishima continued this routine of visiting the cafe initially for its meat buns but in reality he was satisfied everytime he saw your face.

Sooner rather than later, Kirishima eventually graduated and he left Musutafu to finally pursue his pro hero career. Each day passed and you frowned at the end of your shifts when you realized Kirishima hadn’t shown up that day. Eventually you grew accustomed to his lack of visits and didn’t bother to peer over your shoulder everytime the door opened.

It wasn’t that Kirishima purposefully left without saying goodbye, rather he wasn’t given a break to breathe since he graduated. From being recruited by various agencies to being given a sidekick position, Kirishima was constantly busy. Slowly yet surely he climbed the ranks as the years passed and had managed to obtain a spot in the top ten heroes.

And with this passing time, your life was progressing as well. After graduating from high school, your father gave ownership of the cafe to you as he finally retired. Although you knew you wouldn’t maintain the cafe forever, you still found a way to love the little shop on the corner of the street regardless of the amount of annoying customers you dealt with daily,

You weren’t surprised in the least to see Kirishima’s face constantly wherever you went. You were well aware of his reputation as one of the promising students and upcoming heroes when he was at U.A. so you couldn’t help but smile everytime he was on the news. Even some of your regulars caught onto your little crush as the TV in the cafe would only play anything and everything Red Riot related.

And then that faithful day came, the door swinging open as the bell above the doorframe rang. A sigh escaped your lips as you wiped another coffee cup dry. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

“Aw, guess I was too late. I came by to see you again,” an all too familiar voice said with a light chuckle.

You twisted your head around, gasping internally as Kirishima waved shyly to you. You nearly dropped the cup in your hands but managed to catch it in time. “Y-You! You’re back?!”

Kirishima stepped forward, leaning his forearms on the counter. “Yeah, I’m in town so I thought I’d stop by my favorite place for some of your meat buns.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you crouched down in front of the display case that luckily had one meat bun left. You put it in a bag and slid it over to him. “Guess I can’t say no when Red Riot’s the one asking me for some meat buns.”

Kirishima laughed, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly. “Nah, it’s not like that! I’m Red Riot to most people but I’m just Kirishima with you.”

And for the next few days Kirishima continued to stop by your cafe, deciding to pop in after closing time since people would crowd around him when the place was open. Your adoration for him only grew as he did for you. He was a genuine person, one who hadn’t changed despite the years that had gone by and the reputation he had created for himself. He truly was an amazing person.

But to your disappointment, his visits decreased once again until he stopped showing up. You knew you couldn’t be mad at him, understanding that he had a demanding job, one which he couldn’t predict when he would be busy or not. And yet you couldn’t ignore the deep despondency you felt when you realized you wouldn’t see his toothy grin and that those blazing crimson eyes again for a while.

Just like it had before, time passed and sooner than later, a year had gone by.

Kirishima was finally in Musutafu again and he walked down the street with a jig in his step, anticipating the expression on your face for when you would see him again. But he stopped dead in his footsteps, disbelief written all over his face as he saw the front doors of the cafe had been boarded up, signs littered all over the windows. “CLOSED DOWN FOR BUSINESS” was written on the signs and Kirishima felt his heart nearly sink to his feet.

He couldn’t believe it, not wanting to believe that he was too late. He couldn’t help but think that if he were more considerate towards you and let you know when he would be leaving and showing up then he might have made it in time, he might have gotten closer to you so that he could keep in touch.

But it was too late. It seemed that Kirishima would never see you again... or so he thought.

“Kirishima?” Kirishima whipped his head around to the source of the sound, an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders once he saw your figure approaching him.

Small snowflakes began falling gently from the sky as Kirishima let out a breath of air. He couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you looked, your face snug under the fabric of your scarf wrapped around your neck to keep warm from the frigidness outside.

“What happened to this place?” Kirishima asked, gesturing to the closed down cafe.

You let out a sigh, glaring at him. “You know, if you showed up moreoften then you wouldn’t be out of the loop.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been busy with work but I should’ve stopped by more than I did,” Kirishima admitted.

You smiled softly. “It’s alright, I was just joking. I know you’re busy kicking ass out there. But some company bought out the place and the rest of the shops down this road for some construction. Apparently they’re putting something else here. It was a shit ton of money so obviously I wasn’t gonna turn it down.”

“I see,” Kirishima mumbled, glancing over at the building. So many memories flooded his mind of the times he spent at this little cafe, all being bright and making his high school days a little more bearable compared to all of the chaos he faced at U.A. It made him dejected to see he wouldn’t have an excuse to see you anymore.

Or maybe he could change that now…

“Your number,” he sputtered out, extending his arm with him phone in hand to you. “Can I have your number?”

You blinked confusedly at him. “Uh sure!” You took the phone in your hand and punched in your name and your number and waved at him. “Well, I’ve gotta go. I need to sign some papers to officially sell this place.”

He took his phone back, smiling sheepishly at you before parting his lips to say one more thing to you. “I wanna take you out... to make up for all the times I left without saying anything.”

You smirked at the him, patting his shoulder as you walked past him, turning your head slightly to reply. “I’ll hold you to it, hero.”

***

“Can’t believe they turned that plaza into this beautiful park,” you said, leaning onto your boyfriend’s arm.

Kirishima tensed under your touch, his left hand dropping beside the bench to grab a plastic bag that he had left in preparation for the outing. He picked it up and placed it on his lap, pulling a sealed meat bun out from the bag.

You eyed the delicious food in delight, your stomach practically growling at the sight. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I got it from the market we used to go to. Their meat buns are so good.”

You scoffed, snatching the delectable bun from your boyfriend’s hands. “Nothing compares to my meat buns.”

Kirishima let out a laugh. “You’re not wrong there.”

He watched you in fondness as you ripped open the plastic and took a big bite out of the bun. He rose a finger to your lips, wiping away a stray piece of dough from the corner of your lips. Even while devouring food you were gorgeous.

Kirishima reached into the bag once more, gripping the velvet box in his fist. He turned his head to you as you continued to eat. “I used to go to that cafe everyday in my freshman year for some meat buns and I just remember thinking this place can’t get any better. And then you showed up and you gave me another reason to visit everyday.”

You smiled, wiping your mouth with the remaining bun in your hand. Kirishima rose a finger to your lips when you attempted to say something. “Wait, just… let me say this.”

You nodded slowly, slightly perplexed by what he was attempting to do. Kirishima looked down at the box which was out of your view. “I always thought that you were one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. And then that day when you stuck up for that poor girl who was being harassed by that creep? That was the day I knew I liked you, ‘cause you were a badass. I always thought heroes who were manly were cool… but you were the coolest. You’ve always spoken up for the things you believed in and it’s something I’ve always admired and loved about you.”

Kirishima looked back up at you, smiling with his cheeks tinting a light pink hue. “And then after all those years I finally got your number and the more time I spent with you, the faster I fell for you. And now after the years we’ve been together, I can’t help but want to be with you forever.”

You smiled from his sweet words, the chewed up meat bun filling your cheeks as you were completely oblivious to what he was attempting to do. “Eiji, you’re being so fucking cute right now.”

Kirishima laughed, his nerves quickly diminishing. “You idiot, I’m trying to say that I want to marry you.”

He pulled out the box with one swift movement, flicking the lid open to reveal a silver band with a ginormous diamond resting on top of it. Your eyes widened as you dropped the half-eaten bun to the floor. You began choking on the meat bun that was in your mouth, coughing profusely from the shock.

Kirishima rubbed your back, making sure that you were alright. “Are you okay?!”

Your coughs ceased as you were covering your mouth and you felt a wet substance hit your fingertips. Tear after tear emerged from your eyes as you began crying uncontrollably. Kirishima was dumbfounded as he dropped the velvet box to his lap. Maybe he shouldn’t have proposed so soon… maybe you weren’t ready…

“I’m sorry… you don’t have to say yes. I was probably getting ahead of myself,” Kirishima muttered, gloom evident in his tone.

You peered up at him through wet lashes and wrapped your arms around him. You held onto him for a moment before you pulled away, kissing him harshly. He was left disoriented, not understanding what was going on. Again you pulled away, his cheeks cupped in your hands as you laughed through your tears. “Why would you even think I’d say anything but ‘yes?’ Of course I want to marry you, Eijirou!”

Kirishima’s face broke out into a grin as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for another kiss as he felt your tears wetting his face. He thought he couldn’t be happier with the time he had spent with you but in that moment he was the happiest he had ever been. He was now engaged to the love of his life, and he couldn’t believe it.

It all started with his love for meat buns… now he could look forward to his new life forever with you.

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thepaperpanda · 4 years ago

Text

Late Night Visit || Joel x Reader Smut

Summary: Joel pays you a visit late at nigh while seeking for a shelter.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 3340

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Area 4. Boston zone.

Night there was quiet and calm as much as it could be with all the soldiers patrolling the streets.

It was way past the curfew so there were two options.

One was to sit in one place like an idiot and not get spotted by the military, or second - to find a safe place to spend the rest of the night.

Joel groaned deeply annoyed, rubbing his face. He was on his way back from another smuggler job and he was stuck. Fucking pissed, dirty, beaten up and tired. He really wasn't in a mood to deal with this now and there was still long way to his flat.

Joel thought of what to do and he got one idea - not the best one but surely working for his favor.

So there he was, trying his best to get to one of the buildings without getting spotted. Somehow he entered and now he stood in front of your door.

You were his old friend. He worked with you few times and apparently you liked him much enough that you offered him help whenever he will needed it. Joel looked around and hoped that whoever else lived there had a deep sleep and you aren't asleep yet. Letting out a deep sigh, he knocked at your door using his fist, just to be sure you hear him.

You were awakened by knocking to your door. Lazily, you opened eyes and yawned. Rolling on your side, you reached to a nightstand to pick a watch up. 1:17. "Fuck," you murmured unhappily, yet you got up slowly.

You had a silky, pink nightgown on, an old one actually, but the only that was still in a good state. It was maybe too loose now as you have lost a pound or two, but you still like your reflection in a mirror with this one on.

You hair, loosened, were messy, so you ran fingers through them in an attempt to brush them a little.

Hesitantly, you left bedroom, walked along the corridor and stood in front of the main door. "Who's there?," You asked, raising voice a little.

"Maybe don't raise your voice, girl. It's enough I risk my ass being here. Open the door, it's me, Joel," he muttered, looking around still being careful to not draw too much attention to both of you. "It would be nice if you hurry up, it's curfew time. Unless something has changed and I don't know."

You blinked as soon as you heard his voice. You clenched hands in fists; you felt how anger started rising within you.

After moment of hesitation, you opened the door for him, yet didn't move aside to let him in. You measured him with a cold glance. "Joel. How long has it been?"

Joel was getting more and more annoyed just by waiting for you to open the damn door. Last thing he really needed was your mood swing, but it was who you were. He already got used to it after working with you. "Long and don't give me that look. I have enough of everything and I just use the invitation you had gave me," Joel explained with a frown.

With a roll of your eyes you shifted aside, making a room for him to enter. As soon as he did step into your little flat, you made sure to lock the door with key and a little chain.

You looked at him above your shoulder; he indeed looked like an old, tired man that was overwhelmed with the world itself.

Joel nodded and walked past you to your living room. He took off his backpack and put it on the floor next to the couch.

"Sorry for coming here that late, it wasn't in my original plan. There was this or trying to get to my own flat," he muttered stretching his back. "I won't be much of a bother, I can crush on a couch and maybe use a shower."

You stopped in a threshold, leaning your side against a doorframe. "Yeah, I bet it wasn't your original plan," you said theatrically, and walked to the little kitchen to pour him a glass of whiskey. Thankfully, you had a nice magazine of those.

As you returned with a glass, you passed it to him, and took a seat in an armchair, crossing legs nicely.

"It's been half a year. Without any sign from you."

"Yeah, I planed to get home but I fucking failed due to some fucked up shit I had to stumble upon," he explained and turned to you, looking a bit suprised at the fact you offer him a drink.

Joel gladly took it and then sat down on the couch. He downed drink quickly in one big sip. It was a nice change than the simple water, apparently he needed it more than he though. "I know, been busy. You know, trying to somehow earn my living in this shithole.”

You didn't reply to his words, you simply listen to his story, nodding from time to time. "Still, you could have informed me. I was dying of stress."

Joel let out a sigh, did you try to guilt trip him or something? He wasn't really sure what you tried to achieve, he was tired. "Well, I couldn't. There was one job after another. I also never saw you bothering yourself with coming to me," he shrugged, rubbing his eyes. "Can I use the shower or not?"

"Feel free to use whatever you want," you informed him as you got up, and walked to the door. "I'll bring you a blanket and pillow. You can find a fresh towels Inna cabinet in a bathroom."

"Yea, I remember where and don't worry. I will be gone as soon as the curfew will be over. So I won't bother ya too much," Joel explained before getting up from the couch and simply walking into your bathroom.

You returned to your bedroom, initially you left the door open, just in case Joel would want a hand.

You climbed to your bed and placed head into the soft pillow.

"Oh fucking hell... This is what I needed," Joel muttered to himself at the feeling of water washing off a 4 day worth of a dirt, blood or whatever was covering him at that point.

He rested his head against the shower wall, simply enjoying the pleasant feeling. Joel made sure to check himself in case he needed to tend any wounds. As for a hit with a fucking metal baseball bat, I am surprised my ribs are still intact, he thought to himself. Only thing that kinda bothered him was a wound on his leg.

It took him half an hour to get himself to somehow permissible state. After drying himself he redressed and left the bathroom. Sitting down on the couch he started to dig through his backpack to find the aid kit to tend the wound on his leg.

You got awakened up by Joel again. It was probably caused by the fact you were having a light sleep.

Your eyes opened slowly, you rolled on the other side and looked at Joel through open door, yet you didn't get up from your bed.

Oh, how jealous you were of him. You knew you two were only colleagues but you counted for something more, and always were trying to do anything for him to notice you. He never did though, that's why you gave upon him.

Joel could feel a chills ran down his spine as he felt someone's eyes on him. It wasn't extremely unpleasant but for him it was simply unnecessary. Man looked over his shoulder right at you. "Have someone ever told you that staring is rude?," Joel asked and then turned his attention back to his leg.

"I am just checking if you don't need a hand," you replied and nuzzled to your pillow. You tried to hide the blush.

"Do I look like I need it? I'd ask for help if I would need one," Joel summed up, ribbing the bandage in half before tying around his leg and hiding the rest in his backpack.

You turned on the other side with a loud gasp. "Like you wish, Joel. Good night."

"Night," he said simply, getting comfortable on the couch. All he used was the pillow you gave him.

The anger raged within you. You couldn't believe that he has simply came to take a nap on your couch.

You grabbed your pillow and got up from bed, you walked on your tiptoes to stand right next to the couch, then you hit him with a pillow. "How could you left without a fucking word, Joel?!"

Joel nearly jumped out of his skin because of this sudden assault from your side. Probably if not the fact he knew where he was and who you were, he would punch back. For sure not with pillow.

"What the fuck, the hell is wrong with you, girl?!," He growled sitting up and turning to you.

You hit him few times with pillow. "You told me you'll come back. You never did! Only now! And only because some time ago I offered you a safe place!," You screamed at him.

He got up from the couch and stood in front of you. Joel was two if not three times your size, he was way bigger than you so disarming you wasn't much of a problem. "Seriously? Pillow? Try harder next time," he muttered and threw the pillow over his shoulder. "I told you I was busy, besides, since when you want me to be around?"

"Since the day we met, eh?," You snarled, and looked him hardly in the eyes. "You good knew that I have a feeling for you, even despite the fact you and Tess...," You gasped. "It's not important now, anymore. It's not important. I'm sorry for my outburst, it shouldn't have happened."

He looked at you with a frown, deeply confused at you confession. You had feelings for him? Was that even possible?

"No, it is important. Explain it now. What me and Tess?," Joel asked. He was curious what he will he hear from you.

You clenched palms in fists. "You and her are a thing, I'm not an idiot. You live together. You have common stuff to which you both are fully committed."

Joel chuckled and shook his head. Everything you just said was a complete nonsense.

"Listen..," he muttered and rubbed bridge of his nose. "Me and Tess, we were never a thing. Not even in the sightless degree. Sure, we worked together and she slept in my flat but that's it. Nothing more, nothing less," Joel explained.

"Yeah, yeah, if you think I'm going to believe this, you're mistaken," you told him, then went to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of whiskey, but instead of downing the glass, you downed the bottle itself.

Joel rolled his eyes and followed you. He took the bottle out of your hand and put it down on the countertop away from your reach. "And why would I lie to you, Y/N?"

"Because I'm only a colleague of yours, you don't need to tell me the truth," you shrugged.

"Oh, is that so?," He leaned on countertop, looking at you.

Joel did promise to come back to you but he indeed never did. There was few factor that made him stay away. You were younger, less experienced. That meant you deserved some as young as you, someone who isn't as broken as he is. Joel indeed cared about you but what was the point for him. “What If I tell you that you are really mistaken?"

"I don't care anymore," you grabbed the bottle he took away from you and downed it. "I don't care. Past few months have taught me that I can only count on myself, as everyone around is lying on purpose to gain something," you told him and ran fingers through your hair.

"Now I call it bullshit, Y/N. Because if you truly didn't care anymore, you wouldn't try to murder me with a pillow," Joel said crossing arms over his chest. He got a really stupid idea. "Okay, listen. I care about you, I really do... That's why I didn't come," Joel said, facepalming mentally.

You shrugged. "Good to know. After half a year," you went back to the little living room and flopped on the couch, you wiped a drop of whiskey that have left on your lips with the top of palm.

Joel rolled his eyes and joined you. "Well, you weren't much better. Just now I found out you have feelings for me because I really had no idea you were jealous of Tess," he chuckled and poked you on the ribs.

"Don't touch me," you snarled and shifted aside. "You were a dumbass then, how was it possible for you to not realize that I had a feeling for you?," You chuckled on your own words.

"Y/N. I am an old, broken smuggler," he sighed and looked at you. "You know me, you know everything. Can you blame me for this?"

"Yeah, I kinda can," you chuckled coldly and laid head on the pillow you borrowed him. "You might be old but with your age a wisdom should come along."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Joel rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand to pull you up and onto his laps.

It was a mistake probably and it was wrong. You deserved far more than him but it wasn't a point then. He grabbed the back of your neck tightly and pulled into a kiss only to pull away as soon as he ran out of the air in his lungs. "Will this make us quit this smart talk?"

You licked you lips after the kiss he offered you.

Your heart rate increased, you were taken off your guard by his sudden movement.

Without questioning your own actions anymore, you started kissing him, while rolling your hips a little, to rub your core against his crotch.

He kissed you back, placing hand on your hip while the other moved under your silky nightgown. His rough hand caressed your soft, warm skin.

Soon you were flipped so Joel was hovering over you. His kisses moved down to your neck and even lower, he quickly found himself between your legs.

Joel looked up at you, checking if you didn't change your mind.

You tried to rub thighs together while moaning quietly for him. "And don't try to tell me that you didn't want this before," you whispers and bit your lower lip, observing man's movements. "I've dreamt of it."

Placing your legs on his shoulders Joel moved nightgown up, exposing your belly.

"Well, I can see that just by the fact you're wet already," he hummed before giving your pussy a one big lick, after this he wrapped his lips around your clitoris.

Joel played with your bundle of nerves and soon his thick fingers started to slowly slip inside of you.

You grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your boob. "That's it, handsome. Just keep going," you praised softly and tangled your fingers with his hair.

You rolled hips gently to get a little more friction.

Despite the fact you didn't want to manifest it, he was right; you became wet as soon as you've seen him at your door.

He smiled against your flesh, his fingers slipped inside of you. They moved in fast pace, curling inside of your from time to time while his lips never left your clit. "Come on, princess. Don't hold it back, I know you want go cum."

"I... Want... To... Cum... Around your... Cock," you gasped and cupped his face with both of your hands, rolling hips faster, fucking yourself against his bearded face.

Joel continued to eat you out until he decided it was enough. He moved away only to sit up and removed his shirt along with his pants, he pushed them down enough to free his cock. There was no time for playing around. Joel grabbed your legs and pulled you closer. He took his cock and teased your clit with it. "Are ya still sure about it?"

"Yeah," you murmured, biting your lower lip. You traced your hand right between your thighs to rub your pussy. You were soaking wet, indeed.

"But hands we keep up here," he said and grabbed both of your hand, Joel moved them over your head and kept them there using one of his hands.

He lowered himself and kissed you, pushing his cock deep inside of you without any warning. Joel started to fuck you hard and deep.

You ached your back and wrapped legs around his hips, you did it to deepen his pushes.

His cock stretched you nicely, and you moaned lowly, gasping a little when his tip hit the back of your pussy.

He moved faster, thrusting deeper and deeper with every move. Joel groaned lowly at the nice feeling of your warm walls squeezing his hard cock.

"You like it, huh? Is this what you wanted?," He snarled and his free hand moved between your bodies to pinch your clit before rubbing it in a slow circles.

You closed your eyes, and parted lips, a moan escaped them, and you rolled your hips a little more for Joel.

Joel hummed satisfied, looking down on you. You looked so beautiful, just a whimpering mess under him, just because of him.

He released your hands so he could wrap this arm around your waist to deepen the thrusts as much as possible, Joel moved down to place few kisses and bites on your neck.

Your hands rapidly went to scratch his back where you scratched a little. You loved the way he was hovering over your figure, you felt secured, in his arms you felt like in home.

You let him do whatever he wanted, you felt how desperate he was for your touch as well, but you knew he would never admit it

He hummed nuzzling to your neck, placing few more kisses there. Oh, how he loved the feeling of your small fragile body trapped right under him.

"Come on, princess. I know you want to cum, I can feel it," Joel purred deeply right into your ear.

You nuzzled to his bare, naked chest. You trailed your lips along every scar on his body, you moaned in a rhythm of his thrusts.

But when your climax has came, you remained silent. Only a little gasp of yours and tightening grasp of your legs wrapped around Joel's hips determined the moment you've reached your peak.

Joel gave you few harder thrusts before cumming deep inside of you. "Fuck," he growled and nuzzled to your neck with a happy hum.

He stayed motionless for a moment, trying the gain back the control on his own breath. Suddenly, Joel chuckled, kissing your neck and cheek. "Honestly? I expected more sound from you, princess."

You gasped and blushed oh so hardly, you didn't expect him to be so open. "Joel," you gasped. You blushed harder when you felt how your mixed cums dripped down your thighs when he slipped out of your core.

He hummed and gave one one more teasing thrust before moving up to look at you. "What is it, princess?"

"Don't go... Please, Joel, don't go... Don't leave me... I won't survive..."

He hushed you, pulling out slowly and laying both of you in comfortable position on the small couch. "I ain't going anywhere. Now, try to get some rest, okay?," Joel whispered, kissing your forehead.

"And when I wake up, you'll be still here?," You asked, letting your eyes closed.

"Yeah, I promise. Cross on my heart," he said hugging you tight.

You quickly drifted into sleep, being flanked by a firm grasp of the arms you loved the most.

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marueonmain · 5 years ago

Text

WINDFLOWER

part one ~ caught sight of her ~

(part one)

A/N: I wanted to write this for awhile. It’s the first fanfic I’ve ever written so it might not be amazing, but I hope it’s good and that you enjoy it! I will be getting some of the English aspects wrong (sorry).

Summary: Alex is not the kind of man (if given the chance) to steal another man's girlfriend. Or is he?

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Set in 2020. Mentions of the Budweiser Bug. (Sam is an OC)

Word Count: 2.5k

It was a warm and late afternoon.

There was a short break in the clouds and the sunlight streamed through to bounce off his sunglasses, as he walked the pavement.

It was a warm and late afternoon – teetering on hot.

Alex wore his white Gucci button-up which was fantastic for not attracting heat. Still there were noticeable wet spots under his arms. For each street closer he was to his apartment building he quickened his pace and rolled his shoulders back. Adjusting – so that the cloth might peel off from his skin without him having to directly pinch it out from his armpits. Alex did not like being sweaty – but who did?

Despite how he might have felt about crowds or said crowds looking at him, he more often than not enjoyed the loudness of his expensive shirts, his california twink shorts, even his odd hair colours (if applicable). What these preferences said for his personality was anyone's guess.

Maybe he was secure enough in his identity to enjoy things that are deemed as classically feminine. Maybe he was making a statement on the gender binary, or the expectations of traditional masculinity.

Maybe he had stared into the darkness inside long enough that he could not bear having to see it outside as well. Or maybe he liked pink – thought it complimented his cool skin tone or his lip colour.

Which it did.

One street from his building, Alex picked up his feet and sped up. He reached the front entrance; his hand went for the door handle and – WHAM!

Alex grasped at his nose, which had connected first with the glass of the door as it swung out. There was no red on his hands as he drew them back to check, but there was a general throbbing radiating out from the middle of his face.

From above him, a man asked, "Shit, you alright there?" His voice was rich like a slice of peanut butter cheesecake drizzled in a chocolate sauce of genuine concern. While he spoke, the man dropped the large cardboard box he was holding – it hit the ground like it weighed well over seven stone – and sidestepped out from the other side of the door.

"No. Yeah. Fuck, give me a moment."

"I could get you ice or something, maybe?" The man held his hand out in the air at an odd distance from Alex’s left shoulder, hesitant it seemed to touch him.

"It's fine." His eyes spotted the hand, then the discarded box. It was wrapped tight in tape, across the top was written STORAGE in permanent marker. Alex gestured to the building and asked, "You moving out?"

"Moving in actually, I just grabbed the wrong box by accident. Maybe one of these days I'll learn how to read." He bent over and picked the box up.

"Well, I'm Alex. 205"

"Sam. 305." (a floor above) "Everyone calls me Sammy."

How to describe Sammy. Picture an elk – a blond elk. A majestic beast for sure. Picture that and then make it stand on its hind legs and also be a person. He had a naturally muscular build and an evident dedication to a workout regimen – not too intense like three or four times a week.

Everything about him appeared likeable, charming. Certainly, it was his voice. As well as the goofy smile, how he carried himself ~the confidence~ and how he held a comfortable amount of eye contact.

Alex gave a polite smile. In the pit of his stomach something was building – he had not eaten in at least ten hours – a feeling like optimism. Surely, if he were courteous and pleasant now, perhaps this new neighbor might be less willing to lodge noise complaints against him later on.

"You look strong." Sammy cleared his throat before continuing, "There's a couple-three more boxes left I got to bring up. And a sofa. I'll never be able to get that thing up myself. You're heading up, right? You wouldn't mind helping, would you?"

"No. No—I mean, yes. I will help you." It was a class rendition of George's commentary stutter.

"Great! I got to get the truck unloaded before the game. You're really doing me a solid." Sammy's smile widened to be a bit open-mouthed – like that of a dog after being told it was a good boy. He led Alex to the other end of the car park, to the truck, the sofa, and the boxes.

Alex stood waiting – as Sammy crawled into the truck bed – to help ease the sofa out. He tried to get a good hold around the back of it as it sprung out at him. Sammy pushed on his end, putting a lot of unjustified faith into a stranger.

He did not hear a complaint from Alex, just a string of strained grunts.

Sammy hopped out – boots hit the ground, and he took over the lifting part of moving furniture while Alex acted more as a guiding hand.

Walking toward the building, Alex shouted across the sofa, "Who you cheering for tonight?"

"Newcastle! Who else? Best there is in the whole sport far as I can tell."

A bark of a laugh shot from Alex's mouth. "I've got someone you have to meet."

Hanging around Sammy – for the time it took to maneuver the sofa in/out of the lift and to retrieve the remaining boxes and haul them up – was not not enjoyable. It was comfortable.

Alex did not think about the manual labor he had been tricked into doing; instead, he was preoccupied with chattering on and on as both rode the lift up. He answered all Sammy's questions – about the building, the people, the area.

He rinsed the other man for his team preferences and his truck – despite Alex himself not being able to drive. And while there was a lot of damning material for Sammy to 'fire back' with, he did not.

With arms shaking slightly under the weight of the last medium-large sized box, Alex went on with his lighthearted ribbing. And Sammy just laughed along. Even snorting once.

"Not even joking – are you a comedian or something?"

Alex beamed. "Or something."

Both men had a chance to rattle off some horror stories of the absolute shitholes they had rented in the past.

DING of the lift doors opening interrupted a rant on neighbors who complained about the littlest of noises, which Alex continued after stepping into the hall.

Then, it was done. The last boxes were set on the floor of the bare-walled apartment. What was Alex meant to do now? Leave? Hang around? Ask for a drink?

It was not like he was desperate for friends, just that Sammy was genuine, and it never hurt to have someone to ring up to accompany him on a night out or if Alex ever got evicted again.

Sammy dragged out a dramatic sigh as he straightened up, leaving the last box he had carried up – labeled DISHWARE – next to the sofa. Raising his arms above his head, he stretched out his back. Alex might have done the same, but he was conscious of the absurdly damp state of his underarms.

"I'm having friends over for drinks and to watch the game," Alex began. "Maybe a few rounds of FIFA afterwards. You should come – if you want, or not. There'll be money on it, and I tend to lose a lot."

"You just helped me move a sofa up three floors, shouldn't I be the one offering you something?" Sammy slapped Alex on the shoulder perhaps harder than he meant, perhaps not taking into consideration the size difference.

"There's nothing I need."

"Well, it sounds fun. I'll be sure to come round! And I'll—"

KNOCK. KNOCK.

A young woman stepped through the apartment door while her gaze held an intense focus on her wristwatch for too long. Like it does not take anyone who knows how to read a manual clock that long to figure out the time. She was looking at it just to look at it – to look preoccupied.

Shoulders a bit rolled in and posture a bit poor, she took five steps in and closed the door before even looking up. She pulled her head up from her wristwatch.

Upon seeing the space, her eyes brightened and shined. She gasped a small (not surprised but delighted) gasp, smiling big. And—and—oh.

OH.

OOOHhoho. Oh.

Oh, no.

Alex caught sight of her, and he was gone.

And it was not that she was perfect. No, she was not the airbrushed model of the advertisements on the tube. No. She was her, and it was ~ugh~ it was almost indescribable. It was the fit of her clothes and her hair and the cute ears. It was all of those separately and all of those at once, at the same time.

Seeing her was like living in a significant moment in history. Like attending a World's Fair, holding a piece of the Berlin Wall as it was being torn down, or standing on the frontline of a revolution.

It was having an inkling – a fervent gut feeling – knowing that what was happening was momentous and would leave an everlasting impact. But, for the time being, he was just in it: living it. Experiencing everything with the understanding that millions of different pieces had to have fallen into place for this one thing to happen and he. was. there.

"Hi, Red." Sammy caught her in a tight vice-like embrace.

"Hello." It was muffled a smidge from having her face buried in his shirt. She broke apart from him first.

"Alex, this is my girlfriend. Y/N. We call her Red." He said, keeping her close with an arm snaked around her middle while she gazed up at him.

In their brief time hanging out together, Alex had not considered that Sammy might have a girlfriend, nor did he consider that Sammy might not have a girlfriend.

He had not thought about it at all. Not in the slightest.

"Nice to meet you." Alex reached out his hand.

Y/N tore her gaze from Sammy and stared at the hand in front of her; she pondered it. Not moving. Her face flushed like she was going to be ill.

"Um...I..." He retracted his hand, shoving it deep into the pocket of his shorts.

"She won't shake your hand, mate, nothing against you – just a germaphobe. That's on me for not telling you beforehand."

"That's alright. I guess we're not meant to be shaking hands anyway." An awkward chuckle drippled off his tongue to which he did not receive a reaction. "With the Budweiser Bug and all."

"Oh, I'm not scared of that. People overreact." Sammy switched gears and moved to stand at Alex’s side.

Alex continued smiling as he considered how that might have been the most ignorant thing he had heard all month. But not everyone had the opportunities to take higher education courses as he had.

Y/N kept quiet during their exchange and after looking over Alex once more (avoiding his face), she flickered her gaze to Sammy.

It was like standing in the same room with someone on the phone and getting one half of the conversation. Alex was left guessing based on how confused and uncomfortable Y/N appeared to be as to what expression Sammy was using to respond to her questioning gaze.

Whatever he must have signaled or mouthed, it worked.

"Hello," Y/N addressed him simply as she set sail those dazzling eyes of hers into the peaceful seas of Alex's blue set, "It's nice to meet you as well."

It was a voice to tune-in to over the general hum of a group of speakers. A voice that might be complimented as being good for radio. A voice clear and crisp like water (from anywhere but London tap).

Alex wanted to keep her talking – to hear her mind and her thoughts. Hear her present a speech, putter a nervous ramble, or just word vomit. Hear how she pronounces each consonant and vowel. And if there were specific words that carried a different accent than the rest. Where did those come from? Where did she come from?

Notwithstanding his questionable reputation in a few corners of the internet, Alex was not a complete and utter irrational weirdo. He did have a brain which he would use part of the time.

It was not unlike him to be struck with crushes on young women and men he met in passing—he was human; it happens. If he was feeling extra alone, that crush might linger longer.

Might stumble into his dreams.

That is all it was—a crush. Right? Then why did it feel different? Not like that of a sudden burst of flames but of a washing-over sense of relief – an unquestionable assuredness in something new.

New or not, Alex was determined not to be weird about it.

"Why go by Red?" ...when Y/N is so fitting, so beautiful. Mission: Don't Be Weird Status: Failed

"What do you mean?" she asked with her head cocked to the left.

"Come on." With a clear sense of boredom in the direction of the conversation, Sammy strolled to the sofa and sat on it. He ripped into the cardboard box labeled DISHWARE and began emptying plates and mugs onto the cushion next to him. Speaking a bit louder to be heard over the tearing of tape, he offered, "Isn't it obvious?"

"Guess not. Or I might just be a little thick."

Everyone ignored his comment.

"You know, if you want to stick around some, Red's making quiche."

"Quiche?" Alex walked toward the back of the sofa – stopping a few meters short. "More of a breakfast food, don't you think?"

Bringing a hand to his chest in mock shock and offence, Sammy declared, "Food does not have curfews!"

"Except at hotels...and McDonald's."

"No. No, not McDonald's. Not for a while now; where have you been?"

Alex rolled his eyes; while searching for some support in the conversation, he turned to find Y/N had disappeared in the single second she was out of his sights.

A disappointed frown formed on his pink lips.

Perhaps it was a cue for him to leave as well. "I got to run. I'll be seeing you then?"

"Right," said Sammy. "Go Newcastle! Yeah?"

Alex thumped his closed fist twice against his chest in an odd gesture (which meant nothing) and smiled a closed mouth smile as he stepped backwards out the apartment door to the carpeted hall.

Sammy chuckled and shook his head, "You're a funny guy, Alex."

#imallexx #imallexx imagine #imallexx x reader #alex elmslie #alex elmslie x reader #alex elmslie imagine #eboys #commentary crew #internet sensation

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tiikeria · 4 years ago

Text

Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts

Title: Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts Ship(s): None Rating: T Warning(s): Language Words: 1,874 words Summary: “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it.” Notes: Huh. Two fics in two weeks? Am I feeling okay? I also have a third planned, and my lovely co-creator Pchew has one going as well. We like this AU bit too much. Anyway, enjoy!

Gavin didn’t like showing off what he could do. The more you played close to yourself, the more people underestimated you. That’s how he got such a reputation as a bumbling idiot. No one suspected the dumb one to swindle you out of everything, now did they?

But something was endearing about the childlike wonder Michael and Jeremy watched him with when he used his powers. Even the smallest thing seemed to capture their attention. His fellow Lads were so curious about what he could do, and, honestly, it was refreshing. Normally people regarded the gold from his hands with distrust and fear.

“So, what can you make?” Jeremy asked one afternoon, a lazy Sunday playing games and just enjoying each other’s company, “I mean, with the gold. Like, can you shape it, or is it just a flood, like before?”

Michael snorted, putting down his controller, “Jeremy just wants to know if you can make him a golden Spyro.”

“I do not!”

Gavin laughed, but produced the aforementioned dragon in his palm, shining brilliantly in the afternoon sun, “Shame, that, because I happen to have one, yeah?”

Jeremy’s pure joy and awe almost made him blush, “Okay, I do really want a golden Spyro, holy shit that is so fucking cool.”

“You think everything Spyro is cool, though.”

“I’m a simple man,” Jeremy stated, still staring longingly at the golden figure in Gavin’s hand, “I see Spyro, I’m happy. Same thing with whiskey.”

Giggles erupt from Gavin’s lips as he tosses the dragon to Jeremy, “Sorry, I can’t make golden whiskey. That’ll have to do.”

Michael huffs as Jeremy cradles his new toy like a father cradles a newborn, “What about me? What do I get? How dare you gift this schmuck something before you gift your Boi something! Does Boiship mean nothing to you, anymore!?”

“Michael, no, Michael!” More laughter bubbled from Gavin’s chest, “You’re my Boi, Michael! Jeremy’s my Lil J, but you’re my Boi! I have something for you, yeah? How about this?”

Gavin makes a show of it since he had their undivided attention, and because he could without the worry of scaring them. With a flourish, he presents Michael with a small, blocky, golden sword. Michael pretends to not be impressed, but Gavin can see the awe and joy in Michael’s eyes.

“Gold swords are for chumps, Boi!”

Gavin pretends to be offended, all part of the games they all play with each other, “I don’t bloody shit diamonds, Michael! But if you get me some, I might be persuaded to give you an upgrade.”

“You can do that?!” Jeremy perks up from where he had been admiring his little Spyro, “You can make diamond swords?”

“Well,” Gavin hums, “I can make swords. I’m sure making one out of diamonds isn’t impossible, yeah? Just have to figure it out. We could make a day of it, lads! I could teach you how to be smithies, just like I used to in the 1800s!”

“I always forget how fucking old you are,” Michael shakes his head, “I mean, you talk about the 1800s like it was last fucking year.”

“I’m only 3000 years old or summat. That’s nothing compared to other Gods!”

“‘Only 3000,’” Michael mocked in a high, squeaky, British accent, ignoring Gavin’s whines to stop being a “smegpot.” Jeremy laughed in turn at Gavin’s pout, but not unkindly, “You old ass Greek fuck.”

“If you’re Greek,” Jeremy giggled, “Why the fuck are you British?”

“What? What do you mean, ‘why am I British?’”

Jeremy throws his hands up in the air, “You were born in Ancient Greece. You lived in Ancient Greece for a long fucking time. You’ve lived in the US for a few decades. So why the fuck did you decide to be British?”

“Because I lived in the British Isles for over a century, Jeremy! I came over with the Romans and never bloody well left! I’m probably more British than Greek anymore, yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“That’s not how you work,” Gavin grumbles petulantly, earning him a snort from the two other Lads.

“So you’re fake British. What the fuck made you come to Los Santos of all places? I mean, you went from European shithole to American super shithole.”

Gavin stretches out on the white sectional that took up most of the Fakes’ living room, sun streaming in the floor to ceiling windows making his skin look more golden than it really was. Jeremy and Michael settle down similarly, the quiet music from their abandoned game the only other sound in the room as Gavin collected his thoughts.

“Now that’s a question, innit?” He finally says, leveling them with a lopsided smile, “You know I’m God of Gold, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jeremy instantly answers, to which Gavin hums.

“That’s not all I’m God of. Most gods have other domains as well, like Artemis being Goddess of the Hunt, but also of Childbirth. Or Apollo being God of Medicine as well as Music and Prophesy. I also have other domains.

“Akakios contacted me a few decades ago, about 40 years, really, and said he found a city that needed me. He had been living in the States for quite a while at that point, from the Northeast to the South to the Midwest. Everywhere, yeah? But he had never said that about any of the cities he visited. So, I knew he had to be serious to even consider that a city needed my help.”

Both Michael and Jeremy watch Gavin closely as Gavin turns to look out over the city through the windows. Eventually, when Gavin didn’t start up again, Michael piped up, “So what else are you God of that made it so you could help Los Santos?”

Gavin smiled softly, “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it. Corruption was even worse than it is now. At least 80% of the population was below the poverty level. Almost 30% were homeless. Kios saw these people and knew I could help them somehow. So, I boarded the next flight from London and got to work.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy breathed, “You fixed Los Santos?”

“I still am, yeah? Until these people no longer pray to me, I’m needed.”

The three were quiet for a moment, as Gavin watched the sun dip lower in the sky out the windows, buildings glinting in the late afternoon sun like steel and glass gemstones. He still had so much work to do to get Los Santos to where he’d be happy leaving it. So many were still born into poverty. Too many homeless and alone. He did what he could, but he was one God against a society that didn’t care.

Gavin started when Michael finally spoke, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. Gavin knew that tone very well. Michael had made up his mind about something and wasn’t about to be swayed.

“So, what can we do to help clean up the shit?”

“I…what?”

“You heard me. How can the crew help? We have more money than sense anymore. And most of us grew up in lower-class dumps like Los Santos. Hell, Fiona was raised here. I’ve been on the streets, and it sucks major doo doo. So, how can we help you make this place a level above a turd?”

Gavin felt a swell of emotion for his Boi, that extended to Jeremy when he saw him nod in agreement. Both of them were watching him in rapt attention as if soldiers waiting on their orders. And Gavin…well, Gavin knew exactly what they could do. A grin curled on his lips as he pulled out his phone to call a crew meeting.

“Boys…I think we need a heist.”

A few weeks later, the news would tell a peculiar tale. Someone had broken into dozens of homes of wealthy Los Santos citizens, all in one night. Nothing was taken but the clothes in their closets, and the food in their cupboards.

Meanwhile, every legitimate shelter in Los Santos, homeless camps, and charities received an anonymous donation of clothes and food. The only note was emblazoned with a green duck and written in gold ink.

Enjoy your donations. Make sure they’re used. We’ll be watching over you.

Of course, this didn’t make the news. Stories of the lower class never did. But that was just fine for the culprits; they didn’t do it for the fame or the fortune. No, they did it for the people. The people of their city.

It took a while before the police caught on to what the crew was doing. Sure, they still hit banks, but the majority of the stolen notes would end up funding an after-school program for at-risk youth. Expensive items would go missing, only to end up at a charity auction for a women’s center. And those few good officers saw what the crew was trying to accomplish. For the first time, the Fakes had allies in the LSPD; not many, but it was a start.

And the crew themselves seemed to have a new spark. Excitement in the air when they all sat down to plan the next heist, with the next recipient of their Robin Hooding. Jack heisted for a Children’s Hospital and they ended up with a small green duck on the new mural for the playground at the hospital’s campus. Geoff bolstered local AA and addiction groups, giving them the resources they needed to reach more people. Jeremy and Michael worked together to create boxing and wrestling programs for low-income kids. Matt and Trevor created STEM programs. Fiona worked on LBGT programs. Lindsay was adamant about helping the animals of Los Santos.

They all had their niche. And, together, they did their best to make good in the city.

Gavin was overjoyed, to say the least. To see the people he cared about the most helping him make the city a better place was everything he had ever hoped for. He still got prayers daily, almost hourly, but they were coming less as people had more places to turn for help. Of course, he would always answer the call, if needed, but he could finally relax after 40 years of doing everything he could to raise the city from its rough beginnings.

And he started to see a shift in the people as well. They were helping each other, raising each other from where they had fallen. Injustice was being spoken out against. Marches were organized for victims of senseless violence. People were donating more of their time and money to helping those around them. Gang wars turned into alliances against corruption. Ballas and Vagos worked side-by-side on cleaning up the rec center that bordered their territories. The Families extended protection to those too weak to fight for themselves, with no payment needed. Even Madrazo’s Cartel could be seen handing out food and blankets to the homeless.

Something had changed. Something had shifted.

Maybe there was still hope for Los Santos after all.

#fake ah crew #my fic #fake ah jeremy #fake ah gavin #fake ah michael #midas gavin #fahc #ragehappy

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holylulusworld · 5 years ago

Text

Sometimes wrong is better than right...

Summary: It’s just wrong…but at the same time so good. But all the wrong things have their consequences.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, a stray cat (named kick-ass)

Warnings: angst, pregnant reader, language, calling names, arguments, a hint of fun, grabby Steve (little pervert), cravings

Wrong-Right Masterlist

Around four months later… France, Provence

Walking along the field you pick one last flower, a poppy. The red flower is the perfect contrast to your purple lavender. The scent of lavender is floral and sweet, the other flowers smell wonderful too, but you prefer the scent of the pretty purple flower since you live here.

Natasha gave you enough money so you could easily buy a little house in the middle of nowhere. No technique, no stress, no super soldiers only silence, and peace.

The only roommate you have is an old stray cat who came around a few days after your moved in and the little fucker decided to stay with you. She’s the only living being you let get close to you. Most of the time you stay to yourself except you need to buy some food.

The little garden behind your house provides fruits and some vegetables but you need more to feed your hunger, so you are forced to walk into town from time to time.

Luckily you found an old bicycle in your house to ride as sometimes your feet won’t carry you that far anymore.

A smile crosses your face when you see the old cat meowing in front of your open door. Wait you never leave your door open, but you don’t lock it either.

You’ve got nothing precious someone could be interested in to steal. Your weapon and passport are always in your purse which you have with you any time so anyone trying to break into your house will be disappointed.

Shrugging you believe the door didn’t shut right, as it happens a lot. Especially during a thunderstorm, it tends to burst open and let the rain in.

Greeting your only friend, you pat the head of the cat and she follows you into the house. You want to put the picked flowers into a vase but then you see the tea kettle on your stove and a cup on your table and you know you didn’t leave the house like this.

You want to get the weapon out of your bag, but Steve is much faster. Pressing you with his full strength into the wall he makes you wince in pain.

“Took us a while to find you as Nat refused to tell us anything. Buck and I against the rest of the Avengers it was, but here we are.” Steve mutters placing one fist against the wall right next to your head and his hand around your arm.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whisper and Steve cocks a brow.

“I didn’t intend on hurting you, Y/N. We just want to bring you home.”

“You are hurting me…you’re stronger than me…please don’t hurt my babies.” You sniffle and Steve let go of you. Looking down at you in awe his breath hitches in his throat.

“You kept our babies?” Bucky asks before Steve can find his voice.

“I kept my babies, now leave me alone. I’m no harm to you or your life’s. Just leave me be. I was happy. For four months I was finally happy, and you come around to destroy everything again.”

“Happy with a stray cat as your only friend? Hell, you were talking to this bastard.” Bucky chuckles. “He’s not even cute, just a rotten little stinker.”

“Not your problem and it’s a girl, punk.” You grunt. “She’s a good listener in lonely nights.”

“You will pack your things and come back with us,” Steve mutters.

“No way! I’ll stay here. You can’t force me to come back. I don’t want to come back. It’s quite and peaceful here. No wars, fights or men hurting me. Just the cat and me.”

“Y/N you can’t stay here all alone in the middle of nowhere. What will happen during giving birth? Do you want to handle this alone too?” Steve asks staring at your stomach.

“I got a telephone. Believe it or not, there’s an ambulance available any time.”

“I don’t care, doll. You will not give birth to my child in a shitty hospital in Provenceistan.”

“Who asked you for your opinion, Barnes? Answer: No one. Only as you filled me with your cum you got no rights, period.” You grunt stomping your foot onto the ground.

“Can I touch the bump?” Steve asks and you shake your head.

“I don’t want you to touch me. Go away. I don’t want one of you to touch me ever again.” You sniffle.

“Baby, please. I only want to feel my child.”

“I don’t care what you want, Rogers. You didn’t care about my feelings either. You two are as cold as ice. You take what you want without thinking about consequences. I won’t play your sick games any longer. If you want me to come home you have to kill me as I only leave this house over my dead body.” You state glaring up at the tall Avenger.

“Damn she is one hell of a woman, Stevie. Did she make you hard with her speech too? Look at the boobs, they are bigger too. She looks so beautiful right now…so carefree.”

“Bucky, can you shut your dirty mouth for a second. This is not the way to win her over. Yes, she makes me hard, but I want her back as I love her, not as my sexy kitten.” Steve warns.

“Perverts! Both of you are rotten, dirty perverts. Now get out of my house.” You warn pushing against Steve’s chest.

“You know Nat can’t help you right now. We could just throw you over our shoulder and carry you out of this shithole you call a house.” Bucky chuckles.

“Try me, asshole! I will scream and yell. How does that sound? You’re not that popular in Europe, not after Germany.” You spat and Bucky flinches at your words.

“You promised to never mention Germany.” He mumbles.

“And you promised to love me, to be there for me, just like Captain Asshole over here. Lies, lies and empty promises on your side. Why should I keep mine?”

“You’re better than me.”

“Damn right. I’m a fucking princess, now out of my castle.” You warn and this time Steve starts chuckling.

“She’s damn cute believing she can get rid of us. You see Baby if you refuse to come with us we will stay here. Your decision.”

“You will not stay in my house!”

“We can and we will, doll. Our bags are already in your bedroom.”

“You two are completely insane! You didn’t want me at all and now you want me back. The hell!”

“We always wanted you, doll. Now let me make you my famous buckytastic pancakes and Steve can feed the cat.” Bucky says and you want to strangle him as he walks toward your fridge to poke his head in. “Oh, she’s got no beer, Steve. You need to drive into town. Damn, we need bacon and meat…shit…all green rubbish in here. Nothing to feed a real man.”

“I didn’t invite you to eat my food, asshole.”

“Damn she is stubborn, Cap. I want to bend her over my lap and spank her ass bright red.”

“You can’t hurt me, I’m pregnant.”

“Hmm…then I’ll wait for five months and do it then.”

“Five months?” You gasp staring at the super soldier. The tall man simply shrugs and starts preparing the dough for pancakes.

“We told you we will stay here. Hmm…I better drive into town to get all the stuff we need. How about some ropes to restrain our stubborn lady?” Steve jokes and you gulp hard.

“You can’t do that…this will hurt.” You sniffle.

“Baby, that was a joke. Damn your hormones get you good, huh…Are you horny too?” Bucky asks licking his lips.

“Not for you, pervert.”

“I bet she needs us really bad, Stevie. Could check her out right now.”

“Buck, don’t try anything stupid while I’m on my shopping tour,” Steve warns.

“I need cat food too.” You mutter grabbing your purse. “I’ll come with you…Cap.” You say glancing at a grinning Bucky.

“Uh, she wants the golden boy to go first.”

“Asshole!” You retort.

“We better get going before it gets too late,” Steve says trying to touch your shoulder, but you flinch away. “Sorry.”

“I’m only coming with you as I do not trust this pervert and I need food for my cat.”

----

“You know Natasha is a really good friend. Tony, Fury, everyone tried to get information about your position. About how you made it out of the tower.” Steve tries but you just look out of the window.

“She had nothing to do with my escape. I stole your ID card and grabbed a hidden bag. I spared some money and took the next flight to France.”

“We both know she helped you escaping but I know you would do anything to protect your friend. She did the same.”

“Is she alright or did you hurt her too?” You ask rubbing the bruises at your upper arm Steve caused.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Sometimes I forget about my own strength. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You wanted to hurt me as you thought I aborted the babies, Steve. I saw the hatred in your eyes. Don’t think I’m stupid, Rogers. I know you are a bad liar.”

“I was devasted after you left, just like Bucky.”

“Sure. Why didn’t you knock someone else up? There are plenty of chicks waiting for the golden boy to impregnate them.” You mutter.

“As I only imagine you as the mother of my children. Don’t be this stubborn. You are the most complicated woman in the world.”

“Are you kidding me? As if you know every single woman in the world, Captain Stupid.”

“Bucky is right. I should slap your ass…”

“What a pity I kept your baby.” You spat and Steve glares at you. Opening his mouth and closing it his features darken and he stops the car. “I can still make you obeyed.”

“Dream on, Cap. You will not break me…never again.” You mutter poking your finger into his shoulder.

“Hmm…you know you will not make us leave.”

“Pfff…don’t care. You can sleep outside.”

“With the cat?”

“No, the cat is allowed to sleep in my bedroom…in my bed.” You state grinning and a smirk appears on Steve’s face.

“Meow…” He tries and you giggle. “Won’t work Rogers… ’Kick-ass’ is much cuter than you.”

“Kick ass?”

“Yeah, I named her like that. She attacked a goddamn bulldog as he came too close to me.”

“She’s a fighter then…like you.”

“Hmm…he hurt her pretty badly and I had to bring her to a veterinary. She barely survived but she’s still kicking…ya know.” You whisper and Steve gives you a side-glance. Your sad face makes his stomach drop.

“We should probably head into town or Bucky burns your house down meanwhile.”

“I will kill him if does…it’s not much or pretty but it’s mine. The house is like me, nothing special but someone loves it. I love it.”

----

“We should buy this too.”

“Why should you need pickles?” You ask.

“No, those are for you. Pregnant women eat pickles.” Steve insists.

“Not every woman, Captain know it all.” You retort and an elderly woman starts smiling at you and Steve.

“Ah, Y/N is this your boyfriend? The man who is in oversea?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. I’m Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.” Steve says smiling like a good boy.

“Such a charming man. He’s a catch, ma chere.”

‘If she only knew’. You think to yourself, but you smile politely and nod while Steve takes the opportunity to sling his arm around your waist and squeeze your butt.

Angrily clenching your fists, you want to kick his ass, but the elder lady won’t stop babbling so Captain Pervert presses his body closer to yours and starts sniffing at your hair.

“Au revoir, ma chere.” She finally says.

“I swear as soon as we are out of here I will kick your ass.” You warn but Steve ignores your words. Simply pecking your cheek, he chuckles squeezing your butt once again.

“You loved it, kitten. I know you did.”

----

“What took you two so long? Did you make a stop to screw each other?” Bucky mutters.

“Captain Pervert grabbed my ass in the grocery store. That’s what happened.” You mutter glaring at a grinning Steve.

“I just played along. So, your loving boyfriend is in oversea? Did you tell the friendly lady you are pregnant of two men my dirty little kitten?”

“No! I didn’t tell her anything!”

“Did you bring beer and meat? Tell me you brought all the stuff I wrote on the list.” Bucky asks.

“I bought everything and pickles.”

“Pickles? For the pregnant lady.” Bucky says while his blue eyes are glued to your hidden bump.

“I don’t need that rubbish.” You mutter glancing at the pickles in Steve’s hands.

“Let’s eat the pancakes before my food gets cold.”

“By the way she wants us to sleep outside,” Steve says and Bucky looks at your grinning face.

“With the cat?” Bucky asks.

“No, the cat is allowed to sleep in her bed.”

“Meow?” Bucky tries and Steve starts cackling. “I tried the same, Buck.”

----

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t let us sleep outside.” Bucky pleas while you toss his bag out of the window.

“This is my house and I won’t let you sleep in my bedroom. I do not trust you two a bit. You will try to touch me or worse, you perv!”

“Fine. We sleep outside, heartless woman.” Bucky mutters walking out of your bedroom with Steve hot on his heels.

----

The house is silent so you tiptoe downstairs to reach your kitchen. Almost at your goal, you stretch your arm to grab the… “Are you looking for these?” Steve asks flicking the light on to show you the pickles in his hands.

“Why are you in my kitchen?”

“We are camping here. Did she come for the pickles?” Bucky asks looking up from the floor.

“She did, Buck. Such a greedy little girl.” Steve chuckles with a dark grin but then his eyes land on your exposed swollen belly and his eyes soften.

“Give these to me…I want them.” You mutter trying to get hold of the pickles in his hands.

“Only if I can touch the bump.”

“That’s blackmailing…you’re a bad father. I’m craving this shit only as you told me pregnant women eat pickles. Give them to me…” You sniffle holding out your hands.

“Damn give her the pickles she’s close to tears, Stevie,” Bucky says unusual softly.

“Here…” Greedily grabbing the pickles you try to open the glass and fail. Cursing you try to get access to the sour little bitches, but the lid won’t move.

“It won’t open.” You whine and Steve takes the glass out of your hands to open it for you. Squealing you take the glass to sit onto a chair to stuff the sour cucumbers into your mouth.

“Damn she really is craving odd stuff.” Bucky chuckles sitting next to you. Wearing nothing but his boxers he places his metal hand onto the table to tap his fingers onto the wood.

“Not bad…” You mutter grabbing another pickle until an odd noise disturbs your cravings festival.

As soon as kick-ass starts hissing you know something’s off. “That’s kick-ass…something must be wrong.” You say and both men jump up.

“Stay here with her. I’ll go outside and check the surroundings. Maybe the cat only saw a mouse.” Steve says but then the door to your house bursts open…

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove

Wrong-Right Tags

@allonszassbutt, @joe-mazzello-is-my-dad

398 notes · View notes

ezilyamuzed · 5 years ago

Text

Ten Years Gone- The Beginning

Description: Ten years ago, your world had changed. Ten years ago, you had met him, leading your life to never be the same again. Time is running out, but is it too late after all these years?

Word Count: 7775

Warnings: Language, Parent’s death, PG teen “cuddle” time.

A/N: This is the prelude of a new series. I was listening to Led Zeppelin's ‘Ten Years Gone’ while watching the early episodes of Supernatural and got some ideas... Enjoy.

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!

TEN YEARS GONE MASTERLIST

*Picture and lyrics used are not mine. Led Zeppelin is Amazing.

Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be

Your legs were sprawled out along the back seat of your uncle’s ‘70 Chevelle as you hummed along to the guitar rhythm and stared out the window. The trees and scenery were whooshing past in a blink of an eye, but it all looked pretty much the same no matter where you were. The autumn quickly changing the leaves that were now falling to the ground. Trees, trees, dirt, and grass. Hey a rock. Sometimes you turned your sight seeing into a game to see how long you could stare out without blinking before you either got dizzy or your eyes dried out. Your record was to the second chorus of The Steve Miller Band’s “The Joker”.

“We almost there? I gotta piss,” you whined up to the front.

Your uncle Danny let out a laugh as he turned his head to the rear-view mirror to see your turnt up nose.

“We’re about 5 minutes away. You can hold it until then. If not, I’m sure there is a bottle or something back there.”

Although he was not longer looking you still give him an evil glare in response.

“You know it doesn’t work like that Uncle Danny.”

“Well if you’re going to keep talking like a rude little boy instead of the proper lady like I know your momma raised you to be, I’m going to keep treating you like it,” he replied back, turning the radio down as he spoke.

“She tried. It didn’t stick,” you rolled your eyes in a humph.

“If only she could see you now. Hell, 14, starting up high school…”

“Yeah, how many schools will I go to this year? The standard 4 minimum?” you added with sarcasm.

“One, smartass,” you could see him smiling as he looked to you in the rear view mirror. “I’ve worked out a deal with a buddy of mine while I go on a business trip.”

“Ya hunting plants, fruits, vegetables, or minerals this time?” You laughed at your own dumb joke.

“Don’t you worry about that missy,” he replied. “You just keep your head while I’m gone. No getting into trouble.”

“Who ya dropping me off with anyways? They in the business too,” you asked while making air quotes.

“Yeah, but recently he has stepped back a little. Actually, he’s been watching two teenage boys around your age while their dad also goes out on the road,” he replied before looking back to you again in the mirror. “And I don’t want to hear about you getting into no trouble with those or any other boys. Ya hear me?”

“Ew, no,” you face twisting in disgust.

“Yeah, you say that now. Soon enough though, you’ll be just like the rest of us and find that special someone that turns ya all stupid enough to want to spend the rest of your life with em.”

You rolled your eyes again as you slumped back further into the seat, keeping you eyes on the road signs as the passed by. Sioux Falls, North Dakota 10 miles ahead. Ten more miles until you can finally stretch out properly. Ten more miles until you might get to sleep in real bed, in a real house, something you hadn’t done for almost three years.

It had been an unusually warm fall that year. With your birthday approaching, your mom and dad were busy setting up everything for your party. Uncle Danny had taken you out to pick out whatever gift you wanted- a butterfly knife with dusty rose handles. He of course argued with you, but with his vast collection of knives that you had always admired, he agreed as long as it stayed a secret between the two of you. He even had an interesting symbol etched into the blade. It was a little star that looked like flames were coming out of every corner. He said it was extra protection, whatever that had meant. After grabbing ice cream he had driven you home, only too see the door wide open with no answer. He told you to stay in the car, but of course after a few minutes you stopped listening. It was your home. Why would you have to wait outside? That’s when you saw what he wanted to protect you from. Both of your parents, ripped to shreds by what looked like an animal. There was no animal in sight though. You don’t even remember exactly what else happened that day. There were sirens and people in uniforms everywhere. Neighbors of course being nosy and gawking at the scene. What you remembered was your Uncle Danny holding you close and telling you that everything would be okay. And you believed him.

Up until now, he had tried his best to juggle everything- his job and raising you were not easy tasks. You got into fights in school quite a bit, but with the fact that you were leaving it in a week or so to go to another, who really cared? There were nights when you were all alone, waiting patiently for him to return, always wondering in that back of your mind if this was the time you’d lose him too. He always came back though, a little beaten a bruised perhaps, but always with a smile.

Eventually he finally told you where he was going during all of his trips. Fighting ghosts and other monsters sounded ridiculous to you, but eventually you realized he wasn’t kidding. He was a hunter- he saved people. And that made him that so much cooler. Over the summer he had started teaching you how to shoot and what things to look for. You had already became really good with a knife, learning little tricks and that with the one he had bought you. He had an old notebook that was filled with drawings and descriptions that you tried to memorize, the ink wearing away with each use. You asked if you could join and help on a case, but he would always tell you that it was no place for a kid to be which was complete bullshit. You could handle yourself. You weren’t scared. But with all your protests, he would not budge, thus bringing you to here.

“About 5 more minutes until we’re at Bobby’s,” he stated while turning left down the road. “Hold on to your bladder just a little longer.”

You re-positioned yourself to stare out the window to see if anything was at least interesting around this guy’s house. Nope. Trees, fields, and a couple houses every once in a while. Great - middle of fucking nowhere U.S.A. You caught the sight of what looked like the after effects of a tornado. Cars and junk everywhere with a little house in the back.

“Welcome to Singer Salvage yard.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you moaned.

“Hey, language.”

“Sorry,” you muttered before speaking up again. “But seriously, you are LITERALLY leaving me in a garbage dump. What the hell am I supposed to do here? Get tetanus?”

“No, you’re going to get an education and have a normal childhood,” his voice sounded angry. “Now I know it’s not pretty, but Bobby is a good friend. He will watch out for you and make sure you have everything you need.”

“I’m going to need a bath,” you mumbled under your breath.

When the car finally came to a complete stop and the dust from the ground settled you were able to get a better view of the place. It was alright, probably looked better on the inside. Well, at least you hoped. Still a shithole. There was another chevelle parked alongside it that was just like your uncles, but more on the run down side. Next to it, a sleek black Impala. That was probably Bobby’s car. Hunters always have a thing for muscle cars. Sturdy, reliable, fast, or “American made” as your uncle liked to state. Whatever the reason, they were nice to look at.

Two men walked out of the house with solemn looks on their faces with two teenage boys trailing behind. You followed your uncle's lead and climbed out of the car to the fresh air.

“Danny, it’s been a long time,” the dark haired man with a gruff voice stated while extending his hand for a shake.

“ Way too long Johnny,” he replied while shaking his hand before moving to the bearded guy with a baseball cap. “Bobby, thanks for doing this.”

“It’s no trouble at all. There’s already two hellions, what’s another?” He chuckled as he looked over at you staring down to the ground, pushing your chucks into the dirt. “You must be Y/N.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a tight lipped smile.

“This is my boy Dean, he’s just a little older than you and my boy Sam who is just a bit younger,” John stated, while guiding the boys closer with his arm, although they clearly could care less.

“Dean, could you and Sam help Y/N inside?” Danny spoke up. “I know I’ve been making her wait to use the restroom, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to know where it is.”

Dean nodded his head and grabbed at your two bags in the backseat before walking past you to go inside. Sam following. You rolled your eyes to your uncle and trailed behind to your new life- at least for now.

You were wrong about it possibly being better on the inside. Nope, it was a shithole too that was covered with books and empty liquor bottles. The decor covered by a pound of dust and cobwebs resembled something like a real house, something someone used to care about.

“Toilets over there,” Dean nodded down the hall while tossing your bags down before he flopped himself on the couch.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you walked down the hall.

Surprisingly the toilet was at least semi clean, although there was enough hair trimmings in the sink to resemble a small animal.

After finishing in the bathroom you walked out to the living room area. Dean was sprawled out on the couch with a comic book and Sam was sitting on the floor next to him with an old worn down book. Out of place and unwelcomed were the nice ways of saying how you felt at that moment. After grabbing your book bag, you sat down at the kitchen table all alone, not knowing what else to do, but to stare at the walls.

“You boys helped Y/N find her way,” you heard your uncle's voice say as he entered the room.

Dean nodded as he turned the page on his book. Sam looked back at him, following his queue. Your uncle approached you, sitting himself down at the seat next to yours.

“See, it’s not that bad, right kiddo?”

Even though your head was down, you looked up to him through your lashes, rolling your eyes just a little towards the two boys.

“You’ll be fine,” he smiled. “Just give it a little bit and I’m sure you will all be getting along just fine when I come back.”.

“How long?” You asked although you could guess the answer already.

“Not sure kiddo,” he grabbed your hand and held it gently. “But I’m going to call every Sunday night after dinner time to check in on you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Just come back to me okay Uncle Danny?”

“You be good Y/N;” he said as he returned your hug back before standing up again. “I’ll see you soon kiddo.”

He never promised that he would come back. It was a promise that he couldn’t make. He knew it and you knew. He always said that he would never make a promise to you that he couldn’t keep. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

You watched as he shook Bobby’s hand by the front door, turning to give you a loving smile before leaving out the door to go to the next job that awaited him.

“So, how about you boys actually show Y/N where her room is.” Bobby stated firmly, causing Dean to roll his eyes as he slapped the comic book shut. “You two know how it goes around here. We’re not savages. Now get going.”

“Yes sir,” the two of them mumbled as they got up from their spots.

Both boys each grabbed one of your bags, still not saying anything really directly to you as they walked up the stairs. Bobby was standing with his arms crossed watching them closely as you followed behind them.

“This one is where Bobby sleeps,” Sam informed you while pointing to a door. Dean and I are in this one, and you’re the last one down the hall.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” Dean scoffed. “You get your own room.”

“Lucky me,” you stated back with sarcasm. “I get to live here with you.”

Dean turned his head to you with a glare before he opened the door and switched on the light. It was a simple room, surprisingly organized and clean. It was almost like someone had cleaned it recently.

“This was Dean’s room,” Sam informed you, making you feel a little guilty about displacing him. It wasn’t like this was your choice though.

Dean tossed the bag he was carrying down onto the bed with a thud. Sam chose to use the gentler approach of setting the bag he was carrying on a chair in the corner.

“So what’s your story,” Dean asked as he sat down on the corner of the bed.

You shrugged, as you moved through the room, checking out the view from the window.

“You travel with your uncle,” Dean stated. “So where’s your parents?”

You turned and looked back to him silently, not really wanting to talk about the tragic backstory of your life.

“Okay, don't talk to us then,” Dean rolled his eyes as he stood up.

“Dead.”

He paused in his steps and turned to look at you, mouth agape. You returned to look out the window again before continuing, hoping you would see your uncles car any moment again to take you with him.

“It’s just me and Danny;” you continued as you looked over to them. “So what’s your story?”

“Mom’s been gone a long time and dad is in the business,” he stated with some sort of pride. “The family business.”

“Doesn’t a family business typically mean that more than one member of your family is doing it?” You snarked back.

“I’ve gone out on hunts before,” he stated in defense. “I’ve seen a ghost before.”

“Good for you,” you rolled your eyes again. “So why did he leave the two of you here then.”

“Dean got in some trouble on his last hunt,” Sam spoke up.

“What, did you act like an ass to the monster too?” You smirked to Dean.

“That’s a long story,” he said as he started rubbing the back of his neck. “So how long are you here for?”

“Who knows?” You responded. “Hopefully just a few days, maybe weeks.”

“And you’re like what 13?”

“Fourteen,” you corrected him. “I’ll be fifteen-.”

You stopped yourself short, not wanting to discuss or even think about the fact that you had a birth date like everyone else. It was a day you’d rather forget. You finished your sentence with the word “soon” popping off your lips.

“Are you going to be going to the high school with Dean then?” Sam asked.

“I guess so,” you shrugged. “So What is there to do around here anyways?”

“Read,” Sam replied with innocence, Dean rolling his eyes in response.

“There ain’t much to do, but there’s always something you can find to at least pass the time.”

“Like what?” You asked.

Dean laughed while nodding outside.

“Well, you like cars?” He asked as you gave him a side eyed glance. “We got tons of em out there.”

“What do you do? Try to fix em up or something?”

Dean shrugged as you all heard Bobby yelling up the stairs to start getting ready for dinner.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Sam said as he walked out the door.

“Is Bobby strict?” You asked Dean who was still standing there, waiting for you to go downstairs as well.

“He’s alright, can be strict at times,” he replied back. “He does his best to make sure that we have some sort of normal in our lives.”

“What’s normal?” You rolled your eyes. “Being dropped off with some strange dude in a shit hole.”

“Give it time,” Dean laughed. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than staying in a crumby motel every night alone. ”

You paused your steps to the door as you heard those words leaving his lips. Motel and alone. Well that summed up the last three years of your life. Guess you did have more in common with these two boys besides being dumped off. If they could handle it, maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad after all.

The next couple weeks weren’t that bad. You had started high school with Dean showing you around. The fact that he became somewhat protective of you was probably why you didn’t seem to have any trouble with the other kids. The boys seemed to be scared of him, and the girls seemed to be in love with him. Each Sunday as promised your uncle would call to check in, consistently avoiding the topic of when he would be coming back. It was alright though. You had become so busy with your school work and hanging out with the boys that you didn’t mind it so much. Bobby’s house was slowly becoming your home.

“So to find the slope, you take the difference from the two Y points and divide by the two corresponding X points,” you stated to Dean as the two of you sat at the kitchen table.

“Why do I even care?” He grumbled.

“Well, slopes give you an idea of the rate of acceleration. Like in a car,” you stated. “Say you know that if you start at the end of the driveway and move to the other end in 60 seconds, you can determine how fast you were going.”

“Or I could just look at the speedometer,” he grinned.

“Smartass,” you laughed as you shoved his arm. “Okay, so you see a Rugalu, and they move from point A to point B in so many seconds. How fast do you have to move your ass to get the hell out of there?”

“Who says I wouldn’t stay to fight?”

You rolled your eyes to him again. Clearly at this point he was just being a smartass.

“Fine, you don’t run away. So how much faster do you have to be to gank him then Winchester?” You asked with a cocky smile.

“Just got to be faster,” he replied. “Who cares how fast?”

“Well, let me give you a little insight into physics and biology. You expel more than enough energy for a task, you deplete your energy storage. Making it easy for the other Rugulu to take you down.”

“Okay, point taken,” he laughed. “Math is important. So how did you become so smart in this shit anyways?”

“My dad was a science professor,” you shrugged, before realizing that you had mentioned him for probably the first time ever to Dean besides the fact that he was dead.

“And your mom?” Dean prodded a little further.

“History professor,” you replied while taking in a deep breath. “Guess it just rubbed off on me. Anyways, do you get it now?”

“Oh, I got it about a minute after you decided to try and help me,” he smiled. “I just wanted to see how far I could get you frustrated before you gave up.”

You smacked him lightly on his arm as he laughed in response.

“You’re a dick,” you laughed. “Why did you want to see me get frustrated?”

“Because I think it’s awesome that even when you don’t know how to help someone, it gets to you so much that you don’t quit,” he smiled. “That and when you realize that you did in fact help someone, your eyes kind of light up a little. You’re a good person Y/N.”

The way that Dean was looking at you as he spoke was so genuine; no one besides family had ever done that before. It made you feel something at that moment. What it was, you weren’t sure. You bit your lip nervously as he leaned over, pulling his text book back over to him.

“So question 4, find the y-intercept,” he read from the pages.

“You helping Dean with homework there Y/N?” Bobby stated as he entered the room with Sam, both carrying bags of groceries that could probably feed a small army. Or in this case, the Winchester boys for a weekend.

“Just making sure he gets it,” you smiled back while standing up to help them put the groceries away.

Peering into the bags, there was an item that you had told Bobby in secret that you needed that you didn’t see. He had either forgotten, or was too embarrassed to pick it up.

“Um, Bobby,” you muttered. “Ya forgot something.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows until it dawned on him. He mumbled ‘crap’ under his breath before exhaling loudly.

“I suppose you need ‘em soon,” he sighed, you nodding in response. He looked over at Dean finishing the last question of his homework and closing the book. “Dean, take Y/N and my car to the little corner store. Be back in twenty for dinner.”

Dean squinted his eyes in confusion as he grabbed the keys from Bobby. You rolling your own eyes that now Dean was going to be very well aware of the gross part about being a girl: your period.

You trailed behind Dean after Bobby handed you some cash, muttering an apology as you walked away. In less than 3 minutes, with Dean obviously ignoring anything that resembled a speed limit sign you were at the store.

“So what did you need? Make-up, hair stuff?,” he inquired as he followed you in, making you give him a funny look. “Didn’t know if all of the sudden you were trying to look like those other girls in the school.”

“I’d rather live forever in my comfy jeans and t-shirts then to ever be like them,” you snarked back, as you approached the feminine section.

Dean’s eyes followed where yours went, staring at the boxes of tampons with little flowers printed on them. It was not something he knew a lot about, but he knew enough. He reached over and grabbed a box, staring at the packaging.

“I don’t know why they try to make it all fancy,” he pondered out loud. “I mean, a girl can bleed for a few days and still kick your ass. They should have something more fierce on the box. Like a warrior princess.”

You shook your head with a laugh, catching on that Dean was trying to make this would be awkward situation into a joke.

“My dad used to say that they used these for bullet holes,” he stated while grabbing two more boxes. “We should probably stock up knowing our luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll need some.”

Your laughter died down as you followed Dean to the register when you saw a group of guys looking and nodding over to the two of you with smirks.

“Looks like Winchester isn’t getting laid this week,” the one stated out loud. “Unless he’s into walking the red carpet.”

Johsua Adams. A notorious prick that thought he was God’s gift to women. First day at school and he had already tried, and failed, to have you,the new girl cozy, up behind the bleachers with him. Dean just sat the products down on the counter, clenching his jaw as he turned to him with a grin.

“No, that’s what your girlfriend is for.”

Josh’s smile faded quickly, his face hardened now approaching Dean rapidly with you standing next to him. You felt Dean’s arm push you back by your waist, surprising you for a second until you saw what happened next. Josh yelled a ‘fuck you’ as he swung his fist towards Dean’s face, Dean almost effortlessly caught him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Now you’re going apologize for your remarks and you're going to go back to your little circle jerk,” he seethed, holding him steady as he tried to break free.

Josh’s friends all moved from their spot, clearly pissed off that their friend was being hurt. Dean shook his head stating ‘uh huh’ as he twisted Josh's arm more to make him yell out.

“Now I’m going to let you go,” Dean instructed the Josh in his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And you all are going to leave me and my friend alone, or next time I won’t be so nice.”

Josh nodded his head, giving Dean the queue that he was going to comply. His friends all stared the two of you down hard with anger as they walked out of the store. You had almost forgotten the fact that you were in a store until you heard the onlooking cashier behind you.

“Your boyfriend there is a good guy,” she stated. “Those boys are nothing but trouble. It was about time someone showed them their place.”

You didn’t argue what she had called him: your boyfriend. Definitely not. Probably not ever. But she was right, he was a good guy. You handed her the money as you lead the way out the door to Bobby’s car. The two of you opening the doors and setting yourself in.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” You asked with enthusiasm, the whole act was something you had only seen in the movies.

“My dad,” Dean replied. “And Bobby a little. Why?”

“Teach me,” you said as your turned your body to him with intrigue in your eyes.

“What?” Dean exhaled audibly. “Why?”

“You really have to ask?,” you sounding surprised. “Come on Dean! There are tons of assholes out there like that, plus knowing how to take care of myself would definitely help with, you know...those other things that we aren’t supposed to talk about.”

“There is no way in hell I’m teaching you any of that,” he looked at you directly with seriousness on his face. “You haven’t had to know what it’s like to fight for your life; you’re lucky and blessed. And I will be dammed if I ever let you get mixed up in that shit.”

“It’s not like I’m not already mixed up in it Dean! Something supernatural killed my parents. Hell, I’m being raised by hunters! Do you really think I will ever just get on with my life and not have that following me?”

Dean growled lowly, as he shook his head.

“Fine,” he stated as he turned the key in the ignition to bring the engine to life. “But this is between us. If Bobby knew, he’d kill me.”

“I promise.”

“And leave Sam out of it too. That kid is going to be a doctor or lawyer someday.”

“No problem,” you agreed. “Thanks Dean, for you know, what happened in there.”

“ Anytime,” he said as he pulled out of the spot and drove down the road. “He had it coming to him anyway.”

“And I know why you’re scared to teach me how to fight Dean.”

He glanced over at you with confusion, making you smirk in return.

“Because you know I’ll be able to kick your ass,” you replied with snark.

“Oh darlin,” he shook his head with a laugh. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The next week, Dean and you had figured out a routine on when he was able to teach you. Most of the time it was right after dinner when Sam would be caught up in a book and Bobby would pass out drunk at his desk.

The garage light was enough for you to see what you were doing, and far enough away from the house so they couldn’t hear you.

“Okay, so again,” Dean stated, making you follow his directions in the sequence as he rattled them off. “Left punch, right punch, left uppercut, and a right hook.”

You did as you were told, until he stated to go faster, and then faster again. Dean shook his head in disapproval as he watched.

“You’re locking your arms too much,” he said as he gripped your right elbow. “You’re going to break something of yours, not theirs.”

His hands moved to reposition your arm, tickling a little as he touched your skin; making you flinch back with a giggle.

“Ticklish huh?” Dean smirked as his eyes grew wide.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you laughed, as you noticed the devilish look in his eyes.

He reached over as you tried to move out of the way, and furiously tickled you all over in an instant. Your laughter echoed through the room as you tried to get away, but he was not stopping.

“Stop Dean! Stop,” you gasped out in between your laughter, tears now rolling down you eyes. “I’m going to piss myself!”

He continued with his own laughter as you twisted yourself and started to fumble backwards; grabbing onto his arms to bring him down as well as your back hit the ground.

“Ow,” you laughed again, Dean propping himself up on his hands next to your sides, staring down with a grin. “See what you did?”

“Rule number one,” he smiled. “Know your opponents weak spots.”

“Uh huh, and where’s yours?” You smirked as you started to tickle his rib cage.

Dean moved swiftly and pinned your hands down on the ground with a smirk. Your breath caught in the moment, with your chest rising and falling deeply to catch it. He stared down at you as you looked up to him. The feeling that arose was different, and by the looks on his face he was feeling it as well. He paused himself for a moment, before leaning down and pressing his lips onto yours gently. An act that surprised you at first, but it felt right. Your first kiss. Your first real kiss was happening with Dean on a dirty garage floor, but you didn’t care. You found yourself returning it, moving your lips along with his, opening them just a little as you felt his tongue glide across them. You didn’t really know what to do. It’s not like this was really covered in health class, but you glided your tongue with his, moving them together in sync. It felt smooth, sending a warm feeling down your body as you felt his hand now touching your face, bringing you closer and deeper into his.

“Whoa,” you heard Sam gasp aloud, causing you to both break away and look over at him in panic.

“What the hell Sam!” Dean yelled.

“So that’s what you two are doing,” Sam smiled. “You two are making out every night!”

“Get out of here Sam before I kick your ass!” Dean yelled again.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just don’t let Bobby, dad, or her uncle catch you. They just called.” They’re coming back.”

“He’s coming back?” You sat yourself up, knocking Dean back a little in your action. “When?”

“They said they’d be here after school tomorrow,” Sam answered. “So that probably means we will be moving on too.”

Dean sighed out loud and nodded as he stood up, shaking the dirt off of him before extending his hand to you to help you up. As you got up you felt the mixed feelings of dread and excitement. You were going to see your uncle again, but at the same time you were now probably going to lose Dean. You stared down to the ground as you followed the boys back into the house. Dean instructing Sam to keep his mouth shut about what he had seen. You went upstairs to your room, trying to ignore Dean’s glances as you shut the door and flopped down on the bed. The feeling of his lips still lingered on yours as you gentled touched them with your fingers. What was going to happen next?

You awoke from your deep sleep as you heard the sound of your door opening. Glancing at the clock it was just a little after midnight. You sat up and turned to see Dean walking in with a solemn look on his face.

“Hey, didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized.

“Yes you did,” you smiled in the dark room, the only light peaking through the curtains from the moon outside.

“I just thought, since tomorrow we might be parting ways, maybe we should talk about what happened?” He nervously replied.

You nodded as he sat down on the edge of your bed, you sitting up straighter and pulling the covers up to your chest. You could see the hesitation in his face, unsure of what exactly to say. The silence was lingering, only growing with anticipation of what he was about to say fiercely within you.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

You were confused for a moment, but you laid your hand on top of his in reassurance.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you replied softly. “It was nice. Unexpected of course, but I don’t regret it.”

“I’ve just, I don’t know,” he paused again. “I just was trying to keep you away from knowing how I felt about you.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I like you Y/N,” he confessed as he looked at you. “I mean, it's hard not to. You’re someone who genuinely cares about people, and I didn’t want you to get hurt when I had to leave again.”

“What makes you so sure that you will have to leave?” you asked. “I mean, maybe they’ll let us stay here for a little longer.”

“Doubt it,” he sighed. “You don’t know my dad. He won’t care. The only thing that matters to him is taking care of Sam and finding what killed my mom.”

“But what about you Dean? I’m sure he cares about you.”

Dean shook his head, you catching the sight of a lingering tear fall down his face.

“I was happy once before, not too long ago. I had a semi normal life away from them with someone I cared about, but he didn’t care and I couldn’t leave Sammy.”

“Dean,” you found yourself reaching for his face to look at you. You searched in his face to find whatever guilt he was holding back. “Tell me what happened.”

He sighed again as you dropped your hand down. His eyes searching for an easy way to tell you, possibly scared at your reaction.

“You know how Sam told you I had screwed up on a hunt? Well that isn’t true. I got myself in trouble and found myself at a boy’s reforming home. I got to go to school, do normal teenage things, and I had met someone there that I think I might have loved.”

You just found yourself nodding, although the last part hurt just a little, but you could tell it was still something he was still hurting from.

“Anyways, my dad showed up after months even though he knew where I was the whole time and made me come back. He was angry and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then of course I thought of Sam. I’ve been protecting that kid my whole life. I couldn’t walk away from him.”

“I understand,” you whispered. “But Dean, you do know that you can be happy again. No one knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“How is it that you always know the right thing to say?” he chuckled softly.

“Because I’m awesome,” you smirked back with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, well I’m going to get back to my room before Sammy realizes that I’ve left,” he said as he started to get up, but you grabbed his hand to stop him.

“If this is really possibly the last night I get to see you, I don’t want you to go,” you confessed as you let your grip fall. “I don’t know exactly whatever it was that I felt earlier, but I don’t want to give it up yet.”

Dean looked deeply into your eyes as he moved to crawl under the covers with your assistance of pushing them back to allow him access. He laid his head down on the pillow next to you, gazing at you, moving the hair out of your face as you mirrored him. You nuzzled your face into his hand as he cupped your cheek. He was hesitant, but you moved your face closer to his. Biting your lip a little before you leaned in and felt his soft, full lips on yours once again. He followed your lead and before you knew it, you felt the same warmth as you did before now hitting harder as your lips moved together by the light of the moon. It was a feeling you never wanted to let go of as you pushed your lips on his harder. His hands now resting on you, one holding your head steady, the other caressing your hip. It tickled a little, the way his hand touched your skin, making you moan just a little, wanting more. His lips moved from yours, trailing along your skin and down to your neck as his hand moved from your hip to your heaving chest. Through your clothes you could feel him grasping your breast gently, not wanting to be rough. You didn’t know exactly what had pushed you in the moment, but you pulled away from him and lifted off your shirt to leave your chest expose to him. You wanted to feel his skin against yours as he watched you with wonderment in his eyes before crashing his lips against yours once more. His hands were now all over you, feeling every inch of you as you continued. His lips moving to discover new spots on your body and the pleasure-filled reactions they ensued from you. It could have been only minutes that it continued, but it felt like forever until the kisses and touches started to slow down. Dean looked into your eyes, as he pulled away with a deep breath.

“I think I love you Y/N,” he confessed. “And I don’t want us to do anything that neither of us are ready for just because we may never see each other again.”

“I think I might love you too Dean,” you smiled back. “And I agree with the one part, but I know this; we will see each other again. When we’re both ready, perhaps a bit older, things will be different.”

“You always know just the right thing to say,” he smiled again as he pulled you into his arms to lay your head on his chest.

“Goodnight Dean,” you yawned as you nuzzled into him.

Dean placed a kiss on top of your head, not allowing himself to fall asleep right away. He wanted to hold on to this feeling just a little longer as well because tomorrow, he knew it was all going to change.

“Jesus fucking christ,” you heard Bobby yell out loud, snapping you awake in an instant.

Dean sprung himself up from the bed, leaving you to cover yourself up with the blanket. A look of fear and panic in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on here?” Bobby demanded.

Dean held out his hand to try and calm him down, but it was not working.

“Bobby, it isn’t what it looks like,” Dean pleaded. “We didn’t do anything. We were just talking and I fell asleep.”

“Her shirt was off, and you just fell asleep?” Bobby looked at Dean with disappointment. “Do I look like an idjit to you? Now the two of you get dressed, in your own rooms. You have school and then your dad and your uncle will be here after.”

“You’re not going to tell them are you?” you asked in a panic.

Bobby glared at the fear in Dean’s and your eyes as you awaited his answer.

“I’m supposed to be watching the two of you, and Dean you know better,” he glared at him hard. “I for sure ain’t saying shit to them. But you listen to me, this stops now or so help me I will kick both of your asses into next Tuesday.”

“Yes sir,” you both nodded in reply, feeling a little sense of relief.

“Now get dressed,” Bobby stated as he walked out the door.

You took in a deep breath and exhaled out as you turned to Dean who was almost out the door.

“Dean?”

“You heard him, get dressed,” Dean said gruffly before walking out, shutting the door behind him.

Dean hadn’t said anything else to you as you silently ate your breakfast and on your way to school. He was completely ignoring you now, even when you tried to speak, he chose to go the other way or say something to someone else. How he was acting was hurt, but you tried to just let it go, knowing he probably was just protecting himself and you from what awaited when you walked through the door after school.

You saw your uncle and John sitting there waiting with Bobby. None of their faces really looked happy.

“Dad-“ you heard Sam say as he walked in behind you.

“Time to pack your bags boys,” he instructed. “We’re moving on.”

“Yes sir,” you heard Dean state as he started for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” You asked out loud, making them all look at you in disbelief that you would even question what was happening.

“Say goodbye to Sam and Dean, Y/N,” Danny stated as he stood up and gave you a small hug. “It’ll be awhile before you see them again.”

“This is bullshit,” you exclaimed. “Why do any of them, any of us have to go anywhere? What to live in the back of a car or a crappy motel, not knowing if any of you will ever come back?”

“Danny, settle down that girl there,” John advised.

“No, fuck you, ya prick,” you spat out, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. “They’re happy here, we all are. Bobby may not be our family, but he’s been here. He is at least trying to give us a normal life. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

You felt guilty after hearing your words leave your mouth, as you looked up to your uncle. He had tried to be there, he just couldn’t. You now realized why he had brought you here in the first place. He knew he couldn’t do everything you needed. He was really trying to give you the life you deserved.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you cried to your uncle before you ran out the door.

You plopped yourself down on the ground, tears flowing down your face. You heard the sound of gravel moving under someone’s steps, but you didn’t flinch.

“That was some speech you gave in there,” John’s rough voice stated as he sat himself down next to you. “I can see you’ve really become attached to my boys and this place.”

You just nodded your head, feeling anger and resentment towards the man next to you.

“Me too,” he confessed. “That’s why they’re coming with me.”

You looked at him baffled, not understanding why he was even talking to you after what you just said.

“Your uncle is a strong man. One of the best guys I’ve ever known. He is doing right by you in letting you stay. I’m not as strong,” he sighed. “I need them around. I look at them and on my weakest days I can see my Mary in their faces. It’s what keeps me going as I try to figure out what happened to her.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I feel like everything has been sugar coated for you for probably way too long,” he replied. “What happened to her, what happened to your parents, well someone has to stop it.”

“My parents…”

“We’re not sure if it’s the same thing, but we sure as hell won’t stop until we find it and kill it,” he answered back. “I know it’s a tough life for all of you kids, but you’re getting older now. You should know. Dean, he has been in this for so long, he knows what is expected. Sam, well although I’d like to keep him out of it, this has been his whole life. This is just what happens. You say your goodbyes and move on.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You will,” he smiled.

You both heard the door of the house swing open and shut, Dean walking out with a green duffel bag with Sam behind him. He paused as he looked at you both, unsure of what was happening. John looked over at you and Dean staring at each other, as Dean put his head down and helped Sam into the car.

“They’ll be alright Y/N,” John stated, making you turn your head to him. “And so will you.”

He got up from his spot and brushed the dirt off of him as he walked towards his sleek black car.

“You boys all set?” He asked.

Dean nodded as he stood there with the car door open, looking at you with sadness in his eyes. John turned to see you doing the same as he opened up the drivers door.

“Let’s get a move on it,” he said as he sat himself inside.

Dean looked down again, before looking back to you. You mouthed the word ‘goodbye’ as he nodded and got inside the car. The trail of dust they had left behind took minutes to disappear, but as it went down slowly and was gone, you knew they were now as well.

John’s words with everything that had happened replayed in your head. ‘You will’ he said, and at that moment, you hadn’t realized or known just how true that really was.

Tags: (Let me know if you don’t want added!) @snffbeebee @waywardnerd67 @waywardbaby @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @wildefire @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name @hobby27 @iamabeautifulperson18 @19agbrown @sonotalice @drakelover78 @aloneanddesperate @pisces-cutie @biawol @jamielea81 @fallininjapan @justkending

#supernatural #supernatural series #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #ten years gone #ezilyamuzed #dean winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #dean x reader

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softeddiek · 5 years ago

Text

and it’s peaceful in the deep

reddie fic post ch. 2

i ended up writing about this post i made, because i apparently like hurting myself. just richie grieving aka me grieving

3.8k words | read on ao3

He waits until everyone else has left town before he goes. (In the days leading up, he tries not to think too hard about how one of them isn’t leaving. One of them will never leave. He must repress that thought pretty damn hard for him to end up doing what he does.)

Bill leaves first. He’s stuttering out about his wife and needing to go see her—there’s a small part about a movie tacked onto the end, so small that, if he’d actually been paying attention to Bill when he said it, he would realize Bill almost gave less of a shit about the movie than Richie did. Almost.

Next is Bev and Ben. They don’t leave at the same time, though he knows they have plans to meet up together. (They would have left together, they would have, he just knows it. He wouldn’t have let Eddie leave Derry alone, not this time.)

Ben leaves before her, surprisingly. Derry had held bad memories for all of them, what with being terrorized by a fucking alien being or some shit guised as a clown not once, but twice. Bev especially though. But Ben leaves first. Something about getting his place ready. About taking their time, getting in contact with his lawyer, about her not going to her home just yet, not until Ben can fix things. Or that’s the gist of what Richie catches them murmuring about as they all eat dinner above the library in Mike’s cramped living quarters (They eat, but Richie finds he can’t. Not until he wakes up from a long fitful sleep, the ache in his stomach—the one caused by hunger—too much to ignore.), obviously not wanting the other three to hear too much.

(Richie does still hear some of it. They try to keep it quiet, they really do, but it’s just like the kiss in the quarry—he’d still seen it, even though it had been underwater. Still grits his teeth as he thinks about the plans he won’t get to make, the first kiss he won’t get to experience.)

Mike is last. Mike who had never left Derry, off to Florida, of all fucking places. It’s Mike that proves the trickiest to convince that he’s okay.

The Losers had still been somewhat in tune with each other even after nearly three decades, but Richie had always been good at fooling people. (He hears “fairy” being spit after him in his head, thinks of Pennywise floating above him, taunting him, and knows he hadn’t been able to fool everyone, not about everything—that had been his big fear after all, hadn’t it?)

So when he tells Bill and Bev and Ben that he had to get a later flight out—a mix up by his agent and no, really guys, he’s fine, he’s leaving this shithole as soon as he can, and yes, he’ll still call, and hey, why don’t you guys all come to his next show (you know, when he’s not too fucking traumatized and grieving to do one)—they believe him. They still send him wary looks, squeeze him a little longer than they ever did as kids when they hug him, but they leave all the same, doing their damn hardest to not look back, to move on from this place, again. Only with their memories intact and promises to see each other anywhere that isn’t here. They may have defeated It for good this time, but that could never erase the painful memories that this place holds. They didn’t need It to bring them forth for them. (He’s sure he’ll become all too familiar with those memories even when he’s far away from Derry again. A repeat of the nightmare that he’s just lived down in that well; the one scene from that night that’s been on a loop in his head—behind his eyelids when they close--since it happened.)

But Mike…Mike knows the look of someone reluctant to leave. He’d spent his whole life here after all, digging into the past, the only one to really remember them all, never leaving. Seeing each Loser leave Derry one by one, onto bigger things, forgetting each other and him.

He’s as jokey as he can be when trying to convince him he’ll be fine, but Mike doesn’t bite. He asks if he wants him to postpone his trip, to spend some time here in Derry with him helping him recover or, hell, even rerouting his plans and seeing California first (“They’re both sunny places, aren’t they?”). And Richie feels a pang in his chest over his friend worrying about him. Richie hasn’t had anyone to worry about him in a long time—not anyone that wasn’t paid to at least. (Not since the Losers but especially not since Eddie. Eddie’s worry had always felt so different, something nobody has been able to match even now. Not for Richie.)

But eventually something works. Whether it’s the fiftieth joke or the hundredth sigh, something he does makes Mike relent. A part of him screams at that, at the last of them finally leaving him alone in Derry. They all deserve to forget about It, he knows that, knows that he wants to as well. But why do they all just get to move on as if Eddie isn’t stuck here? Stuck beneath piles of rubble, down in the dark depths of the earth where It had lived and fed? Why do they get to go back to their wives, to each other, to new places and adventures, when Eddie will never get to? Why do they get to move on from Eddie—one of their best friends—just like that, and he doesn’t? (He knows why.)

A small part of him feels bad for not being this distraught over hearing about Stan. He tells himself it’s different—he didn’t see Stan murdered in front of his very eyes. Stan didn’t die trying to save him. He hadn’t gotten the chance to reconnect with Stan. He wasn’t in--.

It was different, but it didn’t mean he cared any less about Stan. Still, the part of him that’s actually able to process other things—the part of his brain that hasn’t found itself dedicated to dissecting that moment over and over again—still feels a little bad that his grief for Stan had found itself pushed to the side so easily.

When Mike has left, texting their new group chat to let them all know he had safely boarded the plane (Richie responding with a few complaints about what a bummer it is his flight had to be so late, but not enough to overdo it) he goes.

Everyone in Derry knows the way to the Neibolt house. It wouldn’t have mattered if Richie had never stepped foot inside of the place—if It had never happened to them—everyone just knew about the dilapidated old house. Even so, he knew he’d never forget the way there, even if he came back to Derry a hundred times with his memory wiped clean of It. It had become engrained in there.

He drives there now, alone for the first time. When he gets there, he parks the car on the side of the street, across from what is left of the house. The city had been informed about the collapse, chalked it up to old infrastructure, and promptly left it alone. Glad to have wiped their hands of it finally; the eyesore that really must have been fucking with all of Derry’s small-town charm.

Flashes of the house go through his mind, in three different states, all progressively worse. In one second, he’s standing in front of it as a kid with his friends, bikes in a pile in front of the gate. Eddie with his fanny pack, right before his arm had ended up in a cast. Bev with her hair chopped short. Stan and Mike with nervous expressions. Ben, short and stocky, eyes flitting to Beverly every now and again, something that hasn’t changed. And Bill. Always the leader. Bill ready to charge in and take on It; wanting to save the many at the risk of the few.

He knows he’s bitter. It’s not Bill’s fault Eddie was dead. Not really. They all knew the dangers going into that house, every time. (Only why had it always been Eddie?) But the darkest parts of him that are still grieving can’t help but wonder what might have happened if Bill hadn’t rushed them into it the other night. If they had had more time to prepare or, fuck, to get Eddie’s face looked at. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been there at least, sitting in some emergency room getting his face stitched up instead, and it would have just been the five of them.

The younger Bill in his mind suddenly morphs into the older one, how he looks now. In his forties and still ready to charge in, leading the Losers. They’re missing one, and soon to be missing another.

Just as quickly as they came, those images disappear, and all he’s left looking at is that fucking pile of rubble. He clenches his jaw and turns to his rental car, grabbing a flashlight he’d lifted from Mike’s place out of the passenger seat. It’s evening now, the sun beginning to set beneath the trees, the chirping of crickets thrumming in the air.

Realistically, Richie can tell he’s going through some form of disassociation. Has been since the drive over, his detachment worsening upon seeing where the house stood. (Had it looked this bad in the dark that night?) He feels his feet moving as if on autopilot, stumbling against the pavement and into what’s left of the yard, with no care for whether or not the ground is stable.

His legs give out, knees buckling beneath him until they hit the ground, the impact reverberating throughout his body. The flashlight falls to the earth with a soft thump.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, tears pricking at his eyes. It all comes rushing out. “I’m so sorry, I tried to come sooner, I tried Eds, I really did, they wouldn’t let me.” He wipes harshly at the now falling tears on his face. “I’m gonna get you out man, I promise. Okay? You won’t have to stay in the dark. I know you hate the dark.”

He’s suddenly crawling forward to close the short distance between himself and the start of the pile, hands and jean-clad knees dragging through the dirt. When he reaches it, still kneeling, he doesn’t stop to come up with a plan, just dives headfirst into it, yanking haphazardly at wood and twisted metal, throwing pieces into a pile behind him.

(Years later, when he’s grown used to reliving that night in his nightmares, he will realize just how very far down they had been, how deep It’s lair had gone. He would know then how absolutely futile that trying to dig down there—by hand no less—was. But now all he can think of is being ten and having a sleepover at Bill’s with Stan and Eddie—a rare thing on account of Eddie’s mom. Bill and Stan had long fallen asleep and Richie himself was just on the brink of it when he realized that, beside him, Eddie was still tense and awake. He’d stayed up talking with him for another hour until Eddie had managed to fall asleep, not mentioning it the next day and keeping it to himself even a few months later when he spotted a nightlight in Eddie’s room.)

(There are a lot of things he didn’t mention to Eddie, he thinks bitterly.)

He keeps going, dirt shifting as he drags unwilling pieces of that house away. Part of his mind is flitting through tools that will be needed—something for digging, something big, something that can go deep—but the most prominent voice in his head, the one pushing him through this impossible task, just whispers, Eddie, Eddie Eddie. It’s that voice that makes him ignore the sweat dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes, mixing with the dried tears that have left his face feeling tight; the voice ignoring his quickly burning arms.

He jerks upright to his feet, tripping toward the progress he’s made to yank at a larger piece of wood in the pile—like cleaning up the pieces of a rotted corpse, he thinks, letting out a shaky breath. He grabs onto the board, tugging to dislodge it, his motions jerky and uncoordinated with fatigue, when he stumbles backwards. The board comes with him, landing on his stomach and knocking the wind from him, while his right hand reaches out behind him to stop his fall, instead connecting with the end of a nail jutting out from a nearby piece of wood he’d already put to the side.

“Motherfucker,” he yells out, the nail cleanly piercing through his palm upon impact, the most he’s been able to feel all night.

He can feel his breath coming out in short pants, eyes wide, adrenaline rushing through him alongside shock as he quickly jerks his hand back up, the nail exiting the same way it entered. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard, drawing the metallic tang of blood.

He lifts the now shaking hand to his face, seeing blood oozing from the wound through the thick lenses of his glasses.

All of a sudden, he can hear Eddie’s frantic voice, clear as day. “What the fuck man, wrap your hand up, quick! You need to go to the emergency room before you get tetanus. If you wait too long, you’ll get a fever and, and your muscles will start twitching and shit, and you’ll die.”

His lips begin turning upward into a smile, quickly overtaken by a grimace, while his eyes close, focusing on Eddie’s admonishing tone of voice. A voice he’ll never hear again.

He’d always thought that when one part of your body was hurting, that if you hurt another, you would no longer be able to focus on the original pain. Well, that was fucking wrong, because it’s like putting that nail through his hand heightened the rest of his senses, and he can feel the wound in his hand on top of his aching arms and the pounding headache he apparently has.

He lifts his left hand away from where it’s putting pressure on the right, struggling to lift it up enough and tear off a strip of his shirt. When he’s managed a poor attempt at wrapping up his palm, he just sits, unable to make himself get up and leave for the hospital.

(He had fucking waited. He waited for them all to leave. He was the only one willing to go back for Eddie, he’d promised. He can’t leave him down there.)

He doesn’t know how long he actually sits there, hand on fire, arms weighed down like lead. It had been dark when he’d stabbed himself. His flashlight still sits a few feet away, unused, his eyes having grown adjusted to the dark and dim lighting from the moon as the sun had set. It feels like it’s only been a few minutes but, in reality, it must have been hours. The air is cooler, and he can hear the chirping of birds, as if heralding the sun and, with it, a new day. He shakes his head, astounded at how he’s managed to completely zone out, sitting through the pain of his hand. He had thought about nothing--it’s like an entire night has been stolen from him. Had he fallen asleep; eyes open? No. He couldn’t have. No way would he have had a dreamless sleep, especially not here.

It’s the longest he’s gone without thinking of Eddie since that night, he realizes. He can’t help but laugh. How fucking ironic that he’d finally be able to escape from the thoughts haunting him when he’s literally sitting atop Eddie’s grave.

His eyes roam back over the pile of rubble that was once a house. He swallows heavily, eyes closing as his mind finally catches up with his actions. Impossible, it whispers. Literally fucking impossible.

He feels more tears springing free now, amazed that he has any left in him, and presses his palms hard into both eyes, relishing in the pain he feels from the pressure on them and the fire radiating from his hand. He can feel something sticky on his cheek, blood most likely.

Such an idiot, he thinks. He wonders what might have happened if only he’d stopped trying to cling to Eddie’s body, instead using his energy to get the others to carry him. To bring him back up then. The rational part of him knows that wouldn’t have been possible—they didn’t have the time or the energy. (That darker, worse part of him wonders what would have happened if he’d have been able to resist his friends pulling him away from Eddie—to stop himself from following them out as the rocks rained down. Would they have come back for their bodies if it was two of them? Was two the magic number that Bill thought was worth risking it for?)

He shakes his head, telling himself to stop redirecting his anger at his friends. The thing he should really be angry at is dead, destroyed forever.

And Eddie is below, forever. There’s no way of getting him, Richie. That’s where he has to stay.

“It’s just a body. It’s just a body. It’s just a body,” he chants lowly to himself, over and over again.

It’s fucked up, ultimately. Eddie will have to stay buried there. There’s nothing Richie can do about it. Even if the other Losers were with him, digging, there’s nothing they could do about it either. And, everyone ends up in the dark eventually, right? Whether in a casket or in a furnace; in a shallow grave or deep down in the lair of some demented space clown. It’s not like Eddie could literally see himself sitting in the dark. What mattered was how Richie was viewing it. He’d been projecting his own thoughts—how he thought his Eddie would feel stuck down there. And yeah, it’s super fucked up. Eddie would agree if he could. But he would just have to try to get over it—to try his hardest to stop remembering Eddie’s lifeless body, all alone as those rocks came down, and instead remembering him how he knew him best—things about Eddie that his mind had slowly been reminding him of since they had returned to Derry.

With a cast on his arm. With his fanny pack. His polo shirts and too short shorts. A sneaky grin on his face. His mouth downturned when he was pouting. His hands, dragging his inhaler up to his mouth, panic settling on his face over some minor incident. His laughter as he jumped into the quarry with his friends, splashing each other on a hot summer day. His calm smile as he looked back at Richie, pedaling down the road on their bikes with their friends.

The older Eddie. His face more weathered, his spirit more beaten, but still the same Eddie. Those same wide eyes filled with laughter. That same bossy tone and sarcastic attitude that would come out when Richie would say something dumb.

(Later, he will think of an even older Eddie. The one he might have had. But for now, his mind spares him that thought.)

He looks a few yards to his left, spotting a familiar patch of wildflowers. He has a faint memory of there being more around the overgrown yard than there are now. He stumbles to his feet, weak from all of the physical exertion and lack of food over the past few days yet, somehow, he manages to reach them. He yanks a few out of the ground with his good hand, roots and all.

He stands in front of what was once Neibolt house, not daring to kneel again lest he be unable to get back up. Setting the flowers down gently, he closes his eyes, taking in the gentle rays of the sun beginning to peak past the horizon.

“I love you Eds. Always have,” he lets out on a sigh. “I’m not sure when loving you turned into being in love with you but…I just know I’ve felt that way for a very long time. Even if I forgot. And maybe if I had told you, you wouldn’t have cared. Or maybe you would have. Or maybe you would have been grossed out, fuck, I don’t know.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “I like to think you would have felt the same but…. I’m just sorry I never got the chance to tell you before everything happened. So, I’m telling you now. My agent always did tell me to work on my timing,” he lets out a weak grin. “You’ll be okay here.” He shakes his head up and down slowly, as if reassuring himself. “Your body might be here, but you’ll always be with me Eds, promise.”

He clenches his jaw and allows himself to stand there for one last moment. Tears in his eyes, he swallows down the lump in his throat and hurries away, back toward his car. He yanks open the door, and plops into the seat, letting out a strangled cry before starting the engine, ready to get away from this house once and for all.

It’s only a day and a half later when he finds himself finally making his way out of town, right hand bandaged up, arm still sore from the tetanus shot he’d received at the hospital. When he pulls to a slow stop on the bridge, it’s with that hand that he puts the car into park. Leaving the engine on, he gets out and makes his way toward the side of the bridge; a spot he hasn’t stood in in decades.

The letters are still there, well faded into the wood with time, but still legible. He would’ve been able to find the spot with his eyes closed. As he crouches in front of the wooden planks, he feels it all rushing back to him. The guilt, the shame. The fear. He thinks about Stanley’s letter that his agent had had forwarded to him. He thinks about being brave.

As he presses his knife back into the carved R and E, separated only by a plus sign, he doesn’t think of Eddie’s body. He doesn’t think of his final resting place. He thinks about Eddie and all of the time they did have. He thinks of Eddie, his best friend. Eddie, the first boy he ever loved. He just thinks of Eddie.

He lets out a shaky breath, looks at that R+E one last time, searing it into his memory once again, and turns back toward his car, deciding to be brave.

#reddie #reddie fic #it: chapter two spoilers #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fic

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thisartemisnevermisses · 5 years ago

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Suburban Life 8/-

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: angst, fluff, death, drama, comforting, sad reader, slow burn.

Summary: Steve had his daily run every morning. While running through the streets he noticeds a house with it’s lights on. A woman is dancing to the music, while making breakfast. Two childeren join her and they start eating. Steve is fasinated with the life of this little family and even stops to withniss this suburbane life every morning during his run. Feeling the need to settle down and the one question remaining Where is the man beloning tot this family?

A/N: ohoh...there’s going to be a rough patch..let’s see how we get out of this one.

Chapter 08: Accepting Change

“I'm sorry, that was out off line”, Steve pulls back, a blush creeping upon his face. “It’s okay, it was a nice kiss”, you say softly, smiling at your hands, “Steve..I..-“

" I think I should go", interrupting you, looking guiltriden and even a little frightened. “You don't have to..please don't feel guilty or out off line. I don't know about you, but I feel attracted to you. There’s something that pulls me towards you. I think I’m entitled too, I’ve been a widow for 3 years, gives me the right to move on, right?" you look questioningly at Steve seeing an insecure look in his face, makes your heart drop. Thinking that the feelings aren't mutually, you see the concern in his eyes, “Is something wrong Steve?”

"Its just that..my work. It’s dangerous...I'm away for unknown time...not being able to contact you...You can’t know what.." Steve stumbles, you start laughing, he looks suprised at you.

"Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. Steve, uhmmm...your overthinking things. Sweetie, I know who you are, I know the hazard your work brings. So don't freak out..Lets just take it step by step and get to know each other", shrugging your shoulders.

"At least I think you like me, listening at you rambling about..", making eye contact, seeing the insecurity in his eyes."I.. need to think about..I don't want to make you worry or make the kids worry about my wellbeing.."Steve mumbles.

"Steve, you're way ahead of yourself..I know what your trying to do..But can you actually give me a good reason why we shouldn't try this..Isobel, and I think Alex too, already figured out we like each other. She even said I should try it, giving me the okay", you smile at Steve, seeing that your words aren’t affecting him. It seems to make him doubt this even more.

“Don't be afriad of hurting us, or leaving us behind, we will manage..You're trying to be responsible, think with your head, but need to start thinking with your heart.. Steve, it’s alot and you don't want to betray mine nor your heart, but is worrying about that fair to your heart", taking his hands, you look him in the eyes, “Go home and think about this..I will wait for your answer, either way, you're most welcome in our home", squeezing his hands affirmation, seeing his still worried expression, he’s in conflict with himself and you can’t do a thing about it.

You stand up and walk towards the door. Steve looks at you, not knowing what to say. He wants to be with you, his whole body longs for you. He doesn't want you and your kids to go through something samilair when a mission goes wrong. It hurts him, just thinking about it. “Come here, Captain”, motioning for him to give you a hug, engolving you in a tight hug. Resting your head against his beating heart, you sigh and look up to him, “Steve, don’t overthink it, okay” you kiss him on his cheek, lingering for a moment by his lips, swallowing your thought away, you bit him goodnight. Hoping you would see him tomorrow. Walking into your bedroom, you can’t seem to stop smiling. You guess that Steve feels the same way, but is scared about his line of work and your or your kids reaction. He doesn’t want you to get hurt again. He has a loving heart, but shouldn’t worry so much. Thinking that way, kept him from making friends and finding love. You would talk with about that tomorrow. Your last thought before falling asleep was about Steve and how it would feel if he lay by your side. Waking up, you didn’t want to get up. You had the most beautiful and may you at little steamy dream. You rather wanted to stay in bed and linger in that dream a little. A blush open your cheeks, thinking about the scene before you woke up. The teenage girl in you squealed and made you feel embarrassed. Deciding that chores didn’t do them self, you stand up with a heavy sigh. Looking at the clock, you smile, within an hour or less you would see him again.

Once downstairs, you start your morning routine. Cheerful humming to the music on the radio, you ask yourself when you would hear that knock on your door and if you should make pancakes?

“Morning mommy, did you sleep well?” Alex greets you giving you the brightest smile ever. “Yes little buggy, why’d you ask..” you eye your youngone suspicious, “Oh, just asking mommy.” he smiles again. When Isobel is downstairs, she walks in and out of the kitchen. It look like she is searching for something. Coming back into the kitchen she finally greets you, “Morning..where’s Steve? It’s 8, even if it’s saturday, he normally would be here”, she looked a little panicked.

Looking at the clock, you notice the time and start to worry. He would be here by 6:30, that meant he was an hour and a half late. It was not typical for him. You start to doubt yourself and wonder if it was your conversation last night, that made him think otherwise. Did you scare him of? The radio interrupts your thoughts.

“We interrupt the show for a newsflash. This morning we got the news that the Avengers know as Captain America, Scarlet Witch and Falcon are missing. They were on their way to Peru when their plane went off the radar. It is unknown what had happened to the Avengers. As far as we know, there hasn't been radiocontact since last nights. Please look out for any kind of information and keep listening for updates. If you have information please contact with the following number....” That was the reason he wasn't here, went on a mission last night, not being able to tell you. Now he or rather they were missing. He would be alright, right? Nothing to worry about, right? "Mommy is Steve alright, he's missing right?" Alex looks at you, "I don't know little bug." you kneel infront of him and give him a hug. You feel Isobel's arm around you. Could your family make it through this?

---------------Time Skip---------------

Standing in the kitchen, you clean the dishes while listening to the radio. There’s still no news about the missing Avengers and you pas worrying. For nearly 3 weeks they’re missing in Peru. The first week you were calm and confident, as days started turning in to weeks you gruw worried and felt anxiety for Steve. What had happened, were they still alive, was one of them wounded or even worse captured.

Your mind starts racing again, just like it had the last week, mostly at night. You were sleep deprived and functioning on coffee and adrenaline. Isobel helped you as good as she could and even Alex was sweet and didn’t pick fights with his sister. You noticed that they were worried too, but didn’t dare to admit it to you, seeing your state.

How’d you love to see him, tell him how you felt. That missing him made you realise it wasn’t just a crush, your were in love. You wanted to take his worries away, but this situation made you realise, why he was so worried. You hadn’t slept for hours and had time enough to think about being in a relation with Captain America. If he would give in to his feelings, only if, it could mean you had more of these nights. Question was, were you ready for that? It would be foolish to think you would get used to it. It was something that had to be discussed, maybe even set rules and boundaries, not only for you, but for your kids to. Realising what this did to your family, it also made you realise how you missed him. More then you would like to admit. You missed his warm arms around you, his sweet and soft voice, the blush upon his cheeks when he was embarrassed and those lips, that kiss, if that was just a taste of what was to come.

Washing the glass for the umpteenth time, when a knock on your door, made you check in to reality. You blink a few times and hear a second knock. Alex and Isobel come out of the living room, you motion them to stay there, not knowing who’s at the door. You look through the window and see a star-spangled uniform, it looks tattered and even bloodstained. Could it be Steve? It couldn’t, right? Looking around for any kind of weapon, you choose an umbrella, slightly laughing to yourself and your choice.

Opening the door, you are greeted by an tired, blood and mud stained, Steve. When you lock eyes with him he gives you the brightest smile he can give in his state. “Steve..” you choke out, smiling back at him, tears starting to run down your cheeks. You steps towards you and picks you up in a tight hug. Fully embracing you, his arms around your waist and shoulders, breathing in your sent, when you hug him back he wimps in pain.

Pulling back from the hug, you look him in the eyes, cup his face, “Hé, welcome home.” you caress his cheek, while he nods silently. “See, this is what I was talking about..” he says with a raspy voice, trying to reinforce his point. You shuckle a little and shake your head.

“Lets talk about this later”, you pressing your head against his, sighed, breathing in his sent, his cologne, mixed with iron, earth and sweat. “Alex, Isobel, he’s here.” Within a second there are thundering footsteps, two pair of eyes looking if it’s really him. When they realise it’s Steve, they jump in his arms. “Hello, you two, carefull”, Steve smiles and kneels to hugg them tight.

“Hey, I missed you guys he smiles, the tears in his eyes finally falling, he held them in for so long. Seeing those two and you back, was the most wonderful gift he got, after getting back from that shithole. “euw, you stink.” Alex eclaims, taking his distance from Steve, while pinching his nose. Laughing at the reaction off Alex you motion for Steve to come further, “Come on, Captain, time for a shower. I think I have some clothes from my husband lying around.” You pull Steve inside, seeing something move on his back. Turning him around you see his duffle bag, hang on his shoulder. “uhm, I couldn't wait any longer. I wanted to see all of you, as soon as I got out of the plain.” he looks apologetic at you.

“No really! didn’t figure that one out. It’s the second door on the right.” Rolling your eyes at him, he jump up the first two flight of stairs, forgetting his injury for a moment. “Captain, wait a minute.” Steve turns around, seeing you approach him, going up three stairs, you’re at the same level as him. “You’re hungry?” asking innocently, his eyes darken and a grin appears on his face. “Not, tonight doll.” He smiles, blushing from his own forward reaction and you staring wide eyed at him, “I didn’t mean that!” you exclaim, making Steve turn crimson. “uhm,, yeah, in that case, I would kill for a sandwich.” He tries to gain his composure. “Okay, one sandwich coming up.” You smile, giving him a wink. Walking down the stairs, he takes your hand and turns you in one swift moment. “Don’t be so cheeky, doll”, he says hoars against your lips, then kisses you. The kiss is just long enough to know that it isn’t a just a kiss, it’s full off emotions and an unspoken promisse.

“Go clean yourself up, there’s a first aid kit under the sink. I will make something to eat. When the kids are in bed we can talk.” You smile soft. “Yes, ma’m”, he salutes and runs shuckling upstairs. This felt good, it felt like home. It was something he came to realise during his survival in the rainforest. For days they walked around, trying to hide for a group of mercenaries, Wanda and Sam wounded, Wanda having panic attacks and him feeling useless, taking as much of the night shifts as he could. He went with days without sleep, thinking of you and your little family. Thinking of how he couldn’t let you know where he was, not telling you how he really felt, how he regretted not taking that kiss tot he next level. When everyone was asleep, he would feel miserable, blaming himself for leaving you alone, yet again. It was thinking of you and those two energyballs of kids, that kept him going those weeks. When they finally reached a little village, they were able to make contact. He felt so relieved, knowing he would get to go home, to you and promised himself he would not chicken out, once you two were alone. He would come clean about his feelings for you.

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #MARVELFAN #captain america #captain america x you #romance #fluff #angst #singlemother #imagen #imagine #reader insert #suburban #family

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fanfoolishness · 6 years ago

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and the steel gleaming

(Hawke almost died dueling the Arishok. Maybe a part of Varric really did.)

***

Funny, for a dwarf with an eye for scene and detail, there was sure a fucking lot he missed that day.

He didn’t hear the cheers, raggedly drawn from the throats of the terrified nobles. He didn’t hear the Qunari terms of peace, laid down in slow methodical words over the Arishok’s corpse. He didn’t hear the footsteps of the people, Qunari and Kirkwaller alike, leaving the chamber.

Instead a ring of words pounded in his head, a steady droning rhythm. Someone had said them forever ago, but Varric still hadn’t managed to parse the meaning. Wasn’t he supposed to be good at wordplay? He couldn’t figure these out, though.

She’ll be all right. She’ll be all right. She’ll be all right.

But how the shit could he believe that when he’d seen the Arishok’s blade run her through?

Varric shuddered, a vicious, whole-body roil that almost ended with him getting sick on the floor. He swallowed his gorge back, sucking in deep gulps of air -- but the air itself seared with the metallic tang of blood, and he gagged again, barely keeping it together.

Think of something else. He glanced back at the Arishok’s crumpled body, forgotten in the far corner where he’d fallen. Someone had covered him with a tapestry, some half-assed attempt at decorum. Varric could still see the old bastard’s horns sticking out from under the woven wool. It made him smirk for a second. That helped.

He looked away from that mess and caught Anders’ eyes. He’d been afraid to look after -- But Blondie crouched on the floor with Hawke’s dog beside him, Min cradled tenderly in his arms. She looked calmed, her cheeks a warm brown once again instead of that drained, terrible paleness they’d worn a few minutes ago. She was still covered in blood and swollen-eyed, but she looked alive again.

Definitely better than the alternative.

“She’ll be all right,” Anders said again, and this time Varric realized it wasn’t his own thoughts repeating the phrase, but the real man. Anders was white-faced, dazed, looking as shaken as Varric. “But we need to get her home. She needs rest.”

“Let me help,” Fenris said, his face settling into a grim, tense mask. “Healing her has nearly killed you as well.”

“You suggested the bloody duel --” Anders began, fire glinting suddenly in his eyes. At his side Molossus whined, sensing danger.

Varric stepped between them, waving arms that felt improbably heavy. He was exhausted, even though he hadn’t been the one dueling. He supposed the events of the past twenty-four hours had finally caught up to him.

The effort it took to speak was surprising. He managed anyway. “And she chose to fight it,” said Varric. “You got a problem? Take it up with her.”

“The dwarf is right, as usual,” Hawke murmured, stirring in Anders’ arms. “It was the only way.” She coughed, blood flecking her lips, and Anders’ focus immediately returned to her and her alone. She blinked owlishly when Anders kissed her on the forehead. “Why do I feel so fucking awful?”

“Come,” said Fenris, his voice softening. “You need to rest, Hawke. As do you, mage.”

“I’ve got her,” said Anders roughly. “Just help me up.”

Varric followed after them, his head swimming, weird patches of detail piercing his fog intermittently. There was Molossus, nosing Hawke’s cheek and woofing gently. Fenris and Anders, each gripping the other’s hand, the shorter elf hauling the gangling mage to his feet. The way Hawke’s arm slung over Anders’ neck with a practiced familiarity. Fenris stopping, bending, carefully collecting Hawke’s daggers from the floor.

The floor. Varric stared at the carpet where Hawke had lain: stared at the wine-dark pool of blood on its surface, redolent of rust and copper. There was so much blood that its sheen reflected flickers of torchlight like an oil slick; so much he could see the heavy curve of it resting atop the carpet, too thick and clotted to soak in.

So much blood, and all of it hers.

***

He tried to sleep. Honestly, he did.

He knew rest would be good for him after the madness of the attack on the city, the horror of what had happened to Hawke. He and Fenris had both retreated from Hawke’s estate to go recover once Hawke and Anders had gotten safely inside. It had sounded good on paper.

But it wasn’t in the cards tonight. Not with snatches of memory jostling in his mind’s eye every time he tried to drift off, flashes crowding out the darkness. Images like blood vessels burst in the whites of Hawke’s eyes, the rattle as she’d tried to breathe before Anders’ magic saved her; images like her mouth open in a wordless scream, the wicked blade running through, and the steel gleaming, gleaming red --

So here he was in Hightown in the gray pre-dawn light, cold and cursing himself and his stupid vivid imagination. She’s fine. Blondie said she’d be fine. It was just that he couldn’t believe it, tossing and turning in the wide bed at the Hanged Man.

Gallingly, the bar had been looted so he couldn’t even drink himself to sleep with Corff’s worst whiskey. The stuff could take down a bronto, it was said, though all Varric had wanted was to knock out one uneasy dwarf.

He shook his head, cursing his luck, then rapped his knuckles against the door of Hawke’s estate. After a few moments the door opened to reveal Bodahn with a lamp in hand. “Well, good night to you, Messere Tethras! Or is it good morning?” He peered outside. “Hard to tell right about now, isn’t it?”

“It’s both way too late to be staying up, and way too early to get out of bed,” said Varric, shrugging. “I hate to bother you right now, Bodahn --”

“But you’re worried about Messere Hawke. Of course, of course. Come on in.” He ushered Varric inside and gave him a sympathetic smile. “We were all so worried about her when we saw the state she was in. Orana wept, and I don’t mind saying I was frightened myself. My boy Sandal was inconsolable until we knew she would be all right. He’s always looked up to her so.”

Varric knew there was a joke in there to be made about dwarves and heights and humans, but he wasn’t in the mood. He simply nodded. “How’s she doing?”

“She did ask for you earlier, now that I recall,” supplied Bodahn. “Perhaps she’s still awake. Messere Anders is with her now. It’s been very hard on him, of course. Why, I couldn’t believe it when he said she fought the Arishok. In single combat? You’ll have to forgive me, I wasn’t expecting Kirkwall to be so -- well, violent! Never thought I’d have to worry about keeping my boy safe from Qunari. And here I thought Ferelden during the Blight was a challenging place to live.”

“Ah, come on, Bodahn. You and I both know Kirkwall’s a shithole,” said Varric mildly. It was simple inescapable fact.

“Now, though, it has its charms,” Bodahn began. He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “It’s got very interesting architecture, for one!”

Varric chuckled, a dry, papery sound that hurt his throat. “You’ve got me there. Interesting’s definitely one word for it.” He considered. “You said she asked for me? Hopefully she’s awake again. I’ll just go on up and say hello, if she’s doing better.”

He took the stairs quickly, hardly noticing his surroundings. He’d only been up here once before, after Leandra, but he knew the way.

“Hello?” he called, heading to the room with the candlelight spilling through the cracked door. He poked his head in to see Anders, bent over the fine four-poster bed, deep in concentration. A faint aura of golden light surrounded him, but it was much dimmer than that of his usual healing state.

“Hallo, Varric,” said Anders, not taking his gaze from the bed. Varric edged inside, noting that Hawke was bundled up in the covers, the only visible part of her a mop of dark tangled hair against a pile of pillows.

Words erupted from his mouth. He tried to temper them, to tamp the sudden rising panic down. “She’s still okay, right?”

“She’s doing better. Though I’m afraid she’s fallen asleep again,” said Anders, straightening up. He looked exhausted, a smear of Hawke’s dried blood on his cheek, his hair at odd angles, rips in his robes. Blondie’d taken a beating in the fight up to the Viscount’s Way, but Varric suspected it was the strain of healing Hawke that had hit him the hardest.

“I thought she was just asking for me,” said Varric, trying to hide his disappointment. She’s all right. Isn’t that enough? He knew the answer, though.

Anders huffed ruefully. “She was, earlier. Something about how you owed her a pint for doing something incredibly stupid.” He gave her a fond, if almost teary, look. “Don’t worry. It’s normal, you see, after healing of this magnitude. She’ll be in and out of a deep sleep for a few days, I predict. I’m sorry if Bodahn got your hopes up.” He sat down heavily in one of the chairs by Hawke’s desk, then nodded at Varric.

Varric settled into the other chair, his feet failing to reach the floor. “Mind if I wait around for a bit? Just in case she comes to again?”

Anders gave him a weak smile. “Of course, Varric.” He leaned over in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “That damned Arishok. Why she thought she could best him in a duel--”

“She did, though.” Got to remember that. Don’t think about what almost happened.

“Watching it was excruciating,” Anders mumbled. “Knowing they would kill her outright if I moved to help her -- I was going mad. It was torture, and I don’t use the word lightly. This was torture.”

“I know,” said Varric, looking down at his boots. The floor between them was clean, pristine, plush carpet with a nice pattern. No blood here. “Scared the shit out of all us.”

“How could I have let her do it?” he choked.

“Come on, now. She’s Hawke. She does what she wants. Think she’d let you get in the way if she thought she was doing the right thing?” Varric reached across, jostled the mage’s arm with his elbow.

A weary chuckle. “Fair enough. But I keep wondering about what might have happened. I did everything I could for her.” His voice dropped. “It nearly wasn’t enough.”

“Don’t say things like that, Blondie,” said Varric warningly. It was one thing for Varric’s imagination to run away with him. It was another thing entirely to hear the healer say it. Because if Anders thought that, Anders, the one who’d held her life in his hands -- Varric thought he might never sleep again.

“But it’s true. I almost lost her, you know,” Anders whispered through his hands. “I could feel her slipping away. I reached for every bit of mana I could muster, but I couldn’t staunch the bleeding, not at first, and I could feel her growing fainter and fainter --” There was a rough, muffled sound, and then Anders’ shoulders shook, seized with sobbing breaths.

Varric quickly averted his eyes, wildly searching for something else in the room to look at, ending back at his boots again. Shit. It made sense -- all that pent-up terror and guilt and worry and care, it had to come out somehow -- but the fact remained, he wasn’t good at dealing with shit like this. Hawke was always so much better at this.

For a moment longer than he liked to admit, he thought of just getting up and leaving. Maybe it’d be better to let Anders figure it out on his own; maybe he’d just be embarrassed to have Varric stick around. If it was him, he wouldn’t want one of the others fussing over him --

But it’s not you, is it?

He sat still for a moment. Smoothed the cloth of his trousers beneath his gloved hands. Stretched the fingers out, watched them still until he could no longer see a tremor.

He reached for Anders and gripped him by the shoulder, his leather glove firm on the feathered accents. “It’s all right, Blondie. She’s gonna be fine.” He took a breath. “She’s got you, doesn’t she?”

****

He sat in his room in the Hanged Man, oblivious to the noise downstairs that meant Corff had discovered a forgotten barrel of his terrible whiskey. The resultant cheers and bellows faded into the background, as did a lot of other things. He’d lit a fire some time ago, he knew that much. How long had it been?

The fire sputtered, guttered, gave itself to soot and ashes. Candles on the table dripped wax on the wood in crimson puddles. He wished they weren’t red. He made a note to purchase white ones tomorrow.

He’d finally slept a little during the day. He’d come back home after Hawke woke up again, insisted on hugging him, and winced from the contact, then tried to punch him in the shoulder and winced again. He could still feel her tap on his shoulder, weak as a kitten’s.

“Not even you can get away with that kind of bullshit, Sparrow. Taking on the Arishok single-handedly? How am I going to make it sound convincing? Nobody’s going to believe it.”

“That’s your greatest concern, is it? The story?”

Ahhh, he could never lie to her. At least, not about that. “Come on, Hawke. Just… try to be a little more careful next time, all right?”

“So you were worried about me? Oh Varric, I’m touched.” A sweet sentiment, followed by a lazy wink and a racking cough.

Blondie had shooed him away, citing Hawke’s need to rest, always the attentive healer. But she’d called out, “Don’t forget, you owe me a pint!” as he left. And Varric had smiled, even while Anders led him further away, even while Anders was the one to stay.

He gazed at the cooling fireplace, then returned his attention to the matter at hand. Ink stained his fingertips, visible even in the dimming light. Clumsy of him. It wasn’t surprising, though; this wasn’t elegant work. It was cheaper than that. More desperate.

He thought of blood clotted on the carpet. He thought of panic, and terror, and the way Hawke looked so peaceful, sleeping in Anders’ arms.

It’s not you.

He sighed, ignoring the ache in his chest, the sudden sting in his eyes. He’d known that for a long time. Knew it where it bit him deep.

The ache grew, a gnawing burn. Still, though, it didn’t matter. He was fine. Well, he was going to be fine eventually. He knew he wasn’t particularly good at feelings.

But he was very good at denial.

He set ink to paper. Dear Bianca, he wrote, nib scratching against the vellum, and the steel gleaming in the candlelight glinted gold.

#hawke x varric #varric x bianca #dragon age 2 #varric tethras #varric #hawke x anders #min hawke #HI THERE ENJOY THE ANGST!

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wilhelmjfink · 6 years ago

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“was” pt. 12

this one’s kind of dark sooo........ sorry i guess

Y/N had been tossing and turning in bed, blinds shutting out the rays sunlight, covers burying her in the dark and shielding her from real life when a commotion outside forced her to at least check it out.

The Saviors had returned.

She didn’t want to see them — she didn’t even want to think about them. She wanted to crawl back into the big, empty bed and wallow in self-pity and cry until her eyes couldn’t produce anymore tears. Maybe, she thought, if she closed her eyes tight enough she could block them all out and they would just disappear.

But Negan’s powerful voice was accentuated by a megaphone, and there was no chance of her ignoring his speech. Especially when he spoke her name: “Y/N, doll, I know you’re in here somewhere!!” He taunted her, driving more cries from deep inside of her soul as she grabbed her head in her hands with fistfuls of her hair as a distraction, hoping to cry loud enough that she could tune him out. “I brought you a little ‘welcome back to the shithole that is Alexandria’ gift!”

She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she screamed anyway. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

But that was something Negan simply could not do.

“If you don’t come out, I’ll have to send somebody in to each house and tear it apart until we find you,” he threatened, though she could hear the sinister smile in his voice. Another sob racked her body at the thought of being the ultimate reason for Alexandria’s downfall; the responsibility of lives and belongings lost because of her inability to cope with reality. He already took the one thing she cared about most in this world. What else did he want?

One of his men had shot her — on purpose; tried to kill her. What was left for him to take?

The last five days had been plagued with a suffocating agony unlike any big she had ever felt before. The first time Negan took Daryl, she thought she couldn’t be anymore distraught. But the second time around, after he’d escaped the first time.... she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wait to find out what they were doing to him.

Every time she shut her eyes she’s reminded of the things Daryl described to her from before; of the torment he’d gone through, how she was the only thing that kept him going... what would they do to him this time?

The Daryl she knew was strong enough — her Daryl was strong enough to withstand anything that was the thrown his way. But from the things she’d heard from her friends about how he’d been acting lately, she wasn’t so sure she knew him that well.

In fact, she wasn’t so sure she knew herself that well, either.

She’d never been a coward or one to half-ass things, taking the easy way out of difficult tasks. But with all of the things that had happened to her in just a couple of weeks, she felt like she was an entire different person, just a vacant shell of her former self that hovered outside the realm of real life and stood idly by, just watching these events play out like some sort of fucked up thriller movie. And lately, she’d been contemplating if any of it was even worth it anymore.

“Don’t make me start counting down, Y/N...”

Her eyes were clamped shut so hard her temples were being to throb painfully with each beat of her heart, relentlessly trying to ignore him, though it seemed like every word he spoke got louder and louder and physically hurt her.

Just keep trying, she thought to herself. Maybe if he thinks you’re sleeping, he’ll ignore you. Maybe if he just believes your dead or gone, he’ll leave. Or maybe, if you were really dead, he would actually give up on you and leave you the fuck alone.

Under Y/N’s bed laid the bag that she’d shoved there the day before after talking with Carl about breaking into the Sanctuary. She was going to leave that night... if she could ever get past Rick. And now that Negan was here, the whole plan just seemed hopeless and bleak.

And then he started. “Ten...”

She reached under the bed, fumbling blindly until her fingers grazed one of the straps and she yanked it out from underneath her. The largest zipper pouch on top held her 9mm Ruger and its suppressor. Nobody would even hear it.

“Nine...”

She tore the gun from its place and several other items fell with it, clambering on the floor around it. She ignored them, figuring they wouldn’t mean anything to her soon anyway.

“Eight...”

Her hands were trembling as she gripped the cool metal, observing the gun in front of her, checking to see if it was still in he state she’d always intended to keep it in. It was — one in the chamber, a full magazine with the safety clicked on. Two clicks, and Negan would finally leave her alone. The guilt, the emptiness, the bottomless fear she harbored, the not knowing, it would all be gone with one flinch of her finger.

“Seven...”

She’d thought about doing this when the world first ended. How scared she was, how alone she’d been, starving and tired and withering away, it had all driven her mad at first. But then Daryl had shown up, finding her hiding out in that old barn, and literally swept her off her feet and in no time somehow managed to weasel his way to her life. It seemed like decades ago.

“Six...”

The sensation was vague but familiar — the steel clinking dully against her teeth, the metallic taste reminding her of her own blood.

“Five...”

Was she really going to do this?

“Four...”

Her eyes were trained in the wooden floor, subconsciously glancing over the materials that were scattered around her feet. Some stray shots. Hair ties. Bandaids.

“Three...”

A Swiss Army knife. A whet stone. That stupid Polaroid of her and Daryl she’d forced him to take back at the prison. Her heart hurt.

“Two...”

She clicked the safety off. The longest few seconds of her life were spent waiting for Negan’s booming voice to hit his final countdown, signaling to her to pull the trigger. To fucking end this agony she couldn’t shake.

She was tired.

And ‘one’ never came.

In its place was heavy silence. And she didn’t have the guts to do it — at least not without her cue, she told herself. Instead of the number echoing through Alexandria and ringing out in her head, she heard a ruckus outside, and tried desperately to ignore it while her finger hovered over the trigger, ghosting it ever so lightly, trying, fucking trying, to just do it. Come on. Just fucking do it. You’re a fucking coward! Just do it!

“Y/N!”

She was caught off guard when something hit at her, knocking her backwards off of the bed and sending her gun soaring out of her hands and it landed harshly on the hardwood where it slid several inches before laying still.

Something heavy was on top of her and she fought it, swinging her arms and kicking her legs and cursing, confused and dazed and absolutely furious. Whatever held her down was far too strong for her, much heavier and much taller and she stood no chance against its strength. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until she was forced to open her eyes and try to distinguish the figure through blurry, tear-stricken vision.

“What the hell are you doing?!” A familiar voice that usually brought her comfort and reassurance this time sent a chill down her spine, sounding more like nails in a chalk board than home. Rick quickly leaned over to pick up the gun that was discarded at her side, not trusting it to be within her reaching distance, still holding her down as she thrashed under him to break free.

“You think this is the answer?! You think... Y/N, this isn’t...”

“What in the god damn is going on?” Negan’s voice cut off Rick’s lecturing, silencing him immediately and filling Y/N back up with the dread and the crippling fear that seemed to replace the anger she’d felt against Rick for trying to stop her from ending it all. But then, with a newly found vengeance, that rage came flooding back -- at literally everything.

All she could do was yell, an infuriated growl that was supposed to help release some pent up rage, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate it. She began flailing again, struggling to break free from Rick’s hold. He held the gun behind him, eyes wide, confused, afraid — he refused to release his grip on Y/N, positive now that she needed his help more than she wanted to admit it. “I hate you!” She screamed. “Why won’t you leave me alone? Just leave me alone!”

Rick tried to relax her, to shush her and calm her down while she thrashed about underneath him, but she wouldn’t stop. “Let go of me! Let go!”

“Well, shit, if this isn’t the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Even if Negan did mean it, his voice told them otherwise. At least until he noticed the gun Rick was grasping behind him at arms length, maneuvering it away from Y/N’s grasp as she tried to retrieve it -- only then did it seem to truly catch up to him. “Ah, shit...”

“I fucking hate you!” She screamed again, her voice wavering. “I...”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first dozen times, doll.” Negan left out a hefty sigh and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin thoughtfully and Rick thought that maybe for once he would actually fucking leave them alone, at least for the rest of the night.

But of course, Negan couldn’t have that. “You know, at the Sanctuary we have a doctor — used to be a psychiatrist or somethin’.” Rock turned toward him, daggers in his eyes as Y/N continued to writhe beneath him, sobbing and pleading, whimpering unintelligibly. Negan stepped back, holding his hands up defensively. “Shit, sorry, Prick, just trying to help.”

“Help?” Rick barked over his shoulder at the man towering over him. “This is your fault!”

“Alright, well, I respectfully disagree, but I’m not here to discuss all of the who did what’s. So, anyway, I’ll let you guys have your little LifeTime movie moment here.” He turned to saunter out the door and stopped in the frame. “But if she isn’t down there with me in five minutes, I’m going to come back up here and shoot her my damn self.”

:-(

one more part.....

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever @sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic @crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93 @96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ima-mther-fckn-starboy @thatsoragan @lonewolf471

#the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x reader #reader insert #twd #twd daryl #twd fanfic #twd fan fiction #twd imagine #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl dixon #so many redundant hashtags

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

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CSJJ Day 11: Finding The Altar Epilogue: Destination London

A little addendum to Finding The Altar, which I wrote late last year. I had a request to write Emma and Killian’s trip to London, and what could be better for @csjanuaryjoy than a New Year's honeymoon to one of my favourite cities in the world? This is a straight-up London tourist brochure, and I'm not even sorry. It's also sweet and fluffy and super short, like candy floss on a shortbread biscuit. Grab a cuppa and enjoy!

BTW if you haven’t read FTA, you can find it here, or if you don’t want to bother just know that this is author!Killian and deputy!Emma, just married and expecting a baby, taking a trip to London together at the New Year.

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @teamhook @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree

Destination London:

London was everything Emma had hoped it would be. Crowded, noisy, grey, dirty, but full of unexpected corners and surprising crannies, quirky and weird and just so ridiculously British. Suddenly she understood Killian a lot better.

They did all the touristy things: Blocking foot traffic on Westminster Bridge to get a photo of themselves in front of Big Ben, Emma rolling her eyes as Killian explained that the clock tower was just a clock tower and that it was actually the bell that was called Big Ben; taking a tour of Westminster Abbey and dawdling through Poet’s Corner, marvelling at all the famous names commemorated there; dodging the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, Emma barely resisting the desire to pout because she was too old and too pregnant to climb up on the lions’ backs; shopping in Covent Garden; gaping at the Crown Jewels the Tower; taking a million photographs from the top of the London Eye. They walked hand-in-hand along Southbank, grazing from the food trucks there before taking a river taxi to Greenwich where Killian excitedly took Emma thorough the National Maritime Museum and the Old Royal Naval College, only wincing slightly when she lit up in recognition.

“Oh, yeah, this was in that Thor movie!” she cried, grabbing his arm.

“Indeed,” he replied, with a long-suffering sigh. “Shall we go see the Greenwich Meridian?”

Their trip coincided with the release of Killian’s third novel, which had turned out just as well as Emma had predicted and suddenly launched him from a glowingly-reviewed but lightly-read novelist into a bestselling one. His agent scrambled to take advantage of this surge in popularity by arranging book signings and other appearances in London, waving away his protests that he was “on my bleeding honeymoon, mate,” and aided and abetted by an Emma who was so proud of her husband that she thought she might burst with it, and wanted to show him off. Eventually he agreed, on the condition that he be allowed to choose the bookstores where he did the signings.

“London has some amazing bookstores,” he told Emma as they lay curled around each other one evening, her head on his chest, his hand caressing her rounded belly. “Bookstores and tea rooms, that’s what I love about this city. There’s no such thing as a decent cup of tea in the States.”

“We dumped it all in Boston harbour that one time,” Emma deadpanned.

“Bookstores and tea rooms,” continued Killian as though she hadn’t spoken, “And pubs. We should go on a pub crawl.”

“You know the rugrat won’t let me drink.”

“You can still enjoy the atmosphere, which is most of the fun anyway. I’ll plan us a route. Through Wapping and along the river, I think, that’s where I used to live and there are some great old places there. We can start at the Mayflower.”

“The Mayflower? Like the ship?”

“Exactly like the ship.”

When they got off the Tube at Rotherhithe, Emma was astounded. With its quiet streets lined with brown brick buildings opening onto the riverfront, it showed another facet of London entirely. Of course she knew from her experience living in New York that large cities were basically a collection of neighbourhoods, each with its own personality and style, yet for some reason the relative peace of this little corner of east London came as a surprise.

So did the Mayflower pub.

“This is great!” Emma exclaimed, taking in the view of the river from the small wooden balcony at the back of the upstairs room. “Are all pubs like this?”

“Not in the least,” smiled Killian. “Many of them are dank shitholes, if we’re honest. But the good ones can be amazing.”

After the Mayflower, they took the Overground train across the Thames to Wapping, walking hand-in-hand through more brown brick streets to Turner’s Old Star, with its spacious and charming outdoor beer garden, then on to the Town of Ramsgate, another riverside establishment with a stunning outdoor deck and riverside view. From there they walked along the riverfront path to the Prospect of Whitby, Emma’s favourite pub yet. She found its dim, dark wood and flagstone interior charmingly quaint, and its iteration of the now familiar outdoor deck with sweeping view of the river enhanced by the addition of a gibbet and noose.

“Used for hanging pirates,” said Killian, gesturing with his pint.

“Really?”

“Aye, primarily, though there were others. In the case of the pirates, legend says the bodies were left there to hang until three tides had washed over their heads.”

“Damn.”

“The hazards of a pirate’s life, darling.”

They ended their day by taking a taxi to Limehouse and The Grapes pub, where they ate fish and chips then as they were leaving shook the hand of Sir Ian McKellen, who co-owned the place.

“I can’t believe we met Gandalf,” gushed Emma as they cuddled in the taxi on their way back to their AirBnB in Belgravia.

“What honeymoon would be complete without it?” joked Killian.

“Today was really fun,” said Emma. “I loved all the pubs, I can see why you miss them living in Storybrooke.”

“Storybrooke has other attractions,” said Killian, smiling at her, his eyes warm with love. “London’s great but it’s not my home, not anymore. My home is wherever you are.”

New Year’s Eve found Emma and Killian dressed to the nines and mingling with London’s literati on the opulent balcony of the Royal Penthouse of the Corinthia Hotel, on the north bank of the Thames. It was pretty much the last place Emma would have predicted she’d be if she’d been asked a few weeks ago about her New Year’s plans, but she wasn’t about to argue. The penthouse was taken every year by the London branch of Killian’s publisher for the New Year’s Eve party they threw for their top authors, and the fact that they thought highly enough of Killian’s new book to invite him to the party that year made her proud enough to burst. Or cry. But that could just be the pregnancy hormones.

Killian’s agent, a nervous, bustling little man called Smee, shared her pride, though his seemed to be focused slightly more on his own foresight in backing Killian through the less-than-stellar sales of his first two books and the vindication of his third one’s bestselling status.

“I always knew you’d hit on the right formula eventually,” he blustered as Killian smiled indulgently and Emma ground her teeth, wishing the little man would stop patting himself on the back and let her enjoy the New Year countdown and fireworks with her husband. “It’s not easy to find that delicate balance between artistry and popular appeal, but I always knew that with a little encouragement you could— is that Ben Aaronovich? I’ll be right back.” He thrust his empty champagne glass into Emma’s hand and hurried off in pursuit of the author of the popular Rivers of London book series.

“Ugh,” said Emma, turning to deposit the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her dress. “He’s a bit of a rat, isn’t he?”

“Aye, that he is. But he truly did stick by me for a number of years, so I’m prepared to overlook it. That said, I think we should disappear before he comes back.” Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away into the crowd.

The Royal Penthouse’s balcony offered a sweeping view of the Thames, similar to the ones they’d seen at the pubs but considerably swankier, and neither Emma nor Killian could imagine a better place to stand for the countdown and fireworks display. As the London Eye lit up and the assembled crowds below began to chant the descending numbers, Killian wrapped his arms around his wife, resting his chin on her shoulder and entwining their fingers together over the swell of their child growing inside her. When the last number was called and the noise of cheers and fireworks erupted around them, he turned his head and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the club soda and lime she’d been drinking mixed with the familiar precious flavour that was uniquely her. He thought about all they had to look forward to: the birth of their baby, his burgeoning career, settling in to their married life together, and felt such a surge of happiness and contentment that it brought tears to his eyes.

“Happy New Year, my love,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her answering smile before he kissed her again. “I have a feeling it’s going to be our best one yet.”

(Some friends and I did this pub crawl a few years ago, and I *highly* recommend it!)

#csjj 2019 #captain swan january joy #finding the altar #epilogue #fluff #fluffety fluff fluff #married cs #profdanglaisstuff

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