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ecrivant · 4 years ago

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the station | annie leonhart

(annie leonhart x fem!reader)

that night, one marked by abject sin and rapture: annie’s single, inescapable memory. she, forever haunted by this painfully raw thought of you.

c.w. – homophobic slurs

word count: 2.2k

a.n. – this is technically a reader insert but it’s honestly just an exploration of annie’s repression and sadness. also, in general, i’m very wary of assigning gender to the reader, but the lgbt+ themes are important to this story, so annie’s love interest is a fem!reader. i’m sorry if this excludes anyone, next piece will return to the usual gn!reader.

very much an au + me experimenting with style.

At the world’s marge lies a service station—carburant siphoned long ago, insides, bare. Its skeletal façade abuts a backroad, a display of collapsing substructure succored by gusts of vagrants and drifters, cataracted from history’s view. At one time, when you entered, the clerk would greet you from the left with a gaze that conveyed a hesitant familiarity—the type of trivial recognition that was unimportant in the moment but retrospectively haunting. The lights within, garish halogen, were ceaseless, always alight, and only dared to die out once the ceiling caved, and the walls peeled, and the vinyl floor cratered like some artificial topography. The edifice now no more than a nebulous memory only existing in the minds of those who ever once visited it.

A memory nonetheless in the mind of the woman who fucks for the first time in a sedan parked behind the station, where the smell of sex and summer air and gasoline is seared into her brain as she breathes hard, lightheaded and high on ecstasy and fear. She feels her own death, a quiet specter which guides the touch of her lover. Her burning skin; the eroticism of demise, destruction. The nocturnal breeze gasps with her.

She offers to drive you home. You—flushed and debauched, breasts exposed. Eying her intensely. You refuse.

“I can walk.”

She laughs. Your name on her lips, a carnal, depraved prayer, “We don’t even know where we are.”

She is corrected. Curt.

“You don’t.”

She is gored, laid open and vulnerable and bare for this stranger who parts without another word. She watches you go, ambling towards the unlit dirt road, swallowed by a beastly darkness. The vehicle, suffused by an amorous smog, windows opaque. Her organs all but spill onto the floor, mixing with dust and dog hair and garbage and an old takeaway cup that was always there no matter how many times she threw it away.

She slinks into the station and asks for a pack of cigarettes. She pays in coins, a button among them, but the cashier never notices.

At home.

“Mama’s been askin’ ‘bout you.”

“Okay.”

“You’re gonna get an earful tomorrow.”

She’s already halfway up the stairs. They moan beneath her.

“She thinks you’ve been spending too much time with that Eren boy. Is that where you was tonight?”

The stairs sound like you. Everything sounds like you—the gasp of a closing door, the sordid exhale of a creaking bedframe. The sweat on her face: a lover’s curious tongue.

—

“Pull off here, ya’re low on gas.”

Prick prick pricks of fear smart on her skin. Mama knows. The station, the unholy consecration. Mama knows. This car, this place. Mama knows. Her brother in the back, resting on the shadow of his sister’s bare figure. The pop of the fuel door says dyke. The crack of the gas nozzle trigger says fag. The unseen eyes that bore through her say queer. She enters the station to pay. The clerk, a gaze of recognition—the only one who knows of her transgressions.

—

She is married. Cheers to the happy couple. She cries on her wedding night, tears staining bedsheets��her own virginal blood. He touches her, stagnant, pale skin collied by bereft contact. She only comes when she thinks of the station.

—

She could tell. She could tell him and free herself, and then the kid’ll wonder why Mommy’s never around and Daddy’s a druggie and a drunk and never leaves the house anymore and the kid’ll make his way through the social services system until he’s beaten and cracked and broken like Mama’s old doll collection smashed against the wall and he puts a bullet in his head before he turns eighteen. No, she could never tell.

—

Thanksgiving. She stares at her sister-in-law—a city girl, with heavy lids and blush-dusted cheeks and a pronounced cupid’s bow. The eyes of a hunter, the lascivious gaze of a she-wolf. Her husband comments on how well they seem to get along.

—

A loneliness begotten from her own bones, born from emptiness and the inimitable way she and death caressed all those years ago. She only has a name to utter, breathless, when thoughts of you tenant her mind. The first and the only fuck was truly a stranger, all but nameless in memory.

—

Her mother’s funeral. An apathetic and unfamiliar affair. People she doesn’t know. Her brother, his wife, their child. Her husband, her child, her. She could not be more distant.

Her childhood home smells sweetly of tobacco and cardamom.

Indifference during the wake mistaken by the others for numbness. She feels no need to mourn—her mother lived and died uneventfully, and that was it.

“Mommy, are Grandma’s dolls going away?”

“I don’t know, we’ll see.”

“Do you think I can keep one?”

The boy has his eyes fixed on one in particular, his implicit selection. The one that has your eyes. The one whose gaze makes her squirm. Mama knows.

“I don’t know, we’ll see.”

—

She sneaks away from the house with a pack of her mother’s cigarettes, the box crumpled and stained at the edges and the tubes inside wrinkled and mildewed, emitting a stench that filled her with inexplicable nostalgia. It brings to mind her unshakable compulsion to eat cigarettes, to feel the flakes of tobacco coat the inside of her mouth like the ground dregs in a cup of cheap coffee. She lights one instead, pushing the thought aside—if she was to ever eat one, she fears she would not be able to stop. The low hiss of her inhalations on the ember briefly joins the sonic ambience. She sits in her car and smokes and occasionally flicks ash outside of her window with shaking hands. Rancid and familiar aftertaste. Thick dust clouds kicked up by her car tires coalesce with her hazy exhalations as she drives nowhere. Not nowhere. She needs gas.

—

The station still stands as it had before, insusceptible to time. Always seemingly aged. Covered in an ever-present grime. She gets out and leans against her car and drags on her cigarette, the virulent inhalations scratching her lungs. The road on which you disappeared all those years ago looked profoundly unremarkable during the day—just a long, dirt road in a town wholly comprised of long, dirt roads. The heat shimmers above the ground, and the afternoon sun drapes itself across her skin, and the hot breeze drags its fingertips through her hair like a lover you’d meet behind a bar—the same who would abandon that perpetually lit cigarette between her lips in exchange for her mouth on yours.

Her last drag—she drops the butt and crushes it underfoot.

She sits in her car and smokes the rest of the pack—in her eyes, the final remnants of her mother.

She waits in the parking lot. As if her presence alone would invoke some bygone wraith.

Her hand reaches under her dress, between her legs, and she is touching herself to the pervasive miasma of summer breeze and carburant, and the darkness of closed eyes almost feels like the night, and her frantic digital movements are arrant pleasure until they’re not; she stops and is suddenly crying, and her thoughts are occluded by her mother’s pale, dead face, and she realizes that Mama’s death, mundane as it was, represents the furthest she’s been from that singular night years ago which was so verily marked by sin and rapture; the one that has haunted her and will continue to haunt her until she herself dies an uneventful death after an uneventful life, and her child thinks of her passing as she does her own mother’s: a nonevent among nonevents.

She is met with understanding eyes as she returns to the wake crying.

—

She moves to the city with husband and child. Suburbia forgone. The apartment is small and cramped and reminiscent of her sister-in-law’s. The adjacent view from the living-room window is an identical high-rise—ten stories of the same brick and dirty-white AC units. She is filled with an ineffable sadness as she stares at the spare greenery in streets below, confined to plots of dry soil surrounded by cracked and potholed pavement.

Her sleeplessness often leads her to the living room long after the apartment falls to silence. One night, she watches, captivated, as a couple in the adjacent apartment fucks on a couch, curtains wide open and shame forgotten. The man, hovering above a body obstructed, is suddenly flipped on his back and mounted by his lover, and she swears this woman, breasts bobbing, and face marked by a concentrated intensity and unusually devoid of pleasure, looks like you.

—

Two years in the city bypass her as if she were already dead. The tenant who resembled you moved out the year prior.

—

She sits in a booth sequestered in the corner of a dark and begrimed barroom. Alone for the night. Her husband no longer questions her bouts of silence and absences from the house and disdain for intimacy; her child, accustomed to fissure.

She ignites a cigarette, her lukewarm liquor no longer of interest, and no one stops her. She is indifferent to the other patrons, who were, at this point in the night, nothing more than hazy and incorporeal forms populating the shadows.

The chime of the door—jarring and tangible—cuts through the muted atmosphere and demands the attention of those there to give it. Another specter drifts to the bar. A woman shouldering something—a fact elucidated by a hunched posture and a quiet request for three fingers of scotch.

And then the woman turns, and Annie sees her face.

And suddenly she is collapsed on the scum-covered tile of the bar’s bathroom floor, hurling upchuck into the toilet. That woman had your face—she is not you, at least not anymore, as Annie is no longer the girl who fucked and died in that gas station parking lot years ago. But that woman had your face. And she looked at Annie with your eyes, melancholic eyes which held no recognition for her, and turned away in the same movement. Less than a look—a glance. But that woman had your face. And Annie had not seen it again before she hied to the bathroom to regurgitate four drinks and years of accrued and bilious agony.

The bathroom door swings open. Groaning hinges. She knows it’s that woman who has callously co-opted your likeness.

She enters the stall next to her and pisses and flushes the toilet whose water drains slowly and weakly, and the sounds of the sink are harsh and cacophonous against the tile walls. Steps towards the exit suddenly pause. A knock on the stall door. Your voice asks if she is alright—a voice unheard for decades, last encountered in a low, debauched whisper against her skin.

She heaves, again, but nothing is left to expel; she coughs and spits and does not answer.

“Can I at least help you get home?”

The question looms above her, looped and tied like a noose.

“I can walk.”

A laugh. Dry, unfamiliar, never heard. It’s harsh and barking; a warning.

She is corrected, curt: “You can barely stand.”

She had long been unacquainted with fear, now more often than not consumed by a vacant numbness, and she admittedly did not miss it. It was ugly and pervasive and bore deep within her with debilitating potency. She could do nothing but sit on the disgusting tile floor with body supported on yellowed porcelain and wait.

She imagines she allows herself to believe this woman is you—you, as you were, unchanged—and opens the door. And you, being unchanged, ask if she would like to come home with you. And she, apparently the same as well, says yes. And back at your apartment, cluttered and cramped yet simultaneously vacant, you spare no time backing her into the bedroom, lips tethered to hers in lurid predation. Touches that are lustful and intimate and familiar only to her. She cannot bring herself to care that you do not remember her—your breath on her neck and your incursive touch efface all thoughts, good or bad. She wants you on top of her, around her, within her, and you oblige like some prurient altruist. Her coming is purgative and cathartic, and the pleasure of that night at the station feels archaic and antiquated in the face of this wholly new gratification, heighted by an immense and prolonged yearning. And this time, after you are both finished, you do not part and neither does she, and she embraces you in a way that feels intrinsic, and you ask her to stay the night. And she does not think of her husband and child as she says yes. And she does not think of her husband and child as she agrees to spend the next day with you, as she dances with you in your living room, finally and only feeling held and loved. Finally, finally, finally.

—

But Annie says nothing. And the woman—not you, but an apparition—softly and finally knocks on the door with the side of her fist, unfazed, and walks out of the bathroom. And even now, as she slumps further and shuts her eyes and clutches her head, Annie can only think of that fucking gas station.

—

hi there! thank you so much for reading; i hope you enjoyed this piece. it’s a little different than my other stuff, not drastically so, but still different. i think i like it, though.

thank you to the anon who suggested I write something for annie, i really appreciate the request. i have another request in the pipeline for reiner, so expect a piece for him soon.

as always, feedback and criticism are very much appreciated! feel free to drop in and request something if you want.

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #annie leonhardt #annie leonhart #annie leonhart x reader #annie leonhardt x reader #annie leonhart imagine #writing!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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When the Weight Comes Down - 7

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter.

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: This is our second last chapter! So excited to share this. As always, I appreciate you guys and you following along with my madness.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Seven: Long Time Running

Does your mother tell you things Long, long when I'm gone? Who you talking to? Is she telling you I'm the one?

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

The next day at the bakery was slow. You were thankful for that. Your night had been close to sleepless as the afterglow of what you’d done faded away. You woke to the smell of Steve and despite a shower, it seemed to follow you. The thought of him lingered too.

As you swept the empty bakery, the bell chimed and you looked up the woman who was becoming all too familiar. Bucky’s girl smiled at you as you rounded the counter and returned to the till. She looked through the glass at the desserts before she approached the other side.

“I’ll take some of the lemon meringue,” She said.

You nodded and punched in her order. You could sense her watching you. She paid and you gave her her change. You cut a thick slice of the pie and boxed it up for her. As you slid it across to her, her hand rested on it and she glanced over her shoulder.

“You and Steve,” She turned back to you. “How is that going?”

You squinted at her, then shrugged.

“He hasn’t… hurt you?” She asked.

You lowered your eyes. Sure, Steve had been a bit gruff, a bit insistent, but he hadn’t truly hurt you. He had made you feel wonderful things. Confusing things. You shook your head.

“You sure?” She asked.

“Yes,” You looked up at her. “He doesn’t hit me or anything.”

“You like him?” She prodded. You shrugged again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Do… you think he would hurt me?” You leaned on the counter and spoke quietly. “If I… said no.”

“Well, does he let you say no?”

“I haven’t… I don’t…” You blinked at her. “You’re not afraid of him?”

“I’m not stupid,” She said. “I know what he’s capable of, so no, I am afraid of him. But I have Bucky and as much as we… disagree, he wouldn’t let Steve hurt me.”

“Please, don’t tell him I said any of this. Steve, I mean.” You pleaded.

She chuckled darkly.

“I don’t talk to that jackass,” She took the box of pie. “Just… you’re gonna need a friend and to be honest, I need one too.”

Your eyes rounded and you felt like smiling. A friend.

“Really?” You breathed.

“Sure,” She smiled for you. “But you let me know if Steve hurts you. Promise.”

“Okay,” You said. “I’ll… I will.”

💀

You walked home slowly. You hummed an old tune you heard on the radio too many times. You were nervous. The red dress, that’s what Steve said. What he demanded. You didn’t really like that one. It was short and tight.

You strode up the dirty road towards your house and came upon the gravel drive. You stopped dead at the motorcycle parked beside your father’s old Ford. It was too pale to be Steve’s and the wolf on its tank confirmed that it wasn’t. Your heart fluttered and you sped up to clamour up the porch steps.

Your father wasn’t in his usual spot and as you went inside, you heard voices. You followed them to the kitchen.

Bucky was there with your parents. Your mother hovered at the stove, wringing her hands, and your father pressed his hand around a can as he sat facing the biker. It was an odd and startling scene.

“What’s going on?” You asked and all eyes went to you.

“I was just checking in,” Bucky stood slowly. “Like to keep eyes on my territory.”

“You never been here before,” You said quietly. He grinned.

“Come on,” He gestured you back into the hall as he neared. “We need to talk.”

You peeked over at your mother. She looked terrified. Your father shook his head and grumbled into his can. He didn’t give a shit. You turned and Bucky followed you to the front door. You went out onto the porch and closed the door softly behind him.

“Go on,” He pointed to the couch your father had stained with beer and sweat.

You sat and he leaned on the rail of the porch in front of you. He crossed his arms as the late spring breeze ruffled his short hair.

“My girl’s been acting… strange,” He said. “So we had a talk today.”

“About what?” You teetered on the edge of the couch.

“You,” He said. “Steve. She’s concerned. Now I told her Steve was his own man and you are grown, you can take care of yourself.”

You stared up at him as he considered you. His blue eyes searched your face and his squared jaw softened. He let out a long breath.

“Your daddy hit you?” He asked. You flinched. “Well?”

“Sometimes.” You admitted. “Mostly my ma tho.”

“Is that why she stays in? To hide it?”

“She has… fears,” You shifted. “What does it matter?”

“Because, my men, we are what we are. We’re bad men.” He said. “But we have our lines that we do not cross. We don’t hit our women. I mean that. None of my business whether you and Steve are… together, but it is my business if he takes after your pa.”

“But… he’s your friend.”

“He is, and I don’t see him hitting you. That’s not really who he is. He’s got a bit of a temper. Admittedly, he can be rough, but there are limits. Even for him.” Bucky explained.

“I… You don’t know me,” You said softly.

“I don’t,” He admitted. “Not well but I think I will. I know Steve and I know his nature. I see the way he is with you. He’s a right ass hole to everyone else, even me. But not you.”

“And… if I don’t want him?” You nearly whispered as your voice crackled.

“See, that is none of my business there,” He pushed himself away from the rail as a distant engine filled the air. “He made his claim.”

“Claim?” You stood as the engine roared closer and Bucky turned to watched the other biker pull up next to his bike.

“Talk to my girl,” He neared the steps. “She’ll help you understand.”

He tramped down the steps and strolled over to Steve. They greeted each other with a handshake and had a brief conversation you could barely understand. Bucky departed with a tear of his engine and Steve strode over to the porch and looked up at you.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” He hopped up the steps.

“No, I just… I just got back from work,” You said. “I hadn’t--”

“It’s alright, I can wait,” He said.

“I… could you stay out here? I think my ma’s already scared enough.” You clasped your hands together nervously.

“You and Bucky have a good chat?” He asked.

“I think,” You said.

“I’ll stay out here,” He said. “Grab some extra clothes while you’re at it.”

You stared at him and slowly moved toward the door. You nodded and ducked inside quickly. You hid behind the door as your mother peeked out from the kitchen.

“What have you brought into my house?” She asked.

“Ma,” You uttered. “Please…”

“I didn’t raise you to be one of them,” She said.

“You raised me to be nothing,” You stopped at the end of the hall that led to your bedroom. “To be walked all over and that’s exactly what’s happening.”

She looked hurt. She neared you slowly and drew you into her arms. She clung to you.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered tearfully.

“Doesn’t matter,” You pulled away. “Never did. What I want is… It’s okay, ma.”

You left her there and went to your room. You changed into the red dress. No panties, he said. You felt wrong and bare. You shoved a pair of jeans and a tee into a canvas bag along with underwear and some socks. You pulled on a thin sweater and marched back into the hall. You mother gaped at your dress.

“He has money,” You offered weakly. It barely mattered to you.

“He could hurt you,” Your mother argued.

“Like pa?” You challenged and she frowned.

“I should’ve… left.” She whispered.

“Should’ve,” You agreed. “I never expected anything else than what I’ve been dealt.”

“You should’ve had better.” She said.

“You too,” You replied and carefully stepped past her. “But we take what we get, don’t we?”

You pulled the door open and your new shoes slipped on the porch. You held yourself up with the door and closed the screen. You turned to Steve as he smirked. His eyes flicked up and down your body as he drew you close.

“I like it,” He purred before he kissed you. “I got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” You gazed up at him, still reeling from your awkward homecoming.

“Let’s go for a ride, doll,” He cradled your face between his hands and his thumbs traced your cheek bones as he kissed you again.

💀

Steve drove out of Birch and along the country roads. You were surprised and slightly off-kilter as he pulled up to a large house amidst the sprawling green fields. Reclusive but not too far out of town. You peered up at the house from beneath your helmet as he rolled to a stop. He waited for you to climb off before he kicked down the stand and dismounted.

Your legs were numb from the ride and you bent to rub your thighs just under the short skirt. You took off your helmet as Steve did the same and he took it from you before he led you towards the house. He set the helmets on a crate on the porch and fumbled with his keys. You crossed your arms behind him as he unlocked the door.

“This is your place?” You wondered.

He was quiet as he stepped inside and waved you in behind him. He bent to unzip his boots and kicked them off. You slipped out of your shoes and glanced around at the tidy entry way. It wasn’t what you imagined. He turned to you as you caught yourself on the narrow console table as you nearly tripped on your own shoes.

“It’s our place,” He said.

“What?” You sputtered.

He took your hand and pulled you to the wide doorway that looked into the front room. A cozy looking couch with matching chairs, a brick fireplace, a rug the same colour as the bricks, a polished coffee table.

“I bought it furnished but never really bothered to do anything,” He slid his arm over your shoulders. “Never had much of a reason too.”

“What do you mean ‘ours’?” You grabbed his hand but he wouldn’t let you push him away.

“You can’t stay at your parents. Your father’s a drunk and your mother’s… crazy.” He said. “I want you here. With me.”

“Steve,” You breathed. “I barely… You don’t…”

“You deserve better,” He rubbed your shoulder. “I’ll give you the best.”

“I can’t leave my ma,” You huffed. “You don’t understand, my pa will--”

“You let me worry about them. You’re not doing that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll buy out the house. Make sure they don’t have to stress. Keep an eye on your pa.” He said. “A close eye. There’s no place in Birch he can hide.”

“I gotta work tomorrow,” You finally wiggled free of his arm.

“No, you don’t,” He said. “You don’t need to do anything but be mine, doll.”

“I like working,” You argued.

“I won’t stop you then,” He said.

You looked at him and inhaled deeply.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me?” You asked. “Why give me all this?”

“You need a way out, I need… someone,” He said. “It works out.”

“And if I walk away right now?” You ventured.

He smirked and leaned on the door frame.

“You won’t,” He said. “You can’t. You know that. You’re not stupid.”

You hung your head and played with the hem of your sweater. You glanced at the window then past Steve to the small entryway.

“I’d rather you didn’t try it,” He warned. “But it’s your call.”

You shivered. You weren’t cold, just scared.

“That dress looks good on you,” He said. “I’ll get you more.”

You just stared at his chest as his hands grazed your sides. He pulled you to him and brought two fingers up to tilt your chin. He kissed you and you let him. There was something inside you that just rolled over. An acceptance that had been growing since this man strode into your life. You had known that night at the bar, there was no way out of Birch.

He drew away, his breath was warm against your lips.

“Let’s take the grand tour,” He said.

You nodded and he let you go. He stepped back and shed his leather jacket. He hung it in the entryway by the door. You reluctantly slipped off your sweater and he took it to hang beside his jacket. He smiled and stretched his arm across your shoulders.

“I think you’re gonna like this place a whole lot, doll.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #biker!steve rogers #biker au #biker!au #au #series #when the weight comes down #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #limited series

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alexhogh7137 · 4 years ago

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The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three: The Midday Vision

Word Count 2.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of physical harm

A week has gone by and you have been watching Daario's movements like a dragon stalking its prey. Hvitserk laughs at you for it but this is your people's lives at stake here, and you will watch him until you leave Wessex. Until that day, he will be under your radar. Ivar has been sending letters back and forth since the day you got to England, but you have only written him twice. So that is what you will do today, write to your beloved while Hvitserk takes on your responsibilities for an hour or so.

Hvitserk "He is probably worried sick-"

"I know, I know. It just has slipped my mind. I feel horrible!"

Hvitserk "I am sure that he is fine, kitten. I will watch Daario while you write your letters. Come find me when you are done, yes?"

"Of course."

Hvitserk "Good," he kisses your lips before taking a step back, "I love you."

"I love you too." And then he shut the door behind him and left you to your thoughts.

You gathered your writing instruments and sat down at your table. You thought of what to say and how to say it for a good while before you actually put your pen to the parchment. Eventually, you took a deep breath and began to write:

Dear Ivar,

Please forgive me for not writing back sooner, my priorities have been taking up my time and writing has just left my mind. I have taken your advice and have been watching Daario's every move and as of now, he has been staying true to his word. He has been kind and gentle to my people, he has been teaching the young to fight, and has been guiding people in my village. Hvitserk has changed his opinion on the man, which puts my mind at ease quite a bit. I hope that you have been well, my love. I miss you dearly. I plan to be home by the weeks end, if not sooner. I love you Ivar, see you soon my king.

Yours, Y/n.

You hurried your way down the stairs to reach your letter carrier and he left with great haste. You smile as you look behind you to see your dragon's. You walk your way to Ryuu, Neith and Eldr, and you sit down beside them all.

"I miss your daddy, y'know." Eldr scuffs some heat out of his mouth. "What?! I do. This is the longest I have ever gone without seeing Ivar." Eldr places his head down by your feet, for you to feel some comfort. "We will go home soon, my loves. Just one more day or so, I just need to make absolutely sure-"

Daario "That what..?" You jolt up and look behind you, "that I won't burn this place to the ground."

"I'm sorry-"

Daario "No, don't be. If you weren't watching me like a hawk, then you would not be a good queen. I respect you Y/n."

"Thank you."

Daario "So, you really talk to them do you?"

"Of course I do. They understand me and I understand them."

Daario "Oh yeah? Are they talking now-"

"I know that you must find it absurd but-"

Daario "Not at all. I am just trying to understand this whole dragon thing. Before I met you, I thought that dragon's were a myth."

You giggle, "Well as you can see, they are very much real."

Daario chuckles, "Yes they are."

"So mainly it is all psychological. When I look into their eyes, I can tell what they are saying."

Daario "That is a true gift."

"Mmm," you look up at Neith, "I got to raise them, that is the true gift."

Daario "I swear, you are the most selfless person I have ever met. Especially given the fact that you rule over two kingdoms."

"Thank you, but I only rule over Wessex. My husband rules Kattegat."

Daario "I am confused."

"I only feel that I rule over England, I do not feel like I rule over Kattegat."

Daario "Well in that case, I am more than grateful to lead by your side in England, my queen."

"Well technically-"

Daario "I know, you won't be here.." you nod, "but it's still a nice thought to think about." You pause but you feel a pair of familiar hands grab the small of your back.

Hvitserk "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for the two of you."

"Sorry Hvitserk, Daario was just asking me about my dragon's."

Hvitserk "Oh yeah? They are incredible aren't they?"

Daario "Truly. I guess I should go and check on everyone. It was lovely talking to you."

"You as well Naharis.." you watch him walk away and join your people at one of your homes.

Hvitserk "He got a little too close there..for my liking."

"Flirting, but he is a man Hvitserk. He can't help himself."

Hvitserk "I warned him not to ever-"

"I believe you. But look at me," he looks away from Daario and down into your eyes, "We are going home soon, and he will be far away from all of us, okay?"

Hvitserk sighs, "Fine."

"I don't wish for your day to be ruined over a little flirt."

Hvitserk "It's not, kit..I just don't like when people look at you like you are a meal. It infuriates me. After all you've been through, I find it my life's duty to protect you." You pull him in for a warm yet hard embrace and hold him close for a while.

"You do protect me Hvitserk. You keep me safe and warm..and loved." He smiles, "Ever since the day we met, you've kept me safe. But once our daughter is here, I need you to protect her more than me."

Hvitserk "I-"

"Promise me Hvitserk." He loses eye contact, "Our daughter's life comes first. No matter what, you keep our daughter safe."

Hvitserk "I swear it, Y/n. But that does not mean that I won't not protect you."

"Of course it doesn't. But if there ever comes a day where it is between me or our daughter to save, save our little girl." Hvitserk looks away to hide his tear that was falling from his eyelid. He quickly wipes it away and clears his throat before looking back at you.

Hvitserk "I will." You smile and nod, "But let us pray to the gods that there will never come a day where I have to save only one of you.."

"Yes. Now, let us have a good day today."

Hvitserk "With you, it's always a good day."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Back in Kattegat:

Ivar has been having sleepless nights without you in his arms. He has been worrying nonstop, waiting for you to write back to him. He has gone to Ubbe, asking for his guidance but he has been brushing him off and telling him, "she's with Hvitserk, she is fine." He knows that is a fact, but he also knows that something could have happened to the both of you. So he waits and waits for your letter to arrive. As he waits, he sits on his throne, motionless. When all of a sudden, he hears none other than his own brother scream out his name from outside those double doors. He is in a panic that he crawls his way to the doors instead of walking to them. He looks around and does not see his brother so to save time, he gets into his carriage and commands his horse to ride to the noise. When he finds Ubbe, he is sitting on the ground with tears in his eyes.

Ivar "Ubbe, what is it?!"

Ubbe "It is Y/n. Something is going to happen to her-"

Ivar "What are you talking about?"

Ubbe "A vision Ivar. I had a vision-"

Ivar "A vision..during the day?"

Ubbe "Yes, brother. We both know that that has never happened to us before."

Ivar "Tell me.."

Ubbe "There is this woman. I could see her like I am seeing you right now. She goes into their chambers Ivar.." Ivar's eyes start to water as he anticipates what he is about to say next. "She takes Hvitserk's dagger and.." Torvi's eyes are red from crying, as she looks up at Ivar.

Ivar "And what?"

Ubbe "She kills them both." Ivar's tears overflow now. "She goes to the extent of slitting her belly..Ivar. She kills all of them."

Ivar "I, how..what?" He is in shock and he cannot truly make out what to say.

Ubbe "We need to go Ivar, we are losing the sun!"

Ivar "Did you see her face?"

Ubbe "Wha-yes! Ivar we need to go! If we wait any longer, we won't make it by nightfall!" Ivar does not waste anymore time before he rides out of Kattegat, heading straight to you. Ubbe hurries his men to join him while Torvi takes over Kattegat.

Torvi "Come on boys..please save them..please save them." She says over and over as she cries, fearing that they will not make it to England in time.

~•~

Ivar looks up at the sky as he forces his horse to run like the wind, seeing the sun fade away and into the horizon. He fears that he will be too late and he would see his family gone, right in front of his eyes. He knew by the sound of his brother's screams that it had to deal with his wife. Why else would he scream? Why else would he be on his knees, crying? You are loved, Hvitserk is loved, and your unborn child is loved so much that the thought of losing you three is bone chilling.

Ivar "Come on...COME ON!" He continues to hit his horse but the horse is physically incapable of going any faster but he cannot help himself. He is out of breath, even though he is not the one running. His heart is already in pain with the picture in his mind of how horrible it would be to witness such a scene.

Ubbe "We're not going to make it, brother!" He shouted from his horse that is racing beside his carriage.

Ivar "We are going to make it!" He shouted back at him. His voice cracking from the sadness he is trying to hide. If anyone has to be strong, it is him. And he will be strong, and he will make it. He has too.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Wessex England:

As the sun settled behind your kingdom and below the hills surrounding it, you felt the sense of unease. So as a gut instinct, you stay very close to Hvitserk. Practically joint at his hip. Daario notices your change in behavior and immediately goes on high alert.

Hvitserk "Y/n, are you alright? You seem frightened."

"I have this unnerving feeling."

Hvitserk "Tell me what you are feeling."

"I have this sickening feeling and almost an electrical pain going across my belly.."

Hvitserk "What?!"

"I already looked, there is nothing there."

Hvitserk "Is sh-"

"She's still kicking..yes."

Hvitserk "Then why are you feeling this?"

"I am not sure. I just feel like something is coming. I just don't know what."

Hvitserk "I don't want you out of my sight, do you hear me?"

"I'm not going anywhere, you asked what was wrong so I was not going to hide what I have been feeling since the sun went down."

Hvitserk "Well, I believe you Y/n. I'm not going to let anything happen to you-"

"Funny.."

Hvitserk "What?"

"I was just telling you if it ever came down to me or our daughter, save our daughter."

Hvitserk "She is still in your womb, kitten...so right now, I am watching over you."

"What did I ever do to deserve such a protector?"

Hvitserk "Just you being you. Anyone who meets you loves you Y/n. Everyone who meets you wishes to protect you."

"Why? I don't understand that. I am just an normal person-"

Hvitserk "It is because you have been through so much trauma that you did not deserve, everyone is aware and wishes to give you a new and safe life. And you are far from normal Y/n. You are a mother of dragons, how is that normal?" He bursts out laughing and so do you.

"I guess you are right. I love you, you know that."

Hvitserk "Of course I do."

"Good." You rest your head on his shoulder and rest your mind. That is until you hear a woman shout behind you. Hvitserk takes out his sword and so do the guards that are around you at all times. You find Daario holding a woman by her mouth, keeping her silent.

"Daario! What is the meaning of this!?"

Daario "She was going to kill you!" He holds up the dagger that she had in her hand. You walk up to her, to conform Daario's own words.

"Is this true?" She does not answer at first, but she nods because her mouth is still covered by Daario's large hand. You look up at him, confused. "But why did you wish to harm your queen?" She forces Daario's hand off of her mouth and Hvitserk holds his sword up to her throat.

Hvitserk "Try anything, and you'll meet your precious God in the matter of seconds."

"I am unarmed-" she said.

Daario "Yeah, you are now-"

"What was your reason?!"

"You should not be queen! Any spawn of your fathers will destroy this kingdom and its people. This kingdom needs new blood, new reigns..not you." She said with a straight face.

"I am sorry that you feel that way. But I am nothing like my father. I love my people and I love my kingdom, I would never do anything to put it in jeopardy."

"Funny, that is what your father used to say-"

"I burned my father alive." She takes a step back. "I am not my father. I got rid of my father. I am aware of what he has done, who he has killed..I am also aware of everything that he has done to me, to which I think that you have no idea about." She does not respond, "So do not kill someone who is trying to save her kingdom. Do not kill someone who loves her people."

"..I..I am sorry." She finally said, but before you could answer, you hear horses coming from behind you and by your gate.

"Hvitserk.."

Hvitserk "Get behind me." Daario lets go of the girl and gets beside Hvitserk to guard you. Your dragon's fly to the top of your palace to get a clear shot if you demand them to kill.

"Wh-is that..Ivar!?" Hvitserk puts away his sword and sighs out of relief to see his brother's instead of a whole unexpected army. "What is he doing here?" You walk up to your husbands carriage, confused.

"Ivar, what are you-" he pulls you into his chest, stopping you from talking. He is shaking and he is sobbing.

Ivar "I made it..oh gods, I made it."

"You knew?..How did you-"

Ubbe "Hey sis." And then it clicked, he must have had a vision.

"What did you see Ubbe?"

Ubbe "I saw that woman," he points to the woman that is being held back by Daario, "come into your chambers and kill the three of you."

"Our chambers..but it just happened?"

Ubbe nods, "Sometimes visions are not exact, but they show the true fate of the one's that you love."

Ivar "So this is the woman."

"Ivar-" He does not listen to you. He makes his way passing his brother and grabbing the woman by her throat, shoving her up against the wall of your palace.

"..please..don't kill me.." she tries to get out.

Ivar "If you ever try to kill my wife, my brother..and my unborn child again, I will crucify you..do you understand me?" She cries out, agreeing and pleading for her life. "The only reason why your neck is not broken is because my wife is behind me. And I know that she would not wish to see you die. She has too good of a heart."

"I am so sorry, my queen." You do not respond, only stare. "Please forgive me. I was not thinking, I was only remembering all that your father put my family through!"

"Understood, Ivar..let her go." He lets go over her throat and she runs to you, kneeling her your feet.

"Please..forgive me. I am truly sorry!" She said, crying and shouting for forgiveness.

"Please stand." She does so and you take her hands in yours, "I forgive you. But I need you to think before you act. If Daario was not here to stop you, me and my child would be dead by your impulse. Think before you act and only act if you have facts and knowledge on the person you wish to kill."

"My queen, I am so-"

"I have already told you that you have been forgiven. I will give you a second chance, please do not fail me."

"Yes, my queen."

"Go to your mother." She runs away and rejoins her mother and siblings. You look in front of you and see Ivar, Hvitserk and Daario shocked but proud.

"Hello..my beloved." He couldn't help himself from giggling.

Ivar "Hello, my sweetheart."

@hvitserkmarcosource @heavenly1927 @saldelys @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @conaionaru @readsalot73 @a-mess-of-fandoms @houseoftoomanyfandoms @dreamycream17 @nevlahhh @krissydclayton93

#alex hogh andersen #vikings #hvitserk #ivar the boneless #ubbe lothbrok #marco ilsø #hvitserk lothbrok #the battle between love and fire

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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Family

i wanted to post yesterday but it stormed pretty bad where I’m at and we lost power soooo that ruined that plan lol. But good news, I have five of the seven chapters written out for this :) I’m probably going to post chapter two later on tonight after work and work on the rest as well, hopefully if I’m not too tired.

We’ve also finally gotten to Death in the Family. This has been kinda hard to write and is a lot darker than my usual style so I hope you all still like it!

Love Is a Burning Thing and It Makes a Fiery Ring pt.1

The thing that had been the one constant in Halley Wilson’s life had always been pretty clear. Even when things seemed to be changing for the better that one constant always appeared, coming back in the most unexpected ways. She tried replaying that day over and over again, as if it would change anything and make it better or less real. She didn’t know where it all went crashing and burning down; but oh how did it all crash and burn.

The smoke still felt like it was trapped in her lungs as she could feel her body still aching from the sleepless nights. She found herself letting out a soft grunt, her mind still in the haze it had been in for days now. She could start to feel herself coming to but she every time she blinked her eyes they felt heavier and would pull her back into the dangerous state she found herself currently in. She could feel the blood sticky on her knuckles and the tears still falling and staining her cheeks. Her breath was ragged and her eyes unapologetic. She didn’t feel like a person let alone a hero. She just felt like an empty body that had no control over itself.

“Are you going to hit me again? Let it all out?”

His voice taunted her; he knew that it would work and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he had won. She didn’t care that she was so close to crossing that line. She didn’t care that she was breaking the oath she swore to herself. Fuck Bruce’s saying; justice didn’t feel as good as vengeance. .

“Well since you’re asking,” she felt the corners of her mouth slide up into a smile; her voice sounded menacing and if she was in the right state of mind she’d be able to tell how close to her father she sounded and looked.

She looked up at the man tied up and dangling before her, her fists tightening again. She pulled her arm back, bringing it straight into the gut of the man that took everything away from her. She swapped, rotating from fist to fist, using him as a punching bag and using the sound of her fist colliding with him as a way to try to drown out his laughs. He was enjoying this and she’d change that.

She backed away but not before releasing him from the chains keeping him hanging from the ceiling. He was still handcuffed and his legs were bound but it wasn’t like he could try to escape with the work she’d already done on him. She couldn’t stop herself, using kick after kick to try and get the hurt out. But no matter how hard she went, no matter how many bones she heard and felt break he would not stop laughing.

“You know,” his voice rasped from what she could only hope was a collapsed lung. “This position seems awfully familiar, doll face.” He kept going even after she backed away to stare down at him enraged; nothing would shut him up. “Except I was you and you’re little boy blunder was me- Hahaha-”

“Shut the fuck up!” She spat down at the clown, giving himself another kick.

She felt a new wave of tears rush their way down her cheeks. She let out a strangled cry as she took out her daggers, already having laced them with one of her poisons earlier. She wanted to make this as painful for the Joker as he had made it for him. She found herself then crouched down before him, slicing the knife slowly up the side of his face, then back down and down his neck. The poison wouldn’t kill him. Oh no, she wanted to drag this out for as long as she could. But no, this would only make it more fun for her in the meantime.

“I’ve seem to have struck a nerve,” the Joker said smirking up at her, already starting to feel the sting in his cheeks. His smirk grew, ready to unwrap her some more, “Tell me, does the Batsy know about the two of you canoodling about right under his nose?”

“I said shut up!” She screamed, stabbing the knife right into his shoulder without remorse.

“So the nerves been severed, I see.” Joker teased, bearing his teeth at her. “I take that as a no then?” Joker tutted at her, not even acknowledging the knife she let stay dug in him. “You know I am truly sorry. Young love is so precious- Ha! If it helps you feel any better, he wanted me to tell you he loved you. You know? As I was beating him with a crowbar-off!”

The Joker was cut off as Halley stomped down on the knife, impeding it even further into his flesh. She could see the cut she left on his face starting to change color. Her poison was working, she could tell not just from that but from the grimace he was now trying to hide. Between that and the wound she just made, along with everything else, he wouldn’t have long left. She tore the knife out, letting the blood pool out and leave her nearly satisfied with her work.

“Does Batman know you’re here?”

“Batman doesn’t have anything to do with this. This is between you and me.” She narrowed her eyes at him before backing away and walking towards the table she had set up.

“Tt, tt, I don’t think Daddy Bat’s will approve.” Joker teased, trying to get her attention again. When he saw that she was ignoring him, he pressed further. “Is this what they call teenage rebellion? You know, I could never do kids. I don’t know how the old man does it-,”

Halley cut him off knowing that she would never feel satisfied unless she just got on with it already. Her father always told her to never drag things out like this, it only led to trouble and failure. She turned around swiftly, aiming her pistol at the murderous clown. She didn’t shoot to kill at first but silenced him with a shot to the thigh. She smiled when she saw him wince and laugh to cover up the pain. She looked over his beat and carved up form once more before approaching him again.

“You’re not funny; and you’ll never get the chance to try to be again,” she sneered, cocking the gun effortlessly and pointing it down in between his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re going to do it.” The Joker smirked, licking his lips up at her. He looked at her up and down, rolling his eyes, almost as if he was bored. “Are you really going to do it?”

“No.” A stern voice broke the tension in the air momentarily, only to fill it even heavier seconds after.

“And there he is! My hero!” the Joker’s voice wailed, as if he was some sort of damsel.

Halley felt her heart stop, seeing the Dark Knight approaching from the shadows. She grasped the gun tighter, now feeling herself begin to back down. She thought of him though, and jerked the gun forward, reassuring herself that she had to do this. Her finger grazed the trigger-

“Nightshade!” His thick and heavy voice stopped her again. “Think of what he would do; what would Robin do?”

He was trying to bait her; just like Joker had been doing. She shook her head refusing to look up at the man. Her eyes were too blurry to see through her mask, so she ripped it off. She didn’t care if the Joker saw her face. In fact she wanted him too. She wanted him to see her face and the look in her eyes as she killed him.

“He took Jason away!” She shouted through a whimper. “He deserves it! How can you just let him walk away when he’s proved time and time again that he can’t be stopped?”

“We can’t sink to his level. I understand how you feel but this isn’t the way. Think about what you’re about to do!” She could hear Bruce’s voice starting to break, clearly still upset over what the Joker had done merely days ago.

“I did think about it! And he needs to die!” She shouted back, not caring about his morale any more.

She pulled the trigger but just as she did she felt a shock shoot through her, causing her aim to be tampered with. She let out a choked yell as she looked down at the taser line Bruce shot out at her. The bullet just barely missed the Joker’s face, causing his laughter to fill the room. Halley let it sink in; rage filled her like never before. Bruce had just gone out of his way to save the Joker.

Shakely, she reached out to the line, grasping it in her hands and pulling it towards her, causing the Batman to stumble for a second. She used it to rip the device off of her, quickly getting her baring’s and aim the gun again. This time a batarang was lodged into the barrel of her gun.

“Why!” She shouted, shooting daggers at him before tossing the useless gun aside and pulling out another knife.

She raced to Joker only to be tackled as Batman jumped towards her. They landed a few feet away from where she started, Batman pinning her down but not without a fight. She had managed to snake her arm out of his grasp and without even thinking, almost acting like a complete animal, she began jabbing the knife up towards him. Now her anger was towards him. How could he stop her?

“Nightshade!” He shouted down at her, trying to break her out of her blind rage.

He grunted as she dug both heals into his stomach and pushed. She hadn’t been strong enough to lift him off of her but used it as a distraction. She sliced the knife up, causing him to jerk back in order to not get cut. She used this to push herself away from him and get back on her feet. As she stood, getting into a fighting position, she saw how he did too, only he took a more defensive stance compared to her.

Asshole, she hissed to herself before lunging. She sent punch after punch, jab after jab but each one was easily blocked by the older man. It had only made her angrier, making her attacks harder but also sloppier. In a matter of minutes Bruce had her restrained, her back to his chest and the knife discarded onto the floor, her arms locked down to her sides as his big arms wrapped around her.

“Please,” She cried, finding herself now sobbing. She felt her lip quiver as she found herself now begging, slumping forward in his hold, feeling drained all of a sudden. “Just let me do it, please.”

“No.” He said, his lips a thin line.

He knew she wouldn’t give up and he knew that she’d hate him for it but he wouldn’t let her go through with this. He’d seen so much growth in her over the last two years and he wasn’t about to let her throw it all away. He knew she was suffering; he knew what Jason and she were to each other. But did he actually think she’d go ahead and pull this? At first he hoped not but the moment he caught her eyes as Jason’s casket lowered into the ground, he saw the look in her eyes.

He should’ve confronted her then but he found himself unable to face the girl, knowing that this was his fault; this was his mistake. He wasn’t quick enough, he couldn’t get them to Jason in time and now he was gone and Halley was close to losing herself as well. Bruce knew what he had to do when he got the alert that someone broke the Joker out of Arkham. Alfred informing him and Dick of her being missing only confirmed it. But he wouldn’t let her go through with this; he’d be the bad guy.

“Bru-,” she gasped out, feeling something prickle itself into her neck.

He felt her gradually going limp in his grasp, slowly pulling out the concealed needle he had on his person. He let them both sink to the floor as he held onto her tightly. She stared up at him, the affects now fully kicking in as she fought to keep her eyes open. Bruce’s solemn face was the last thing she heard as Joker’s laugh was the last thing she heard before everything around her went black.

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whumphoarder · 5 years ago

Text

Lemon Eyes, All Mine

Summary: A sleep-deprived Tony attempts to soothe his colicky baby daughter in the way only an engineer could.

Word Count: 1,327

Genre: Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Thanks so much to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and encouragement!

Tony Stark is no stranger to sleep deprivation.

Over the years, he’s pulled countless all-nighters for reasons ranging from wild partying, to last-minute company deadlines, to his self-inflicted marathon lab sessions. Even when he does make it to bed at a reasonable hour, it’s not uncommon for insomnia or PTSD-induced nightmares to rob him of what little sleep he would otherwise get. He’s become something of an expert on the topic of staying on one’s feet through a combination of nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower.

Tony was sure he knew how it felt to be exhausted.

Then Morgan was born.

“Shh… shh… c’mon sweetheart, c’mon,” he pleads, pacing the nursery as he desperately attempts to soothe the wailing two-month-old infant in his arms. It’s currently one o’clock in the morning and Morgan has been crying inconsolably for the last two hours straight.

Just like she did last night.

And the night before that.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice croaks. He looks up to see his pajama-clad wife leaning against the doorframe of the nursery’s threshold, dark circles under her eyes. “Does she need to be fed again?”

Tony shakes his head. “Tried giving her a bottle a couple times already—she won’t take it. Diaper’s dry too.”

Pepper gives a tired hum of acknowledgement. Morgan’s nightly bouts of crying never seem to have a discernible reason. They’ve tried countless things to comfort her—swaddling, white noise machines, anti-gas drops, baby swings, midnight car rides—and nothing ever works. The doctors say it’s just colic and there’s nothing much they can do besides wait it out.

“I can take her for a while,” Pepper offers. “You should get some rest.”

“I’m alright,” he declines. “You’ve got meetings in the morning.”

Pepper hesitates, looking equal parts tempted and conflicted. “You sure?”

Tony smiles the smallest bit. “Positive. Go back to sleep, Pep.”

Moving over to them, Pepper plants a kiss first to his forehead, then to Morgan’s before heading back to the bedroom.

Once she’s gone, Tony sinks down into the cushioned rocking chair with a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah I know sweetie, life is hard,” he murmurs to the still-sobbing baby in his arms. “It’s one in the morning and your stomach hurts and it’s bumming you out…” He moves his hand to start massaging Morgan’s tiny belly with his fingertips. “It’s bumming me out too, to be honest.”

To his great surprise, Tony sees her little fists start to unclench. “Oh you like that, do you?” he says softly as he continues rubbing gently. “Well, I’ve got good news for you, kid—you’re in an excellent position from a negotiation standpoint. Whatever you want, you’ve got it.”

Slowly, gradually, Morgan’s distressed sobs fade into quiet whimpers as Tony’s fingers massage her belly. His hand starts to cramp after a while, but Morgan is finally settling down so he just switches to the other hand and soldiers on.

“You know, there will come a day when the world won’t stop just because you got a tummy ache,” he informs his daughter. “Eventually, you’ll just have to suck it up and get on with life like the rest of us.”

Sniffling slightly, Morgan raises an arm to rub at her eyes with a tiny fist. Her mouth opens up into a wide, toothless yawn.

“But lucky for you”—Tony yawns back—“that day is not today.”

They continue on like that for the next fifteen minutes until both father and daughter have drifted off to sleep.

After functioning as his daughter's personal masseur for the next two near-sleepless nights, inspiration strikes. Tony spends most of the following afternoon hard at work in his lab, and when he emerges that evening, his exhaustion is masked by the almost manic energy of new invention.

“I’ve got it, Pep,” he announces as he enters the nursery. “I know how to stop her crying.”

Pepper—who is just zipping the already cranky infant into a pair of footed pajamas—lets her gaze fall to the prototype in her husband’s hand. Her brow furrows. “And this is going to do what exactly?”

“Hopefully, it’s going to buy us more than two consecutive hours of sleep,” Tony replies. “Here, I’ll show you.”

After laying Morgan down in her crib, Tony carefully places his invention—a five-inch round custom-made electronic massage device—on her stomach, holding it snugly in place with a stretchy cloth strap that he wraps all the way around her torso and fastens with velcro. He then presses a button on the front of the device and three specially designed plastic ‘fingertips’ on its underside begin rubbing gentle circles on Morgan’s middle.

Pepper blinks at him. “You made her a robotic tummy-rubber?”

Tony scoffs. “Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” he complains over Morgan’s fussing. “I was gonna name it something a lot cooler.”

“Oh really?” Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Well…” Tony racks his sleep-deprived brain for a moment. “How about… uh, Comfort Claw?”

Pepper snorts out a laugh. “Definitely not.”

“Swirling Soother?” Tony tries again.

“Even worse.”

He screws his face up in thought. “...Tiny Tot Tranquilizer?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

Tony opens his mouth to retort something about engineering and marketing being separate fields when a sudden realization hits him. He can actually listen to himself. For the first time in weeks, it’s finally quiet.

Pepper seems to notice at the same moment because her gaze immediately falls to the drowsy baby in the crib between them. Her lips spread into a grin.

“Alright.” Pepper agrees, “Comfort Claw it is.”

Tony’s invention is definitely not a perfect solution—Morgan is still far from sleeping through the night without interruption—but it does significantly shorten the duration of her crying sessions and that’s enough to buy him and Pepper a bit of sanity. The two of them are now averaging four or five hours of sleep a night, which is a remarkable improvement from the two or three they were getting before.

Unfortunately for Tony, there is one drawback.

His brain now seems to have just enough energy to get back to torturing him.

Tony jolts awake gasping, the remnants of a Titan-induced nightmare still playing in the back of his mind. He sits up against the headboard and stares at his trembling hands, half-expecting to see them covered in ash.

“...Tony?” Pepper murmurs, still half-asleep. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says tightly. Over the monitor, he hears Morgan whimpering unhappily. Since she’s not fully crying yet, they would usually just let her be, but Tony pulls the covers off anyway. “Gonna check on her.”

“M’kay…” Pepper breathes.

Swinging his shaky legs out of bed, Tony then makes his way down the hall. It’s been weeks since he’s slept long enough to relive that particular trauma and he’s not eager to repeat it. He pushes open the door to the nursery and slips inside.

Morgan is lying in her crib, awake and fussing. The massaging device is humming quietly on her stomach and she’s kicking her legs in the air.

Gently, Tony reaches over the crib’s bar and starts stroking her arm with the pad of his thumb. “‘Sup, kiddo,” he whispers. “How’s your night going?”

She makes some more unhappy noises and Tony huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Same here.”

Carefully, he undoes the cloth straps of the massager from around Morgan and lifts her up into his arms. “Shh.. Shh… It’s okay,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you.”

Sitting down in the rocker, he shifts her around to lay in the crook of his elbow. His fingers move to her stomach and he starts rubbing gentle circles on the surface.

“I know, I know darling,” he murmurs as her whimpers slowly fade away. “Some nights are rough.” He rocks her gently in the chair. “But you know what? We’re gonna make it through.”

Link to all my fics

If you like the Tony & baby Morgan dynamic, I would highly recommend:

Settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time by @xxx-cat-xxx

#morgan stark #tony stark & morgan stark #iron man fic #baby morgan stark #mcu writing #colic #infant colic #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #sleep deprevation #tony stark needs a nap #nightmares #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #endgame compliant for once??#who even am i #pre-endgame

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badmcuposts · 4 years ago

Text

Seven-Pointed Star

For @avenging-criminal-bones by @badmcuposts [OR READ HERE on AO3]

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: T for language

Relationships: minor Peter/MJ, Peter & Tony, minor Tony/Pepper, Peter & May, Tony & May

Warnings: angst, suicidal thoughts

Summary:

He frantically ran out of the room, ignoring Obadiah’s calls behind him. The burning began to fade, before only a mild sting was left behind.

Tony peeled back his jacket sleeve, then his dress shirt.

There, in broad daylight was the shape of a seven-pointed star. It glowed in a magnificent baby blue, lightly shimmering in the fluorescent lights. In the center, there was a diamond, or a rhombus as the linguists would prefer, matching in hue.

It was beautiful.

One shape.

One goddamn shape was all Tony Stark had ever wanted.

By the time he was six, everyone he knew had already gotten both of their soulmate tattoos. One on the left wrist for romantic, and one on the right wrist for platonic.

He got his left tattoo when he was four, a square with pink and green chevron lining the inside, accompanied by a blue circle in the upper right hand corner.

He remembered frantically dropping his pencil, running to his mother with glee in his eyes. For such a little boy, he really could hold a lot of energy inside of him. Maria thought it was cute, how happy Tony had been about something so common. Like loosing your first tooth.

She’d told him: “Soon, baby, you’ll get your right marking as well. Then we can celebrate all night long after Daddy goes to bed, hm?”

She hadn’t lived to see that happen, though.

At age 31 he still hadn’t gotten his right tattoo. Maybe he was just... unlovable. Not in romance, clearly, but in friendship.

Rhodey had a red and gold triangle, the colors slipping and mixing as they lined to form the hollow shape. Tony liked the colors. They were stylish.

But Happy had the matching tattoo. Not him.

And they always seemed so fucking happy about it, too. Like they were just trying to rub it in Tony’s face. They weren’t- he knew that. God, he wasn’t a toddler. He understood that two people could be friends without it being a personal thing. But... it still hurt, you know?

On sleepless nights, when Tony couldn’t be bothered to drown his sorrows in the lab, he thought about how much better off he would be if he didn’t have to look at that stupid bare skin, each pore taunting him with its nudity.

The assumption stood that, perhaps, if he wasn’t so hell bent on sticking it out for his left wrist’s sake, he would have given in to the right and left a long time ago.

He normally wore long sleeves, to cover his shame behind cloth. He didn’t want people being reminded that Tony Fucking Stark still lacked a platonic soulmate. Like an ingrate. Some kind of mistake of god that nobody could ever match to.

The cloth was it itchy today, though. Maybe he hadn’t washed the blazer properly last night, or it was just his skin being unbearbly sensitive, but it felt... itchy. All morning it had. Like something was going on with him.

“Tony?” Obie asked him. “Can you sign this?”

The man didn’t hesitate to grab the pen, too busy focusing on the itch along his appendage to worry about whatever the hell he was signing. Obie would never lead him astray, anyhow.

As he reached forward to place his John Hancock, he felt a the itch quickly escalate and grow in mere milleseconds, before turning into a horrible burning sensation.

Hot.

Hotter, hotter, hotter it grew. The man grabbed at the skin in pain, hunching over as he screamed. It felt like... the way his left wrist had felt, back when he got his romantic mark.

What the hell?

Could... could it be...? No- was it...

He frantically ran out of the room, ignoring Obadiah’s calls behind him. The burning began to fade, before only a mild sting was left behind.

Tony peeled back his jacket sleeve, then his dress shirt.

It was beautiful.

His own platonic tattoo. All his. It stood for something. It meant so much- it meant that his being was truly meant to be loved.

It was then that he realized just how odd the timing was. Soulmate tattoos appeared on the eldest’s skin when the younger was born, so why had his come now?

What the hell was he supposed to do with a newborn baby?

Peter Benjamin Parker was born with both of his soulmate tattoos already present.

His parents had taken so many photos that day, their shining faces proudly showing off their baby boy’s little markings.

On his left hand, the shape of a black dahlia flower, all done up in blood red. On his right, a beautiful baby blue seven-pointed star with a diamond in the center.

He opened his eyes after a few minutes, crosseyed as most little ones were for the first few months. Peter smiled when his Daddy held his little wrists out, proudly showing them off to the boy.

He spoke of their history, the way that fate had assigned Peter to two people already, people that would love him more than anything in the world. That somewhere in the world- another person shared his special markings. His soulmates at birth, star-crossed partners in love or in friendship.

Of course, at less than a day old, Peter had absolutely no idea what his father was saying, but seemed to appreciate it nonetheless.

The infant was absolutely adorable- and had continued in that stride for the years after. He met Michelle in freshman year at Midtown, and they started dating not long after, their matching wrists promising a lifetime of love.

He often wondered, though, as many children would, who had his other matching tattoo.

Tony scanned the files he may or may not have stolen from the government.

Each teenage boy had been verified by FRIDAY, a perfect candidate for the little spiderling that had been meander around Queens for the last few months.

There wasn’t much of a reason to it, just some primal instinct he had. No big fight coming up or coup he had to instigate.

The kid had skill, and a lot of untapped potential. He could be great, if only he was trained. Which he wouldn’t be, unless Tony got to him before some rag tag group of thugs did.

God, that would be a mess.

He flipped through the pages, slowly weening out the boy’s that lacked a motive, a concept too human for FRIDAY to understand. Yet.

One file caught his attention, though. The face of a prepubescent boy with messy hair and bright eyes. He was adorable, really. But that’s not what snatched Tony’s eye.

It was the birthdate.

August 10th, 2001 had been the day he got his right tattoo. One of the best days of his life.

There was always the chance that it was a fluke, a coincidence of the ages. Never meant to be, simply crashed in place and left to rest.

But the pictures on the next page of the file sent those thoughts straight underground.

As any other social security file would, this one came with pictures of either soulmate tattoos, accompanied by a description of them for paperwork sake. The images were clearly taken of a newborn baby, likely at the hospital not long after birth.

Peter Parker’s right tattoo was a match.

“Hey, May!” Peter called, stepping into the old apartment as he returned from school, his mind still a little bleary over the fact that Cindy Moon had really just chugged 12 diet cokes in one sitting at lunch.

“Oh, hey!” The woman returned, her voice fading in as the boy slowly removed his earbuds and grunted as he sat his backpack down on the chair by the kitchen table. “How was school today?”

He smiled in fond admiration. “Okay.” He responded, “There’s this crazy car parked outside...” he began, before pausing suddenly.

Holy shit.

Was his hair okay? What about his teeth? Was there anything in his teeth? God, there was probably something in his teeth. Were his glasses smudged? Wait- no, no glasses. How about his clothes?

“Oh, Mr. Parker.” The man sitting on his couch acknowledged.

Peter stuttered, his voice leaving him as his face went numb under pressure. The boy had never been used to the spotlight. “I- wha- what? What are you doi- hey, I- I’m- I’m- I’m Peter. Wai-”

“Tony.” The billionaire greeted. His hair was less shiny in person, and he had a few more wrinkles than he did on TV, Peter noticed.

Tony, he had said, like they were... friends or something. Miss Janelle always said that you shouldn’t refer to public figures by their first names, because they aren’t your friends- they’re sources.

That was weird. This was weird. Everything was weird.

The boy stammered. “What are you- what are you- what are you doing here?” Mr. Stark chuckled. “It’s about time we met.”

In his peripheral vision, Peter could just make out his Aunt frantically mouthing “What The Fuck” as her eyes blew up wider than a hornet nest. At least he wasn’t the only shocked one here.

“You’ve been getting my emails, right?” Mr. Stark asked him. Suddenly, the man winked his eyes, smirking a little.

What the fuck?

The boy played along. After all, when Tony Stark is signaling for you to follow his lead and do as he says, you listen. “Yeah, yeah, regarding the...”

“You didn’t tell me about the grant.” May chirped..

Peter took the lead. “About the grant.” He nodded. Wait... what grant?

“The September Foundation.” Mr. Stark allotted, waving his hand as though metaphorically giving Peter the next bit of information for whatever crazy scheme he had just been pulled into.

The boy shrugged and smiled. “Right.” He agreed. “Yeah. Remember when you applied?” Tony asked.

No, Peter thought, I never fucking applied for anything. What the hell is going on, Mr. Iron Man?

But he didn’t say that, did he?

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. The man gleamed. “I approved! So, now, we’re in business.”

May shifted in her seat, seemingly compromised by whatever bullshit story it was that the older male had told her. Seriously, what was their story here? “You didn’t tell me anything, what’s up with that? You keeping secrets from me now?” She asked.

“Well, I just- I just know how much you love surprises.” Peter offered, sending an experimental glance towards the other, testing that he was sticking to the plan he had yet to be informed of.

“Anyway, what did I apply for?” The teen hurriedly asked.

Mr. Stark bluntly blinked, a sign that Peter was definitely not as good of an actor as he liked to hope. Maybe he should start doing drama with MJ, that could help...

“That’s what I’m here to hash out.” The man claimed. “Okay, hash it- hash it out. Okay.” Peter agreed stupidly. He had no idea what he was doing.

As if trained in the art of lying, the richest one in the room drew attention away crom Peter’s misstep. “It’s so hard for me to believe that she’s someone’s aunt.” “Yeah, well we come in all shapes and sizes, you know?” “This walnut date loaf is exceptional.”

“I’m gonna just stop you there.” Peter interjected. God, Tony Stark was hitting on his Aunt.

So. Weird.

Mr. Stark chuckled a little. “Yeah?” He asked.

Suddenly, some distant part of Peter’s mind clicked. His Aunt’s face glowed in his mind, like when a character in a movie saw a hot girl and everything slowed down. Not that he thought May was hot, because, ew.

No, he was focusing on the word: Grant.

“Does this grant, like, got money involved or whatever? No?” He asked.

Mr. Stark slowed, seemingly confused by the question. “Yeah...” He began. “Yeah?” Peter echoed. “Well, it’s- it’s pretty well funded.” Oh. Not as exciting- but, still, being in the presence of money like that...

Peter remembered when he was little, when his still-living father would take him to New Rochelle on the weekends, just to see it.

“Look at these fellas long and hard, Pete.”

“They’re just rich people houses, Daddy!”

“Don’t you wanna live in one of ‘em?”

“Can’t. We’re not rich people.”

“Well? Here’s your inspiration, kiddo. Use that inspiration for your whole life. All you need for success is to be nearby what you want, to remind yourself that it is real and attainable. Then you really will work as hard as you can. This is the goal, so you don’t give up until you’ve got it.”

Peter’s mind wandered back to the present, Mr. Stark’s face still moving with his words. “Wow.” He gasped.

“I mean, look who you’re talking to.” The man joked. He turned to May. “Can I have five minutes with him?” He asked, pointing towards the bedroom off to the side with PETER clearly emblazoned across the door.

May smiled politely, of course, though Peter was pretty sure she was still uncomfortable with a grown man entering Peter’s bedroom. “Sure.”

They piled into Peter’s small bedroom, his twin bed thankfully having been made that morning. It was still a total mess. Mr. Stark really should have given a warning.

Tony was just happy that the kid hadn’t spent too long claiming not to be Spider-Man. He was relatively easy to quell, for a 14-year-old. Not that much teen spirit or whatever the kids called it nowadays. One mention of good pay and a spot on the team and the boy was all for the arrangement.

Peter would be working under Tony until he was old enough to join the Avengers Initiative- that is, if Tony says he’s ready then. Just some mentoring, getting the kid some decent field experience. And a better suit, because... yeesh.

That onesie across the room was an insult to all of superhero suit kind.

“Next order of business,” The man continued, “Roll up your sleeve.”

Peter spluttered. “What?” He remarked.

Tony sighed, before doing so on his own account, revealing that ever familiar design to Peter’s eyes.

The boy began to shake, his whole face going pale as he whispered “Is that...”

“A match? One can only be sure in person, kid.”

Peter gingerly removed his jacket and pulled up the right sleeve of his pullover, revealing his own seven-pointed star, made in a perfect baby blue, with a diamond encased in the center.

The man smiled, happily looking down at the little details, all familiar to him.

His own platonic soulmate. Right next to him.

He didn’t understand how or why, but one thing was for certain. This kid? This adorable, dopey-eyed kid with a onesie in his celling. He would protect this kid at all costs.

#my fics #marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #avengers endgame #tony stark #peter parker #and i wanted queue to be better #tom holland

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thesoundofnat · 5 years ago

Text

Still fixing all the cracks

ENDGAME SPOILERS AHEAD

Summary: When May reappears after the snap, it’s in front of a moving car. She survives, but needs to stay at the hospital for a while. Where else is Peter supposed to go but to stay with Pepper, Tony and Morgan?

A/N: I turned an angsty prompt from @insane-sociopath slightly less angsty by having May (and Tony!) survive. I hope you like it!

Warnings: Endgame spoilers, nightmares, hints at trauma and PTSD.

Words: 2 100

Tony had known May Parker had vanished after the first snap, and as awful as it sounded he’d been grateful for it. The pain he’d been feeling after Peter had turned to dust, disappeared right in front of him, had almost broken him. He couldn’t imagine how May would’ve felt, losing someone who was her own flesh and blood. If he was to lose Morgan now he was certain he’d go insane.

Not that his love for Peter was any less because of their lack of a blood relation. He would still kill and die for that kid.

Point was, he was grateful May hadn’t had to go through it. It hadn’t been fun.

“Mr Stark?”

Waking up at the hospital, a model of a prosthetic arm on a table across from him courtesy of Bruce, had been jarring. Partly due to the pain and the drugs, but he’d been so sure he was hallucinating Peter being back for the first couple of days that he’d hated his brain for doing that to him.

“How am I alive?” had been his first sentence. The second a demand to see Pepper and Morgan, even though Pepper had been sitting next to him, her trembling hand holding his own. Only something like this could’ve turned Tony Stark into a confused mess, Rhodey had joked, his eyes wet.

“Mr Stark?”

Tony’s body had barely been in any shape to keep his heart going. They all called him a miracle. A once in an existence type of survival.

“I did it for you, you know,” Tony had said to no one in particular, because truly it didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered and it would never matter.

“I’m so mad at you,” Pepper had said one evening or morning or midafternoon (Tony hadn’t been keeping track). “You could’ve died.”

Tony had smiled, or at least had tried to smile. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“The worst part is that, if you hadn’t done it, you would’ve lived with that regret for the rest of your life.”

“I can’t seem to calm down, can I?”

Pepper had stroked his face. “I’m sure you’ll be calm now.”

“Mr Stark?”

“Hmm?”

Peter - the actual real life alive Peter - must’ve said his name at least three times before he’d realized. Tony focused his gaze on him; took in the tears streaming down his face. “Shit, Pete-”

“It’s nothing bad!” Peter said, sniffling, panicked, voice too loud in the quiet hospital room. “It’s just… well, Aunt May reappeared and-”

Shit, shit, shit.

“An accident and-”

How the hell could life take away the last blood relative that precious kid had?

“She’ll be out in a couple of weeks and-”

“Wait, hold on, back up.”

Apparently May had vanished into dust in the car and reappeared in front of another one, breaking several bones as Earth had welcomed her back. Typical. She’d be fine, but she was going into surgery and wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital for a while.

“I don’t know why I’m such a mess,” Peter said, still his rambly self, after everything.

Tony, only days into his new life post snap, blinked at him. It was, unfortunately, all he managed before the drugs knocked him out again.

When he woke Pepper had made a decision for all of them.

“He’s staying with us until his aunt is back on her feet,” she said. Tony didn’t protest. Why would he?

“I could just crash at Ned’s,” Peter said for the hundredth time, but Pepper shushed him. Tony could tell she’d handle teenage Morgan with no trouble.

By the time Tony got to go home, Peter had been staying there for two weeks already. May’s condition, though not entirely life threatening, had been worse than they’d thought. Peter tried to not let it show how worried he was, for some reason, but it was all but written on his face. Tony, weak and constantly exhausted, felt so helpless he nearly cried.

“I like him,” Morgan said, the two of them alone in Tony’s bedroom, just about avoiding spilling the juice of their melting popsicles onto the bed sheets.

“He’s nice, eh?”

“Very. He makes me laugh.”

“Ah, a comedian. Maybe I just never appreciated his weird gen Z humor.”

Morgan didn’t provide his to her strange remark with any response. Tony had to resist the urge to wrap her in his arms every other minute. As close as they were, he was sure she’d start getting annoyed at him eventually.

He had no idea how much she knew. How close he and the world had been to being entirely ruined. He prayed to god she had no clue, but she was smarter than any kid he’d met (and to be fair, than some adults as well).

If she knew, she hadn’t told him.

“What do you think about him staying with us?” Tony asked her, attempting to sound casual.

“I think it’s fun.”

“But do you miss it just being us?”

“A little,” she said, swallowing the last of her ice cream. “But it’s okay. I like him and he needs us. That’s what mommy said.”

“Mommy’s right, you know.”

“She says he’s like your son.”

Tony doubted Pepper had worded it like that, but he tilted his head anyway. “I care about him.”

“Why did he never come visit before?”

Crap.

“He was away, for a bit.” Tony smiled, ignoring the sudden rush of emotions. “I’m happy you finally got to meet him.”

“Mr Stark, you have a daughter.”

“Yes, Pete, we’ve established that.”

Morgan’s feeling toward Peter were nothing compared to Peter’s delight and utter surprise at Tony having put a child into the world (or well - Pepper). Every so often, usually after Tony and Morgan had interacted in any way, Peter would repeat these words. Tony wasn’t sure if he should be offended at the awed tone or not.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

“When she was being born?”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure you’re asking the wrong parent here.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I mean, how were you feeling?”

Tony shrugged. “I was a complete mess, to be honest. Crying and laughing and pacing all over the place. When I first got to see her-” He broke off, clearing his throat. “It was the best moment of my life.”

Peter’s smile could light up the whole goddamn world. “I wish I had been there.”

Tony reached for him, pulling him into a half-hug. “Me too, kid. Me too.”

“But I’m here now, and I’m gonna be the best- uh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What were you about to say?”

Peter had turned red. “I was gonna say big brother, but I felt like- well, I didn’t want to-”

“Of course you’re her big brother, you nerd.”

“Oh.”

Tony snorted. “Well, she did call you my son.”

“Did you correct her?”

“Nah.”

This time Peter’s beaming face was turned downward, bashful.

Tony ruffled his hair. “Come on. Let’s go make the queens of the house some dinner, shall we?”

The weeks of Peter’s stay had some dark moments, mostly consisting of Tony’s body not cooperating or Pepper’s heart breaking all over again if she remembered almost losing him or Tony thinking of the moment Peter turned to dust, over and over. It was sleepless nights and trips to the hospital for check ups and visits and all the while Peter feeling guilty for enjoying his stay when his aunt was alone in an empty room.

“You’re there about 90% of your days,” Tony told him. “She doesn’t expect you to do more. In fact, I think she’d kick both your ass and mine if I allowed you to sleep in those torture devices to chairs.”

Tony went to visit her without Peter at times, when he was in school. They didn’t say much because it wasn’t needed.

“I’m sorry you had to spend five years without him,” May said one day, her hand gripping Tony’s perpetually trembling one. The prosthetic one was steady.

“We fixed it,” he said, voice hoarse and slightly too quiet.

“I’m so glad you did.”

“We lost some along the way,” he added, his mind on Natasha, as it often was.

May gave his hand a squeeze. They didn’t speak again for a while.

Having a teenage superhero in the house meant helping them with - and forcing them to do - homework and making them promise to not be out to late and “no, Pete, Spider-Man isn’t needed tonight.” Maybe he was being hypocritical, but at least he could laugh at each look Pepper shot him whenever he reprimanded Peter for things he’d probably done himself.

It also meant running into him when they were both wandering the house in their sleepless states, both confused, both feeling too much with no relief in sight. Tony had been surprised seeing Peter the first night, but, despite his saying he had nothing to make him feel like this really because the snap hadn’t lasted five years for him, Tony couldn’t blame him.

“I’m sure it was traumatic in ways you can’t explain,” Tony said, remembering the hysteria just before he vanished. “And to be fair, the whole goddamn battle was a mess. I’d be worried if you weren’t having trouble sleeping, as much as I wish you didn’t.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” Peter asked then, eyes on Tony’s trembling arm.

“This? Nah. It’s just my body not being as strong anymore. It’s getting better.” Tony hadn’t told any of them of the times he’d entered his lab trying to create something only for him to scream in frustration and not go back in days. His prosthetic arm was working just fine, but the rest of him, parts he’d gotten so used to using whenever he built or tinkered around, were still recovering. That was what Tony said, at least. No one had promised him his old body back. He reckoned he couldn’t really expect them to lie so awfully to him.

“I’ve never been as scared as I was when I saw you sitting there, arm practically crumbling-” Peter cut himself off. “Sorry. Jesus. You probably don’t wanna hear about that.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Talk.”

“I can’t.”

Tony understood.

Some nights, Morgan found them, blinking up at them in the light of the kitchen, confused. “Daddy?”

“Hey, pumpkin, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Why aren’t you?”

And Peter would grin, whenever the tiny little four year old would be smart with her genius father. Tony’s heart was never as full as it was in those moments.

And then, it was over. May, recovered, got to go home and bring Peter with her. They all knew it had been coming.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” Pepper said the first night without him.

Tony nodded. “A bit. It’s silly.”

“It’s not.”

“Maybe not.”

“You can visit him this time, you know.”

Tony laughed, so loudly he must’ve startled Morgan, wherever she was in the house. “I know.”

“I’m gonna miss having him in the house,” Pepper said. “It wasn’t the same being in the Tower or the Compound. People feel so much closer here.”

“It’s because this is a normal house, which apparently is what normal people live in.”

Pepper laughed. “Domesticity suits you.”

“I try.”

“I know.”

She always did.

“How are you?” Peter asked a couple of weeks later. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d gone back home.

“Me? Doing better. How’s May?”

“She’s doing much better.”

“And how are you?”

Peter didn’t reply immediately, eyes finding the street they were walking next to. “I’m doing all right, mostly.”

“Ah.”

“No new nightmares.”

“But old ones?”

“Always the same ones.”

“I know the feeling.”

If Tony could take all of Peter’s pain and trauma, he would, but he knew that wasn’t possible, so he did the next best thing.

“Let’s grab some ice cream. I think that daughter of mine has made me addicted to that stuff.”

Peter laughed. “I miss her.”

“Well, then I think it’s about time you come visit her, hm?”

“Just say when and I’ll be there.”

“No need. You can show up whenever you want, as long as it isn’t in the middle of the night. Unless it’s an emergency, of course.”

“You say that now, but I bet you’ll raise an eyebrow at me when I walk in on your date with Pepper.”

“As if we won’t have enlisted you to babysit Morgan to begin with.”

“Happy won’t be happy. Hah, that was unintentional.”

“Happy will have to learn to share his duties.”

They were gonna be okay.

#tony stark #peter parker #tony and peter #iron dad and spider son #post endgame fix it fic #post endgame #fix it fic #pepperony #avengers fic #mine #nat writes #endgame #still fixing all the cracks #iron fam

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: Where The Chips Fall

The black door was completely nondescript, but glancing at the woman beside her and the sharp nod she got in response was enough to make the blonde raise and rap her knuckles three times.

There was the sound of a buzzer, and glancing up to her right, she saw the camera stationed above the door shift and move towards her as well as the sudden flash of gold and black disappearing from beside her before the noise started. The camera fixed on her, and rather than frowning at the added security, Jo winked saucily and blew a kiss towards the lens as she waited impatiently.

She thought for a moment nothing would happen, that no door would unlock and she’d be barred from this opportunity. It had taken a lot of sweet-talking, a lot of gentle queries and patience to finally get the story of a witch left alone out of Bobby and the boys, a lot of time and effort to not raise any suspicions after she first heard one offhand comment from Sam about “fuckin’ witches, even that Patrick guy and his fucking poker”. Eventually, she managed to piece the full story together - the legend of the witch who didn’t deal in bones and blood and teeth but instead over a poker table in chips and years. One who might even be able to be reasoned or appealed to in a way so different to most witches that were stuck on their own selfish desires.

The lure of years, of having more than just her allotted timeframe on this earth, of being with him longer than her body as it was would be able to sustain - it was too strong a draw and she’d found herself in her downtime tracking and looking for anything that might suggest the witch was active and prowling. Any sort of pattern or way to find him that wouldn’t lead her on goose chases around the country. That was her plan, right up until a bright sounding laugh and an “Oh, you’re looking for a witch, are you? You’ve got the right demon,” from the one-time witch helped cut that search short.

Jo had told Grey she had a hunt, and that wasn’t really a lie.

There was another sound of buzzing, and then the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking before the door before her swung inwards.

It was a quick walk down the dark, lightless hallway before she found herself in a dusty back storeroom for the bar out front which reminded her sharply of home. Or rather, where she’d once called home in the dusty roadhouse on the side of a Nebraska road. The air held the same musty scent of dust, beer and whiskey that had once been the scent she associated with the safest feeling - that and the smell of warm leather. Now it made her feel bitter and sharp, her sense focused on trying to keep the smell out of her nose and force her mind to focus on the table sat in the middle of the space.

She’d heard from Dean that the witch was a well-dressing, slick-talking playboy type. She’d heard from Bobby that he was cocky and arrogant and could practically read every single tell. All swagger and confidence, and the flare of theatrics to book. Altogether it didn’t sound like anything she hadn’t already tumbled with before and looking at the man sat at the green felt table, fingers clicking the small stack of chips together, Jo could tell neither of their accounts was accurate anymore.

Sam’s account though? Of a man mourning the loss of his love, of a witch without purpose but with a heart not unconnected to the pains and struggles of others, of someone who might be able to understand her situation but was still recovering from his own crushed heart?

He definitely seemed to fit that bill in her eyes more so than the picture painted by the other two hunters. Sure he wore a nice suit and an ironed shirt, and the very smarmy approach of the three buttons undone. Sure his hair was quaffed correctly and it looked like he had had a manicure very recently. Sure he eyed her with the look of a card sharp ready and waiting to strike. But she could see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles from what must have been years of restless or sleepless nights. The way the tiniest wrinkles were forming at the corner of his eyes that weren’t from age and weren’t from laughter anymore. And the way he seemed to be weary beyond his years as she moved towards the table.

“You don’t look much like my ten o’clock, darlin’, unless you’ve had a sex change in the last hour.” The man’s eyes focused on her, the click of the chips sounding louder than they should in the small space as she made her way behind the spare chair facing across from him. The Irish lilt of his voice made the words sound gentler and less threatening than the way his eyes glinted dark and dangerous in the overhead light. “Are you here to play, missy?”

“I’m here to win.” “Aren’t you all. You don’t look much like my usual type.” “You don’t know much ‘bout what I look like then.”

“I know more than you think, girlie.” The witch replied snappily, a hand gesturing across to the chair in front of her with toothpick spinning between his fingers with the dexterity of a real sharp player. “I can read people, darlin’, and I can tell you think you know what you’re doing here.”

Jo found herself scowling as she pulled the chair out and shrugged her leather jacket off her shoulders and onto the back of the seat before sinking down across from him. Eyes focussed sharply on the way the witch’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he set the toothpick back between his teeth and reclined back into his seat. There was a seriousness to his review of her, taking in each movement as she shifted back as comfortably as she could into the rickety chair.

“Now, before we get more acquainted let’s see how well I can see through you, shall we darlin’?” The man quipped sharply as he bit the end of his toothpick between his teeth and slid his chips back into the elegant carry case on the tabletop. Instead, he picked up a deck of cards and with a sound Jo was more familiar making than receiving, she felt her eyebrow raising before she could stop it at the gentle sound of the cards stacking and sliding together reminiscent of her misspent youth. The witch grinned across at her, lips tugged into a knowing smirk before he raised a hand with half the cards to gesture towards her. “You, my dear, are used to bein’ on the winning end of these games. Older men and cocky men who underestimate you based on that pretty little face of yours. Probably learned this game sittin’ on your daddy’s knee with some cheap beer you’d steal sips from - tell me, am I warm?”

“Actually it was my mom, not my dad that was the player.” Jo snapped back haughtily, shifting her weight to relax back into her chair as she watched his own reactions just as carefully as he watched her own. There was a brief widening of his eyes before they squinted back at her, considering and prying at her as if trying to determine if it was the truth or not. She bit the inside of her cheeks to stop the quirk of her own smirk that threatened, knowing that both were a lie - days spent playing against any and every hunter after Rufus had taught her the ropes as a way to practice her numbers - but if she could pass this test she’d be one step above him for the rounds to come. “And she only drank bourbon.”

“Pity, I’m fond of the Irish stuff myself.” The man replied with a smug grin as he cut the deck again before shuffling them quickly and spreading the cards in a quick line across the table, flipping them the right way up and then wrong ways again in a flash. “Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? Patrick’s the name and Texas Hold’em is the game. And you are?”

“Jo. Joanna Harvelle.” The blonde replied with a smile of her own, before blinking in surprise as the man stood up abruptly - cards still lying face down on the table. “Surprised you don’t favor the Irish style of game as well as in your drinks.”

“Oh you know more than the popular rounds, do you now?” Patrick asked, the surprise clear in his tone as he moved about the space towards a small cupboard not far from the table almost out of the line of the dim lighting’s visibility. There was the sound of something hard hitting the bottom of a glass before he turned to look back at her, his hand held out towards her with an empty tumbler other than the chunk of ice in it. “You want a drink too, Jo? I get the feelin’ we’re going to be playing for some hours tonight.”

“Whatever you’re havin’,” she replied quietly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat for a moment as he let out a huff of a laugh and returned to the table with a glass for each of them. Jo reached out before he could set it down, taking the drink from him and taking a sniff - the malt tones of Jameson’s easy to note, and somehow not surprising that he was serving something so classic and uncomplicated. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, darlin’, just for the politeness - how about you set the buy-in value?” The dark-haired man said with a jerk of his hand, toothpick back between his fingers, as he sat back down in his chair. “Usually it’s twenty-five years, but perhaps you don’t want to waste that pretty youth of yours.”

“That’s fine with me.” She snapped back, waiting for him to settle in as he lent forward, arm across the green felt before him as he moved to pick the cards back up. The toothpick and the way his lips would curl fully up on one side in a cocky smile made her skin crawl a little, but this was the safest option she’d come across so far. If he knew she was here though, Jo knew - spinning her ring around her finger awkwardly as she thought about it - that he’d throw a fit at her being there and even just trying this. The prospect of losing twenty-five years with him made her stomach flip, but the prospect of gaining them extra made her heart thud harder in her ears. “You cuttin’ or am I?”

“You want to do the deck?” “Seems unfair that the one with the bank gets to control the cards as well to me.” “Perhaps, but it’s my game, Joanna, so you’re playin’ by my rules.”

That didn’t surprise her, nor the way his lips quirked all the way up in a twisted smirk. The cards snapped against each other again, and as he sat the deck in the middle of the table and opened the chip carrier again, Jo frowned as she watched the witch pull out two stacks and set them beside the cards. This was what all three of them had said, and his hand - that toothpick back between those dexterous fingers - waved over the stacks as he chanted the ritual to set them from chips into years. As he lent back and began the same on two others in front of him with the same chant and hand movement, Jo pulled her chips towards her, slowly setting the piles into the sets she liked. Little towers of five in a row, before fidgeting with the plastic discs to create the quiet clink against one another.

“So, ready to play?” “Born ready.”

That got a small huff of a laugh from the witch, as Patrick began to shuffle and then slid two cards before each of them and sat the deck back to the center of the table. Jo tossed out two chips - the big blind - as she pulled her cards back towards herself and glanced down quickly at her hand, face as blank as she could make it.

King and Four of Diamonds alike. An alright starting point, but excluding many of the options that cards closer together might have afforded her. Flushes were still available though, and a King could come in handy if they both ended up on a Four’s pair or three of a kind.

There was a pause before the man across from her flicked out two discs. “I raise one.”

“Check,” Jo said gently after a moment thinking, tossing one disc out across the felt to sit atop her blind as she rapped the table with her knuckles as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

The witch grinned, pick flicking between his teeth as if his tongue was flipping the small stick up as he reached across the table to draw and set out the flop.

Jo had to fight herself from reacting, her hand crushing for a moment around the silver ring on her left hand, spinning the face of it around and around her finger for a moment as she considered the cards. Two more Diamonds - a Queen and a Jack - as well as a second Queen in the remaining red suit. If only her four was a ten!

Considering her options, Jo fiddled with her ring awkwardly, glancing repeatedly between the cards face up on the table and the piercing look on the witch’s face. He just bled out glee behind those dark eyes, amused and sparkling dangerously. Whatever he had, he likely held either a Queen or a Jack in his own hand, but the fact two of the ladies were face up made Jo lean towards the knave.

Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, she picked up one disc and tossed it out again, raising a brow across at the other man as she mumbled quietly, “One.”

“I’ll see you,” Patrick replied, matching her bet with a quick placement of his own chip atop his others before he reached to flip over the turn card.

It took everything in her not to react as the King of Clubs stared up at them, and from the likelihood of probability - the game had just shifted into her own favor instead of the gleeful look that had been on the witch’s face. Jo knew she must have given something away though, as the dark-haired man sat back in his chair now, reaching up to pull the toothpick from his lips as he considered her.

“Two years,” Jo said quietly, slowly shifting another two chips out onto the pile on her side of the board. She blinked slowly as she moved her hand back, trying not to let her fingers shake in pre-emptive excitement. All that could lose her this hand was another Jack, and the probability of that was small, but not impossible. She’d have to wait until the other folded or the River flowed before she knew if this would be in her hand.

“Two huh? Well, how ‘bout we make this fun, hey, Joanna.” “Isn’t this already fun for you?” “Oh, sweetheart, I find the learning curve more fun than the luck involved. How about we make it five and I’ll give you a bonus chip if you aren’t here to make yourself young and beautiful.”

The man sat out a full tower of five chips with the other four already out there, a wicked smile curling up one side of his lips as he lifted his whiskey to his lips, considering her and her moves.

Looking at the board again, Jo fiddled with her chips for a second, the calming sound of their clicking sinking her back to the days spent on Rufus’ knee and sliding the coins of her pocket money for cleaning tables or sweeping the floors across the tabletop as she stared down this hunter or that one. Flicking her eyes between her chips and the witch’s curiously dark eyes, she nodded before she added another three discs out to match his five. They were already playing for nine years.

“You need to give me a chip then, I’m not here to be young,” Jo said back gently as she fiddled with her ring again, watching hungrily as the man ran an eye over her before nodding and fetching her a freebie from the chip holder. If nothing else, she would only be down eight years now if the River showed a Jack.

“Interesting, darlin’, very interesting,” Patrick said with one of those same sharp smiles, sharper and darker than the glint in his eyes as he moved his hand to hover over the deck. “Let’s see how your first hand has gone for whatever your goal is then, shall we?” He didn’t wait for a response and simply flipped the last card over for the board with a flourish and a twirl of that toothpick between his fingers.

Jo felt her stomach drop at the black card facing up at her, the bored-looking manchild with his staff staring up at her from the Jack of Clubs. She didn’t even need to look up from it to know that the other would be fighting down a gleeful sneer at the way the cards had fallen, letting her fingers slip back from her chips and instead working over her ring repeatedly. Spinning it around and around as if it could keep her from reacting any harsher to the loss that was about to come.

“Check.” “Oh, darlin’, you just made a blue didn’t you?” “Luck of the draw, isn’t it?”

“That it is, that it is. Now, you’re not goin’ to respond to any raise I make are you now?” He looked across at her, and Jo blinked balefully for a moment before nodding her head and biting down on a self-deprecating smile as the witch gave a huff of a laugh. “Well, I’ll be kind to you shall I-” Patrick quipped, rapping the table with his knuckles. “And we can get this hand done and dusted with a flip, aye?”

Jo sighed as she turned her cards over, and shook her head ruefully seeing the Ace of Hearts and a Jack staring at her from the other’s hand before he pulled the pile across the tabletop towards himself.

“Thems the breaks, sweetheart. Did you want to keep playin’ or you ready to be in your forties already?”

“My button.” Jo snapped back as she rubbed awkwardly at the back of her neck for a moment, as he slid his chips into neat stacks before he began cutting and shuffling the deck again with another laugh.

The next hand was possible trash and checking to add the two chips only to meet the blind, Jo wasn’t surprised that the other followed suit. It was a smart move, to wait until they had seen the flop if neither of them had decent hands - and a Five and Two of non-matching suits was definitely not a decent hand for her to start on.

As two Nine’s and a Five flopped out in the center of the table, Jo felt that might have just changed, but waited for the other to consider the table thoughtfully with that ever-present smirk but the uncertain twitch of his lips that gave away almost nothing except that there were probably no Five’s or Nine’s in his had at that moment. That the witch threw out three chips with a flourish suggested he might have two of an Eight, Seven or Six though. Jo slid her own matching three years across the table to await the flip of the Turn card as she took a sip of her drink, thumb still spinning the ring on her middle finger gently, soothingly.

A damned Jack. But this time, a welcome reprieve for her from the chance she might lose this hand as well - already five years in on this hand and down the eight from before, she didn’t want to face fighting back to make up thirteen years instead of three.

The witch seemed to pause though, staring thoughtfully across at her rather than making any calls about the hand just yet - dark eyes focused fully upon her face and then running along all the pieces of her he could see. Jo knew the moment his eyes paused and held on the silver chain just visible under the neckline of the blue sweater she wore, and then the way he fixated on her still spinning ring as if trying to determine exactly what it was that drew her there. As if he could read her mind by reading her face and hands and the smallest shifts of her stance.

“You know, perhaps I was wrong about you, sweetheart. You seem to be reading me like a book and I’m struggling to pin you down.” Patrick spoke with that same smugly joking tone, that she could tell he meant nothing but the opposite as he smirked across at her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew exactly what it was you were playin’.”

“And you don’t mean the poker, right?” “Of course not. That’d require none of the brainpower you’re runnin’ through right now counting the odds and cautiously keeping back from jumpin’ full-on in.” “Very true. You mean that I’m playin’ against a witch, yeah?”

“See now, that’s what I like in a competitor.” The man’s grin grew wider as he sat back in his seat, still not making a move to set any of his chips forward or make any bets on this round so far, just setting his toothpick down next to his hand of cards as he looked back at her. “I like someone that has surprises available.”

“Is that just these days since she left you?” Jo found herself compelled to ask. That little part of her that always struggled with impulse control straight up directing her, daring her even, to ask about the man’s dead love. To ask a question about the only nice witch that the boys had ever interacted with from the way Sam had described her. She felt like her tongue was too big for her mouth at the furious look that flashed across his face for a split second, followed by an even more painful and haunting look for an even smaller fraction, before the other raised his glass to his lips to delay a response or hide his reaction. Jo shook her head, cheeks blushing sharply as she lent forward for a second, fingers twitching as if wanting to reach out to comfort him. “I’m sorry, that was rude-”

“So, you’re one of them are you?” “One of what?” “A hunter like that trio of bumbling buffoons a handful of years back.”

“Ah. Yes then.” Jo replied softly as the man seemed to rake an eye back over her, trying to assess the validity of the concept. As if his eyes were looking for that scar on the side of her neck now that he was paying attention, or the way her hair had split ends she’d not found the time to get trimmed between cases, or the way her fingers had thin pale lines that cut over the very ends of the pads of her fingertips that had taken so long to heal. “That would be a group I’m part of.”

“So it is. You disguise it well under all your finery and the pretty face, you know.” The witch bit back, gesturing at her with his almost empty glass before he tossed the remaining contents back and set the crystal back down on the table beside that toothpick of his. The next second he appeared to be back in the game or never having left it unlike the distraction leaving Jo’s mind scrambling to quickly remember that the threat was likely any card higher than a Five that the other might have in his hand. She shook her head a few times before the click of chips caught her back. “Raise you three.”

“Check.” Jo rapped the table, setting out the three chips and bringing the total hand up to eight each as before. If she won this, she’d be back where she started, a good position to be in.

And then the River came rushing over with a Seven of Diamonds. A card higher than a Five, and leaving Jo’s stomach tying up in knots as to if the other’s hand held that magic number or not to beat her two pair.

Patrick appeared to be doing the same mental arithmetic, and the next moment, Jo let out a rush of air as he rapped the tabletop without calling to add any extra tokens out and spend any extra years on this hand.

The flip of both their hands, showing his useless Six and Three in comparison to her useless Two and her Five that turned her hand into a two pair and the winner of that round. She slowly pulled the chips back over to her side, and began stacking them carefully into their piles of five - gently clicking them together as she realized she was right back where she started from but no worse off.

The next hand few hands were uneventful and more teething than anything - with his winning with a pair of Sixes of all things and then her own win with a Jack high that had her down all of one chip given the discrepancy to the shitiness of their hands. The third hand had her up by two again with a hand of Two Pair.

“So, before we begin the next round - if you tell me why you’re here, I’ll give you another freebie chip. That’d take you up to twenty-eight years, so up by three overall.” Patrick’s voice was soft and guiding at that point as if trying to draw the secret out from her of the push for her to be there, as he’d stood to refill both of their drinks. He looked over his shoulder towards her after a second, raising an eyebrow at her. “What is there for you to lose other than a free extra year of your life if you decline?”

“There’s many things for me to lose, actually, and that’s part of what I’m here for,” Jo replied softly, her voice quiet and filled with uncertainty compared to the playful banter they’d had over their useless and worst hands thus far of such poor opportunities. If she wasn’t so concerned at walking away at least even on her buy-in, she might have bet up a storm on the hand with the Jack high just to scare him off and end that round quicker. But instead, she was playing cautious and gentle, playing the chances rather than the gut instinct that sometimes led her to greatness. Fiddling with her ring again, the dim light above the table catching in the shining crystals and bouncing small sharp jabs of light around the room and tiny rainbows into the shadows around them. “But the main one is.. the main one is a guy called Grey.”

“You’re riskin’ your future for a guy?” “He’s.. not just any guy. And I want to be with him forever.”

“Darlin’, I hate to be the one to break it to you - but humans don’t really live forever, no matter how much it may seem that way.” Patrick’s tone was condescending in a way that made her want to check out her chips and then punch him in that beaky nose of his, before she could shake that desire off. “I mean, unless this fellow is like yours truly, you’re not going to get much longer winning some years without splittin’ them.”

“You’re right, but oh so wrong.” Jo quipped back. She spun her ring one more time, before letting out a soft sigh. “He’s as immortal as you practically are now, though not quite so old as you supposedly are.”

“Oh? And what exactly what makes this man of yours so special, sweetheart?” “He’s a monster.”

“Well, color me surprised again, dollface, that is not what I’d expect for someone like you.” The witch seemed to freeze for a moment at her reveal, though he returned back to the table within a few seconds and his face was impulsively smug as it had been the whole time they had been playing. “And here I thought it wasn’t done by your kind and that.”

“You’d be surprised the number of us that don’t quite follow the killin’ method of dealing with things,” Jo grunted the words out, with a shake of her head and a raise of her hand to rub awkwardly at her neck and then twist a finger through the dainty silver chain of her necklace.

There was a shift, and looking up from her hands and the sliver wrapping around them, Jo was somewhat nonplussed by the way the man was leaning forward - arm resting on the table as he peered towards her - eyes fixated on the thin chain in a way that made the dark circles under them stand out sharper as he was thrown into the shadow of both the light and whatever it was rushing through him. Jo couldn’t be sure, but she was almost positive it was something to do with the woman Sam had quietly told her of. The one that had promised to love the man forever, and then finally changed her mind. The one that forced his hand to draw her years out of her and into him instead. The one that made this ancient soul destroy the one he’d loved most. Whatever it was, it made her stomach twist to see the twitch of his lips before they finally formed into a scowl.

“So, the little lady thinks she can win some extra time to spend with her lover, does she? Well, I’m here to tell you, darlin’,” Patrick’s voice sounded rougher then, harsher and less the smooth and charmingly playful tones of before and a darker edge to them that made Jo happy she knew that someone was waiting nearby in case anything bad happened and a borrowed silver bracelet around her wrist she was assured would protect her from any demonic or witch flare-ups. His words turned into knives instead though, as he picked up the cards and shuffled them through and viciously sliced her cards across the table to her. “You might win some years here. You might even double your bets with me. But that time? It’ll mean nothin’ in the long run. You’ll be the same fickle way all you women are - you’ll decide somewhere down the line that this fella? He’s not enough for you anymore. You’ve got other things you care about more, or places you don’t want to be. You’ll get sick of him and his ways. You’ll find you loathe what you’ve become for him, the things you gave up for him like a normal life or families. Your love will turn into resentment, and you will slowly burn the both of you from the inside until there’s nothin’ left for him in this world once you decide to leave him.”

His words were vicious and cruel and punctuated through his entire speech by the click of chips between the both of them as their cards played out. The witch’s words were harsh, but the cards were harsher for him. Jo’d upped the bet to six years on the flop - the Ace in her hand met by an Ace on the board reconciling that of the cards out, she probably held the highest match unless he’d gotten a straight right away with the Ten of Clubs and King of Spades sitting face up as well. The Turn gave another Ten, Spades this time, and they each raised again taking the total number up to a matching ten years.

As the final River card was set out, a Seven of Spades throwing her at risk of fighting off a Straight or a Flush with a lowly two pair, Jo found herself swallowing thickly as the witch snarled across at her, another two chips pushed into the pot as a call with it, “You will grow to hate him and what you’ve become for him instead.”

Jo sucked in a breath at his words, shaking her head a little as she clicked her chips, carefully trying not to let his distractions force her into a bad move as she looked at the fifteen discs still on her side of the table and the ten years investment she’d already placed in. Meeting his eyes, the dark fire burning in them calling to that dangerous impulse of hers to brush with danger - that adrenaline junkie siren call and the risky nature she always had - and before she realized what she was doing, before she’d fully weighed the risks that perhaps they might be deadlocked or he was calling her out, she saw rather than felt herself sliding the corresponding chips forward to match his bet.

“Oh, darlin’, you are in way over your head.” The Irish man sneered at her, flipping his hand over to reveal a King and a Five but neither of them Spades. Jo’s heart that had been racing and thudding in her ears the moment she realized she’d put twelve years on the line stopped and the rush of silence as it returned to normal set her floating over the barbs he laid out.

His own smirk twisted in disgust as Jo flipped her Ace and Eight over - both of them a Two Pair but her Aces coming out trumps.

“You sure ‘bout that?” Jo said back quietly, the soft slide of her own bladed words as she raked the pot over to her side of the table and began restacking them. There was a huff of a laugh, but mirthless in the sound from the other as he began reshuffling the deck before Jo added gently. “By the way, you owe me another chip.”

The cards made a slick sound as he riffled the cards together between his two hands and the table before tapping them all back together again. Squaring the deck and setting it in the middle of the table, the witch gave another harsh-sounding laugh as he pointed at her with his toothpick.

“Right you are, missy, right you are.” Patrick nodded, fishing one of the chips from the holder and setting it down on the table between them, one finger harsh and pressed white atop it. “You can’t say I’m not a generous man with my life, can you, darlin’?”

Jo nodded her head, reaching out to take it, though his finger held firm and hard until she caught his eye. That same thrill-loving impulse told her that there was danger afoot as she stared back at him - silent and considering - for a long moment before he withdrew his hand and started dealing the cards again. She couldn’t tell what it was as she drew the chip back to her pile now thirty-eight up, but something told her that this friendly game was about to change for the worse.

That instinct was proven right over the next five hands, her fortunes going up and down in waves through crappy hand after crappy hand. A Jack High of all things was her only win in the second hand out, a bluff that the witch hadn’t bothered calling and let her take the four years only from the blind and Flop round before he passed it in. The rest were atrocious for the both of them, but Lady Luck seemed to be smiling on the Irish man more than upon herself for most of them. Those thirty-eight years slowly dwindled away through no fault of bad plays of her own back down to only twenty years - the fates how they are and the luck of the draw on the witch’s side eating her profit away until she was down again and struggling to make it back up. It might only be five down from her buy-in but it was a blow from what she could have walked away from the table with if she hadn’t given in to that need for the heart-thumping thrill and wager of loss.

“Now, sweetheart, you’re down a pretty few years right now. You sure you want to keep this up and leave your bonnie love sooner?” Patrick’s voice was back to that silky smooth charm, but Jo knew it was poison underneath. It was sharp and meant to taunt her into giving up, into leaving the table at a loss rather than rush after another big win. Or perhaps it was a taunt into making her chase that winning high rather than quit while she was ahead. And unfortunately, her brain wasn’t making the decisions as she quirked a brow up at him across the table before he began to deal for the next hand. “He wouldn’t appreciate your comin’ home all wrinkled and a failure, would he?”

“I doubt he’d care about such trivial things. More the years gone than the physical change.” “You sure ‘bout that? Men are as fickle as you women are, you know.” “Oh, I’m sure. He’s not a man after all.”

The bitter sounding laugh rang through the room as Jo lifted her cards to look at her hand as she set out the two discs for the big blind that round. A Seven of Spades and a Two of Hearts. The hearts made her smile, a tiny thought that something about it connected to her playing with her heart on the line and his the way that she was. The hand wasn’t good at all, but she felt something quiet in the back of her mind that sounded like his voice whispering that it would be alright.

“Well now, it looks like someone’s got a good hand.” Jo blinked in surprise as she looked across the table to the other, having forgotten to school her face blank for half a second as she’d let the smile tug her lips up rather than keep her poker face in place. The dark-haired man was smirking across at her as he played with his chips for a moment, before tossing five out alongside the small one year blind. “Let's take it up by four, shall we?”

Looking back down at her cards - a useless hand that any other time she’d fold with and count those two blinded years as the bad money she didn’t want to throw good after - Jo chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before she nodded. Something, she couldn’t tell what at all, was telling her to trust this hand and the two hearts it held onto. Sliding another four coins across to match his, Jo nodded again.

The Flop served it’s purpose, and Jo nervously shifted in her chair as she continued to roll her ring around her finger to calm herself down. She’d already broken the facade of calm before and accidentally made the witch think she had more than she’d had - but now, looking down at the Eight, and then the Seven of Diamonds and the Seven of Clubs to join her own tucked into her hand, Jo felt that little prickle of excitement starting up again.

“Well now, looks like we’re both in a good spot there, right sweetheart? I call ten.” Patrick quipped, toothpick held between his teeth as his grin pulled all the way up on the left in that dangerous way that made her certain he had something good in his hand from the get-go. A pair already, most likely, and as he threw out another ten chips - a bold move but not an unpredictable one as he seemed to have learned Jo had trouble backing down from a bite - his grin got wider still like a shark circling its prey. “How’s about it? Your two pair versus mine, isn’t that right?”

Jo hummed quietly, before making up her mind and shifting not only the ten of her chips to match his own but another two on top of it with a nervous rub of her necklace chain as her eyes darted between the Board and his own predatory smile. “I raise another two.”

“Oh, darlin’, that’s just reckless.” He let out another laugh, sliding the requested two discs across to match her bid and call her in turn. “You’re down to four years, and you won’t make it through another hand at this rate.”

That thought hadn’t crossed her mind, and Jo knew immediately her cheeks were flushing in reaction to her foolishness to risk it all on this hand. Three of a Kind like she had was a good spot to be in right now, and it would trump his Two Pair if that was indeed what he had, but if he had two Eights in his hand? He’d have a Full House and she would be down to four years of the twenty-five she’d started with, and not nearly enough to play another round.

“Guess this is the last hand then,” Jo said quietly, blinking away the sting that she might have just lost entirely at this rate and would be walking away feeling closer to sixty than thirty, as she continued to rub her thumb against and spin her ring nervously.

There was another of those mirthless laughs as the Turn card showed a Six of Spades, and the witch stared her down for a long moment. And then his knuckles rapped upon the top of the table, rather than raising the ante at all. His eyes were fixed on her, and blinking in surprise at him, Jo let out a shaky breath as she too rapped her knuckles to check. No extra coins needed at that point as she guarded her remaining four protectively.

And then it happened.

Jo’s heart lurched violently in her chest as the River card was laid out and that thudding in her ears continued to ring sharp and high. She didn’t hear a word the man said as his lips were moving, his hands were pointing and gesturing, and he sat back in his chair with a smug, self-satisfied grin as he’d slid four chips into the pot.

All Jo was focused on was the way her Two of Hearts tucked carefully away in her hand, had just found it’s match in the Two of Spades facing up at her from the last round.

“So, what do you say, you goin’ all in, sweetheart?” Jo blinked and shook her head for a moment to clear her ears as she looked at the card and his risen bet. “Is that a no-”

“I call. All in.” Jo breathed the words out, harsh and ragged as she shoved the remaining four discs across the table and her hands splayed out, shaking nervously against the green felt. She didn’t have the years to play another hand, and she had to make this one work for her - her and her Full House had to be higher, it just had to - or she’d be leaving the table then and there with some more silver strands and more lines around her eyes than she came in with. She had to win this, and her heart was lodged in her throat as she watched the other shake his head sadly at her actions.

“Darlin’, your man is going to be mighty upset with you.” The witch said gently, as he turned over his cards - revealing to her immense relief a pair of Tens rather than the Eights that could have wrecked everything for her. His smirk, however, held the cockiness of someone expecting an Eight in her own hand and the win of the pot to go to him. “You looking forward to hittin’ sixty in the blink of an eye?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jo said softly, rolling her thumb over her ring again, calming herself from the warmed metal and the press of her finger pad into the intricate design as she allowed her smile to slowly grow. “And I’m cashin’ out now.” Jo flipped her cards with the other hand, the Seven and Two partnering up to give her her Full House and the ownership of the forty chips in the center of the table. “I’m goin’ to quit while I’m ahead.”

There was a moment of joy she got to experience watching the Irish man’s face shift and twist in surprise to frustration and then finally, as she fished her pendant out from inside her sweater to grasp tightly and excitedly around the sharp edges of the design, it turned into a soft smile as the other looked across at her.

“That, my dear, was a very ballsy play. And a very smart move.” Patrick’s voice was gentle there, and she almost felt like crying not only in her own happiness to have not risked so much for no reward but for the way she could see part of that tiredness in the man’s own face - the wear and tear of his losses and the work he did for nothing but himself anymore - ease a little. And then the chips were alight and the brush of ash that never reached her other than the power behind it washed over her. Her shoulder that always seemed to ache from sitting too long felt better, and as she let go of her necklace she noticed her hands didn’t have any of the pains from the breaks so long ago that she didn’t leave be for long enough. Nothing hurt and raising her hands to her hair, she saw even the split ends had come back together.

Jo let out a surprised noise before the man laughed again, that mirthless sound was harsh and jagged but wasn’t as condescending as it had been previously. “Well now, aren’t you a lucky one. If you ever want to play again, darlin’-”

“I’ll try not to take too much from the bank next time.” Jo finished for him, her eyes lighting up as she pushed her chair back, looking over the table in disbelief as she rose to her feet. Tilting her head as she shrugged on her leather jacket and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway to the exit suggested his previous engagement may be there, Jo waited for a moment to see a middle-aged man with a pot-belly, the sagging jowls of a man who’d ate his way through his youth while he played College football but hadn’t adjusted once the knee injury took him out of the game, and the pale band of skin around his ring finger that suggested divorce had come first rather than death, before she turned back to the witch. “Thanks again, Patrick. I’ll be seein’ you.” She didn’t know what compelled her to do it, but leaning down she pressed a brief kiss to his cheek, laughing herself at the stunned look on the witch’s face and the same on his next victim’s before she started off for the door with a new, or should that be old, spring in her step.

Behind her, she could hear the scrape of a chair and the clicking of chips as the words bounced off the walls and down the hall with her. “Are you ready to play a little game?”

#fic #ca #jopov #cc

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every-jai · 5 years ago

Text

Catching a Storm

Chapter 3

After a nearly sleepless night, Tom woke me up. For the first time, he smiled at me sincerely. "Good morning, (Y/N)! I hope you slept at least a little." I smiled back, "More or less." He holds a Cup of tea out for me that I gladly took. "You're lucky. The storm had died down, and you can go home safe now." A second later, a dark shadow flew into my arms. With an "Omph," I felt down back on my Bed. "Miss (Y/N) you are still here! I thought you were already gone! How are the Baby birds doing?" Mike snuggled into my Armes. "Are you going to stay with us today?" The little Boy asked curiously. I looked at him a bit sad ,, I wish, but I have to go home. I need to prepare your lessons for next week. But we see each other Monday morning 7- o'clock straight" I said with a little wink to his Father, who smirked slightly at my comment.

Back in Goolwa, I was met with a scolding look from Mrs. Barnaby. "Miss (Y/L/N), you are back," she said coldly. I decided to ignore it, maybe she just had a bad day. "You had a nice night?"

Now she sounded downright judgmental. I stopped and looking at her in Question "Is there something you want to say, Mrs. Barnaby? If not, I would really appreciate going to Bed now, it was a very short night"

Her eyes go wide, and she nearly dropped her book. I had to hold back a snicker because I knew very well what she was insisting.

But that was ridiculous. Mike was the main and only reason I was down at the Beach. Ok, his Father was a good looking man, tall, brought shoulders, slight curls on his head and a nicely trimmed Beard. He was a grieving widower, the last thing he needed was his Son's teacher swooning over him. Albeit I had to admit that his touch the previous night, that little caress of my Hand... had stirred something in me.

Mrs. Barnaby left me alone for the rest of the day and even didn't take me to church with her. I used the whole Sunday to correct Mike's work, finishing my latest report to the school's council and prepare the new week.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about Tom. It got even worse at night when I started dreaming about him, his hands on my Body, his lips softly kissing down my throat, along my collarbone and his incredible blue eyes looking into my soul.

He softly whispered my name with his deep voice.... and then a little louder. I moaned while his strong hands dipped under the waistband of my trousers. Again he said my name... but why he was suddenly back to my last name?

I looked at him in question. He now nearly screamed at me." Miss (Y/L/N) wake up! You are roughly oversleeping,"

I opened my eyes and looked into Mrs. Barnaby's angry face. Turning beet red, I hoped she hadn't realized what I was dreaming about.

"It is already 6:30. I would say you should get up to see your pupil" Her snotty tone told me that she still thought that I was down there for Tom, which of course I wasn't.... right?

Nearly two hours later, I was back at the Shack. Thankfully Tom was already on his boat because I wasn't sure if I was able to look him in the eyes without blushing furiously.

In the next few weeks, the birds grew tremendously, not only in size but also in personality. Mr. Ponder, Mr. Pround, and Mr, Percival lived pretty much up to their names and took over the Kingley household very fast. I nearly died of laughter one day, when Tom told me that the cheeky birds had followed him to the outhouse to demand their breakfast.

Besides that, Tom and I became much closer.

We often sat on the porch after the lessons and talked, laughed, and enjoyed the presence of each other. Sometimes I think he even was flirting with me a little.

Today Mike and I made an excursion into the Dunes to see how the Pelicans live in their natural habitat. Of course, Mike had seen it plenty of times, but now we would see it with the proper knowledge.

We strutted thru the nests when we suddenly heard a shot rang thru the air. The hunters were back again and even shot the birds while they breed! I took Mike's Hand. "We should go back, it's not safe here any longer." He nodded, and we went back to the Shack.

Just before we arrived at the end of the Dunes, another shot rang, and a sudden white-hot pain exploded thru my left thigh. Moaning I sank to my knees and Mike screamed my name in panic, throwing himself into my arms ,,No! Miss (Y/N)!" I clenched my teeth and looked at my leg, where Blood was already seeping through the fabric of my dress "It's all right Mike, let's get back home, ok?"

The Boy helped me up, and I tried to stand on the Injured leg. It hurts like a bitch, but it was possible, so I assumed that the bone wasn't affected.

With clenched teeth and Mike's help, we made it to the hut.

I let myself down on one of the chairs. My thigh was still bleeding, and I pressed my Hand on the wound to stop it, so the Boy wouldn't see too much "Mike, honey, can you do me a favor and fetch Fingerbone for me?" He nodded eagerly and stormed out. Hissing I lifted my Hand up. The wound looked deep and was as big as a one-pound coin. I sighed and closed my eyes, pressing my Hand on the wound again.

Suddenly the door was opened, and Tom came inside. "(Y/N), is everything ok? Where is Mike?" His sight felt on my leg. The bucket of fishes he was carrying fell out of his hands, and he leaped towards me. "Oh god, what... what happened? Is that a gun-shot wound? Where the heck is my Son??"

I swallowed slowly, the pain started to make me dizzy. "Your Son is all right, I've sent him to Fingerbone Bill. I know he has some medical skills, so he might help."

Tom rubbed his eyes, tiredly, "How the heck did you managed to get shot?" I shook my head lightly to stayed focused "We.... we were in the Dunes to look at the Birds... Birds nests, when we heard someone shoot. I'm...I'm... "I felt like I was fainting.

"Tom, can I have a glass of water please I... "After that, everything went black. The last thing I heard was Tom screaming my name.

The next time I woke up, I felt terrible. Everything was hot and cold at the same time, and my leg burned like it was on fire. I didn't know what time or date it was. My throat was dry as the desert. I tried to look around and saw Tom sitting by my side, napping.

It took almost all my power to lift my Hand to touch him. He instantly wakes up "(Y/N)!" he whispered and took my Hand carefully.

A little smile crept on to his worried face. "Hey little one, how are you doing?" I felt way too sick to comment on him using a nickname for me.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaked noise. "Shhh. don't speak, you want some water?" I nodded weakly, and Tom stood up to get me a glass.

When he came back, he carefully grabbed my head to bend it a bit so I could drink. I took a big gulp, and Tom put the glass back on the nightstand. "what... what happened?" I managed to whisper. He took my Hand, caressed it softly, and sighed. "You fainted because of pain and blood loss. For a moment I thought you were dead" Tears started to glisten in his eyes as he continued.

"Bill came in a minute or so later and took care of your wound. He retrieved the bullet and closed the wound as good as possible. Still, you caught an infection. Bill says he can help with it, but it would be better to go to a hospital,"

I shook my head "No, no hospital!" I took a deep breath ,,They would ask too many questions and... and maybe report it to the child service. They might deem it also danger...dangerous for a child and take him away from you!"

Tom closed his eyes, bend his head down to me, and our foreheads touched. "Please, (Y/N) you need professional help! I..." He swallowed hard "I couldn't stand losing you too" I tried to smile a little "Everything will be all right... all... right" Exhaustion took over, and I fell back to a dreamless sleep.

For the next few days (I think it was days, I had no real feeling for time) I slipped in and out of consciousness. Sometimes there was Tom, giving me something to drink again, sometimes it was Bill, who forced me to eat something very bitter and awful. I even remember Mike coming by and telling me about the Pelicans.

One day, he stood up from the chair beside me and gave me a little kiss on my cheek "Please, Miss (Y/N) get well soon! My Daddy needs you!" he whispered in my ear and ran out of the Room.

Finally, after 5 days - that's what Bill told me- I felt a lot better when I woke up. I was able to sit on the Bed and stay awake. Bill was proud of my progress. He bought me a box with small packages, made of leaves, "You need to take them twice a day for the next two weeks. It's a remedy my tribe uses for centuries, something similar to your antibiotics." I nodded and put the box aside.

Bill looked at the wound on my leg ,,It looks much better now"He said "No more fever and only a slight redness. What do you think? Should we try to stand you up on your own two feet?" I nodded eagerly and carefully, with Bill's help, I stood up.

My legs were still wobbly, and the right one hurt a lot. In this Moment I heard the front door "Bill? Mike? anyone home?" It was Tom.

Slowly I started to walk to the door. Suddenly Tom looked in my direction. "(Y/N)!" He yelled and darted towards me. Tom wrapped his arms around me. "It's so good to see you on your own two feet!"

He cupped my cheek with one hand and slung the other one around my lower back. When I looked into his eyes, I saw pure relief "I was so afraid..." He whispered, and the next Moment I felt his lips hard on mine.

I was so shocked that I didn't react at all. Was that real? Was I still dreaming in a fever? You know what? I don't care! If this is a dream, it's the best one I've ever had.

Slowly I laid my Hand on his and kissed back. Unfortunately, my action seems to get him back to reality. He stopped immediately and looked at me with wide eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry, so sorry! I didn't mean to..I can't.." He stumbled backward and out the door again. Slowly I let myself down on the Bed. "Well, that was awkward," I stated.

Bill laughed lightly. "He's confused. Tom was at your side the whole time. He nearly never left you. It's obvious he has feelings for you and now feels guilty for his late wife."

I looked at him with wide eyes "I.. I don't ... I mean," He held his Hand up to stop me and smiled. "Please, even my ancestors could see how much you like each other."

I laughed too and looked at my feet. "It is that obvious, yes? "Bill shrugged his shoulders "But he's still grieving. He's not ready, and I'm not sure if he ever will"

Bill laid his big Hand on my shoulder "Give him some time, he's nearly there. Believe me, everything will be as it should."

In the next few days, I slowly came to my old strength. Tom acted as nothing ever happened, but also hold his distance again. I was despondent about that. Maybe I was too fast and shouldn't have kissed him back.

Mike, on the other Hand, clings to me like glue. He always took my Hand or cuddled up to me.

The Pelicans were no longer skinny little chicks now. They've grown a lot and ate more solid food. Tom was a bit worried about their ever-growing appetite but helped as much as he could.

Because my leg wasn't right enough for cycling yet, Tom was so kind to travel up to the Port every morning to take me to the Beach, and every night to get me back to my Room.

On my first day back at Mrs. Barnaby, she looked me up and down scrutinizing as always. "I never thought you would be like that!" I sighed and looked at the ceiling. "What is it this time, Mrs. Barnaby? If you want to tell me something, shoot!"

I was absolutely fed up. My leg hurt, I was tired like never bevor, and that tension between Tom and me was absolutely exhausting. She looked at me with utter disgust. "He is a widower! You should take care of his Son, teach him, keep him and his Father friendly company. But not like that! Overnight? Someone like you shouldn't teach children."

All my books felt down. "Some... someone like me? What do you think I am?" She nearly spat on the floor before me, "Not a good Christian woman, like I thought. I'm sorry I have to remove you from my house, I don't rent to... to harlots!"

I felt like I was hit by a Truck. Did she really called me a Harlot?? Breathing deep I bent down, got my Books up from the floor and smiled widely at my former Landlady

"Well, then maybe you should leave me alone, so I can pack all my promiscuous clothing and my erotic Books and can go to offer my service to a few of the townsmen" Mrs. Barnaby looked liked she might get a stroke.

I snickered when she left the Room in a hurry and started packing my few bags. In some way, I was relieved. I hadn't moved out of my parent's house, only to be watched over again.

15 Minutes later and without a goodbye from that old Dragon, I stood back on the street. Down the road was

a little hotel. The friendly owner Mr. James smiled at me knowingly. "Yes, Mrs. Barnaby. She has some very old believing, but I know times have changed. You got lucky, I've got one nice Room left. You can have it as long as you need it for 15,- a week?"

I thanked him and was on my way upstairs when his voice stopped me one more time ,,Miss (Y/n), I know you do your best for the Boy AND his Father. They both need you" I nodded at him thankfully and went on my way.

–------------------------‐----------------------

Yeah, I'm still here! Hope you like this part of the story! Please read and comment! Love ya all!!

#jai courtney #jaicourtney #fanfiction #storm boy #hideaway tom #catching a storm

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queenie2297 · 5 years ago

Text

Please, Daddy!

Sooo here’s another smut. This particular commission came to me from a twitter user who loves the good ol’ Overwatch cowboy, Jesse McCree (hell yeaah. Same.) this person also mentioned to me a major Daddy!kink AND WHAT BETTER WAY TO MASH THOSE TWO PEICES OF INFORMATION TOGETHER WITH SOME GOOD OL’ NASTY DADDY KINK SMUT. SO LET’S GET IT!

Warnings: angst, violence, unprotected sex, dirty talk, daddy!kink (is that a warning?).

Rating: NC-17

*****************

You were sixteen.

A child caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Talon kidnapped you and kept you in a cold, dark room.

You knew too much about Talon and they were worried you would reveal them to the authorities.

For a while, they would physically abuse you. You were the Talon punching bag for a little while. Your most frequent visitor was one who would speak Spanish and wore a black cloak and a scary mask while he would relentlessly beat upon your already battered body. His deep voice would ring in your ears as he landed punches to you face and to you stomach.

“Puta perra!”

You’d cry out until your voice was nothing but a mere whisper. By the end of the beatings, you were left spitting blood and weeping silently. At night it was difficult to sleep because every inch of your body screamed in pain. By some miracle, your pain and suffering only lasted a short while.

Overwatch rescued you when they raided the Talon Base in Havana. It was none other than Jesse McCree who had found you.

He burst through the door with his peacekeeper drawn only to find you, a malnourished teen, beaten and bloodied cowering in the corner. He was built with a lot of muscle, just like the man who beat you. The only difference was this man had the overpowering scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke and wore a brimmed hat. You looked at him fearfully with wide, doe-like eyes, causing him to lower his gun slowly. He knew exactly what had happened to this poor girl.

“Hey, I ain’t here to hurt ya. We’re here to get ya out.”

“Out?” you mouthed.

The closer he got to you, the easier he could see your bruised skin. His eyebrows furrowed in disgust.

“God kid what did they do to ya?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you practically reached out for the stranger, desperate for someone’s help. He scooped you up and you clung to him like your life depended on it. For once, you felt safe at the hands of a stranger. Jesse cradled you like a newborn baby in his arms.

“Damnit! Angela! I got a kid here and she’s bad! Bruised all over!”

“I’m on my way, Jesse.”

Jesse looked down at your trembling figure.

“Alright, kid. We’ll getcha out of here.”

Gunfire rang out through the base, leaving your head swimming. Black spots appeared in your vision. You were slowly losing consciousness. He’s so warm. I want to fall asleep.

“C’mon, kid stay with me here.” he urged.

Before you passed out, Jesse’s comforting face left you, leaving you scared once more.

That same fear continued when you woke up, leaving you in a panicked state. A soft, comforting hand pressed lightly on your chest.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s going to be alright now.”

The voice belonged to an angelic-like woman with blonde hair and a kind face.

You looked around frantically for the man who saved you.

“I’m here too little darlin’. Don’t you worry.”

A sense of relief washed over you and you relaxed.

“You’re in good hands now, kid. Dr. Zeigler will take good care of ya.”

“Don’t talk anymore, sweetheart. Your vocal chords are pretty raw. Lots of fluids and no more talking for a while. You got a couple broken bones and some internal bleeding in the stomach, but I can fix that right up. It will be a little bit painful, but you will feel better instantly.”

Your eyes widen and you look at Jesse for reassurance.

“It only hurts a little darlin. I promise. Here,” he says as he offers you his hand, “take my hand. You can hold it.”

As you took his hand, Dr. Zeigler began the healing process. The pain was astronomical. You felt it all at once; the broken bones, the dull pain of healing bruises, the throbbing of damaged organs. Big, fat tears rolled down your face and you tried screaming, but the sound came out as a pathetic squeak.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m almost done.”

All at once, the pain lifted and you sighed heavily.

“There. Feel better?”

You examined yourself. No more bruises, no more broken bones. It has been a while since you could fully open and close your hands or curl your toes.

You looked at both Dr. Zeigler and Jesse and smiled.

“Good. Let me go grab you some food, dear. You must be starving.”

You nodded furiously and then looked over at Jesse, who was looking at you intently. The two of you exchanged grins at one another just as the doctor returned with a tray full of food.

The tray contained all sorts of food, from meatloaf to hard boiled eggs. You, for one, did not care what was in front of you as long as you could eat it. You scarfed the meal down within five minutes as Jesse sat by your side.

“Yeah. I don’t blame ya, kid. You looked mighty hungry when I picked you up.”

Not too long after you ate, you fell asleep peacefully, catching up on the many sleepless nights that you have wasted during your time with Talon.

You slept for days, which made Jesse worry, even after the constant reassurance from Dr. Zeigler. He never left your side when you were in that hospital bed. He spent countless hours bouncing between emotions. He was angry that Talon had gone this far as to hide their location by beating and torturing a child, but at the same time, he was amazed at the strength of the young girl laying next to him. He was surprised that she had survived the torture. She would make a good agent one day. That’s the kinda strength everyone needs to possess. He thought. Then something plagued him.

“Where will she go after she gets out of the medic ward?” He asked Dr. Zeigler while you were still asleep.

“Well, Jesse, I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. I was-”

“I’ll take her. I want to protect her.” Jesse said flatly.

Dr. Zeigler paused and smiled.

“Jesse McCree, the big, bad cowboy wants to take in a child? Can it be that he has turned soft for this little lady?”

“I don’t know what it is Angela. When I first saw her in that room and she looked at me with her big eyes,I felt like I had seen them same looks before, I just don’t know where. I don’t even know her name and I wanted to help her and protect her from anymore harm.”

“Well, I’m confident that you will be a great protector Jesse.” Angela smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “When she wakes up she can go home with you.”

It was later on that night when you woke up, finally feeling refreshed.

“Hey, little darlin. Are you ready to go home?” Jesse smiled at you.

Your face fell.

“What is it darlin?”

You reached for a pen and paper on your bedside table and wrote, “I don’t have a home.”

“Where was your home?”

“Deadlock Gorge.”

Jesse’s eyes widened. “Hey, that’s where I’m from too! Do you happen to know about the Deadlock gang?”

You smirked and pulled up your hospital gown just enough for Jesse to get a glimpse at your skull and wings tattoo, bearing the symbol of a gang that connected the two of you on your hip bone.

“Well, uh, I would show ya my tattoo but its right where this thing is.”

He displayed his metal arm which you had never noticed before. You reached out and felt the cold metal of his left arm. The pained look on your face said it all.

“It’s okay darlin. This happened a long time ago.”

You went back to writing on your paper.

“What’s your name?”

“Names Jesse. Jesse McCree.”

“My name is (Y/N). Maybe you know my sister, Ashe.”

As McCree watched as you wrote down his former partner’s name, the memories all came back at once. He remembered Ashe being about twenty-seven years old when she took in a timid little four year old girl, abandoned on the streets of Deadlock Gorge. That little four year old had the same look in her eyes as Jesse saw in the girl sitting next to him when he rescued her. He remembered completely now. This definitely was little (Y/N). Jesse had left the gang not too long after, so that explains why (Y/N) didn’t remember him.

Jesse chuckled.

“Ah, I remember you now. You were a little pip squeak when I first met ya. Bout’ four years old when Ashe scooped you up off the streets.”

You were so excited that you had forgotten to write down what to say and spoke hoarsely.

“You were there?”

“Hey, don’t get too excited now. You still have to rest your voice.” Jesse warned.

You sighed and scribbled, No wonder I felt safe with you. It’s because I had met you before!

“(Y/N)?” You looked up at Jesse, who was smiling at you. “You wanna come live with me?”

Your eyes brightened at the offer, and you nodded furiously.

Jesse took you back to his little, dimly lit apartment that smelled of that same cigar smoke smell that you were already accustomed to. The red, shaggy carpet was softer under your feet than the cold, hard floor of the room you were kept in for weeks on end. You were constantly at Jesse’s side and he didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he found the process of nursing you back to health rather rewarding. He loved seeing the light come back to your eyes and meat beginning to build on your bones. At first, it was like raising a child, but then to his surprise it became something more. With each passing month as you were fed well by him, your body expressed all of the right curves in all of the right places and your voice regained its strength. By god, was that little voice sassy. Dirty thoughts plagued Jesse’s mind about you. Every time you would mouth off to him, he wanted to shove his cock down your throat to put it to good use. He hated that he was beginning to feel this way about you. You were sixteen for crying out loud! Eventually, you were training at the Overwatch base to become the newest agent. Watching you grow stronger riled up the cowboy something fierce. He distanced himself from you when the thoughts became too much, which in turn only hurt you. You hardly ever saw each other anymore. You noticed that Jesse would take up more mission offers that took weeks to finish. This happened for two years. What really broke your heart was when Jesse was absent for your eighteenth birthday, which you spent crying alone in the apartment, denying any and all requests from your friends to go out that night to celebrate. Jesse came home stumbling from alcohol intake at approximately 1am and knew he had broke your heart when he found you whimpering in you sleep on the living room couch. His own heart sank as he looked at you, so pure and innocent as you slept, even though your lower lip quivered in your sleep.

“Ah fuck.” Jesse said to himself. He really fucked up this time.

“(Y/N). Hey, wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open and then shut them tightly when you realized it was Jesse.

“Go away, Jesse. I’m sleeping.”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry I’ve been distancing myself from you.”

You sat up suddenly.

“Yeah. For TWO YEARS, Jesse. You abandoned me for two fucking years!”

“Watch your mouth, (Y/N)...I’m…”

“No! I have the right to be this upset. I remember hearing you when I was in the hospital two years ago. You said you would protect me from any more harm. Do you think what you did to me was harmful, Jesse?? Do you? Cause I sure as hell think so! You fuckin missed my eighteenth birthday today, you fuckin prick!” tears welled up in your eyes as you said this and Jesse sat there on his heels taking the verbal abuse. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Your eighteenth birthday, huh?”

“Yes! I wanted nothing more than to spend it with you today because… because…”

You stopped suddenly, hiding your face from him in your hands.

“Because what, darlin?”

“I can’t say it.”

“Yes, you can. Tell me.”

You shook your head. Jesse grew more frustrated.

“If you don’t say it I’ll make you say it.” Jesse knew what you were about to say and it was something he was just dying to hear for the longest time.

You smirked.

“What are you gonna do, huh cowboy?”

That fucking mouth of her’s is gonna get her in big trouble.

You got up from the couch to turn the TV on but Jesse stopped you dead in your tracks. You looked up at him annoyed but your face fell when you noticed that his eyes were dark with feral lust, like an animal in heat.

“J-Jesse…”

You tried backing away but fell back onto the couch that you forgot was right behind you. Jesse was on top of you quickly, looming over your curvy figure.

“Don’t you dare try to run or resist me. Fuck. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”

Jesse’s metal arm wrapped around behind your head and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back roughly, making you squeak.

“Jesse! What-” Your protests were cut short by his lips crashing against yours. Your eyes grew wide. Finally you were getting what you were wanting from him all along! McCree’s lips left kisses wherever he could touch on your face and on your neck.

“Mine.” He growled.

Jesse threw your body over his shoulder and carried you into the bedroom. Just before he threw you on the bed, he gave your ass a good smack, making you moan softly.

“Tell me what you were going to say earlier, (Y/N).”

You started to blush.

“I- I love you, Jesse.”

“God, something that I’ve always wanted to hear.”

You sat up on the bed and slowly peeled off your pj shirt, your sports bra, your night shorts and your panties, all while not breaking eye contact with Jesse.

“And is this something you’ve always wanted to see Daddy?” You paused, horrified at what you just said. Oh fuck. Did I just say that out loud?

Jesse’s eyes grew wide for a moment and then he smiled wickedly.

“Daddy, huh? Does someone have a daddy kink?”

You blushed and tried to hide your face, but Jesse grabbed your wrists.

“Don’t you hide from Daddy. Show daddy what he’s been missing for two years.”

You crawled up the bed and from your nightside table you pulled out a small pink vibrator.

“Ah, so this is what you do when daddy’s not home.” Jesse chuckled.

You situated yourself on the bed where Jesse could watch every minute of you touching yourself.

You moaned softly, letting the vibrator slip in and out of your folds.

“Aw Hell, you look so beautiful like this. Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

You nodded in response.

“Can daddy touch you?”

You nodded again eagerly. You handed him the vibrator and he then pinned your hands above your head.

Jesse started by slowly dragging the vibrator up and down your already glistening slit, which made you mewl like a cat in heat. Then he made small circles around your clit before putting it right on the sensitive ball of nerves. You threw your head back and moaned.

“Does babygirl like that?” Jesse cooed.

“Ooh god yes.” Your toes curled from the sensation and your climax was approaching.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy.” You said as you looked into Jesse’s eyes. Jesse threw the vibrator to the side and replaced it with his fingers.

“So wet for me already baby girl. My fingers are covered.”

Jesse’s skilled fingers curled up at just the right spot, making your back arch.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Shit! Right there! Oooohh fuck!” Your orgasm came crashing down on Jesse’s fingers, covering them in your juices.

“Daddy’s gonna taste you, ok?” Jesse let go of your wrists and moved his body so that he could lap up your sweet juices. You wrapped your hands in his long brown hair, shoving his face deeper into your cunt.

Jesse’s expert tongue made you go crazy and it was something that you too had dreamed and fantasized about since you began to live with the cowboy. The euphoric feeling almost made you want to pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming, but Jesse did it for you when he bit the inside of your thigh and you didn’t wake up.

Jesse sat up and wiped his face, his beard glistening with your juices.

“I think baby girl is ready for daddy, huh?”

You nodded, giving Jesse permission to shimmie off the bed to remove his belt and his pants. You stared up at the ceiling of your apartment bedroom still in a lustful trance and didn’t even see that Jesse had grabbed your ankles to drag you back to the edge of the bed. You squeaked in surprise and you were again met with Jesse’s face looming over you. Jesse’s rock hard cock grazed the inside of your thigh, giving you a taste of how big and girthy it was.

Jesse grabbed your throat and squeezed slightly.

“Do you want daddy to be gentle or do you want daddy to be rough?”

“Rough!” You moaned.

“Anything to please his baby girl.”

Jesse threw your legs over his shoulders and positioned himself in front of your entrance, slamming into your hole roughly. The force of it knocked the wind out of you. He was stretching you in all the right places and the feeling was almost too much.

“You like the feeling of me stretching you, huh? Does it feel good?”

You moaned and wiggled your hips in response to get him to move.

“Fuck, Jesse. Just move already!”

Jesse chuckled and bucked his hips into you at a rough pace. You don’t know how, but you felt as though he fit perfectly into you, like two puzzle pieces coming together. This was it. You found the person you would always be with.

“Jesus, you’re so tight (Y/N).” Jesse cooed. “I could cum right now if I wanted to.”

Your hands laced through Jesse’s long brown locks once again and pulled, making it his turn to moan.

“If baby girl gets to pull daddy’s hair, it’s only fair that he gets to pull hers.”

You giggle as you let your hands travel down his back and dig your fingernails into him, making his hips stutter.

“Now, if you do that, you’re gonna really make me cum. Daddy’s not ready yet.”

Jesse pulled out of you briefly to flip you over on your stomach and put your ass in the air. With a quick but powerful slap on the ass, Jesse entered into you once more.

“How about a taste of your own medicine?”

Jesse started scratching your back so hard that you are pretty positive that he drew a small amount of blood. It felt glorious to you. You hoped those scratches would stay on there for days, reminding you of the intimate night you had.

Jesse pulled your hair so that your back arched just right as he pounded into you. It was a good thing you were not tender-headed and pulling on your scalp hardly bothered you. The pulling only made you hornier.

Jesse brought your backside to his toned chest as he continued to pound into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and throat to hold you upright and growled “Mine!” once more into your ear. He bit at your shoulder, leaving a giant bruise for everyone to see later and left a trail of hickies up the left side of your neck.

“There. Now everyone will know that your mine.” Deep in Jesse’s throat emerged a primal growl that you never expected to come out of him.

The familiar tight coil of an orgasm arose in your stomach once more and you whimpered. Jesse could also tell that you were reaching your peak. Your inner muscles fluttered and squeezed causing his hips to stagger.

“Fuck (Y/N)!” Jesse groaned.

Black spots appeared in your vision as your orgasm suddenly came crashing down.

“Jesse...I..”

Before you passed out, Jesse shouted his release into you and the only thing that escaped your mouth was a pathetic whimper.

****

When you woke up, Jesse cradled you in his arms on the couch. The false lights of the TV clouded your vision at first, but as your eyes adjusted, you saw Jesse’s peaceful sleeping face. You smiled to yourself and moved only slightly to adjust your position. However, your movement woke Jesse up.

“Hey, baby girl. You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You passed out on me.”

“The sex must have been so good that I passed out.” You smiled at him.

Jesse chuckled.

“You sure you’re okay, though? Good birthday present?”

You paused. Oh right. It was my birthday wasn’t it?

“Yeah. Definitely!”

“Happy birthday, baby girl. I promise I won’t ever leave you again. I will protect you, alright?”

“You got it, cowboy. Don’t lie to me this time.” You grinned and shut your eyes once again, falling asleep in the lap of the guy of your dreams.

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cristinablackthornkingson · 6 years ago

Text

Shadowhunters Short Story #34.

It was a warm summer’s day in the middle of July 2012, and one of the happiest times of Tessa Carstairs life. Three months ago, she had given birth to her and Jem’s first child, a beautiful little girl who they named Sophie Charlotte, after one of their dearest and closest friends and the woman who had been like a mother to them. Jem was besotted with their daughter, he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone before, and would do anything to keep her safe and happy. Being a father was a joy for him, he didn’t mind the nappy changes, the sleepless nights, the spit-up stains on his clothes, non of it, he was just so happy to have a baby, granted he was absolutely exhausted but he didn’t mind, whenever he felt himself growing frustrated with his lack of sleep or lack of clean clothes, all he had to do was look at his daughter and instantly the frustration fell away and was replaced with love and joy.

About half an hour ago, Tessa had left Jem and Sophie in the music room, while she went upstairs to sort out and put away her maternity clothes and clothes that Sophie had grown out of, for the next time, for there would be a next time, she and Jem had already discussed it and agreed that they wanted more children, for now of course they were perfectly happy with just Sophie, but in a few years time it would be lovely to give her a little brother or sister.

Now, she has finished sorting through hers and Sophie’s clothes that they did not need anymore, and was going to find her husband and daughter, deciding to first check the music room, where she had left them.

As she approaches the door to the music room, Tessa hears faint music coming through the door, classical music, one of Jem’s favorite albums that he always had on in the background.

Quietly opening the door, Tessa is greeted by the sight of her husband waltzing around the music room, with Sophie in the circle of his arms, humming along to the music, while Sophie smiled her wide, toothless smile at her father and let out a few giggles of delight. It was on the most beautiful things Tessa had ever seen, something she had dreamed of for so long.

As she stands watching her husband and daughter, Tessa feels a vibrating in her pocket, her phone ringing. She pulls it out and sees Catarina’s number displayed on the screen. Turning and making her way back into the hall, Tessa swipes across the screen to answer the phone.

“Hi Cat, haven’t heard from you in a while!” Tessa answers in a cheery tone.

“Yeah sorry about that, work has been really busy lately, how’s the little one?” Catarina asks. Tessa smiles broadly at the mention of her daughter.

“Perfect as always.” She replies, glancing over her shoulder into the music room, where Jem was now bouncing Sophie in his arms.

“Listen, I have today off and I was just talking to Ragnor and he wants to meet the little one, would it be alright if we called around in say an hour?” Catarina asks. Both Catarina and Magnus had met Sophie shortly after she was born, but at the time of her birth, Ragnor had been quiet busy and wasn’t in the country and had only returned a few days ago, so he had not yet had the chance to meet Sophie.

“That would be lovely!” Tessa says in an enthusiastic tone. When James and Lucie were growing up, Tessa had not been so close with Ragnor and Catarina, or even Magnus,( though they were still friends, they grew close when she and Magnus lived together in Paris) so her children did not really know them, now she wanted Sophie to grow up with her mother’s friends in her life, people who love her and care about her. Like her siblings, Sophie was part Warlock part Shadowhunter, Tessa and Jem agreed that she should grow up surrounded by everyone who loved her, from her Uncle Magnus and Uncle Alec to her cousins Mark and Helen in LA. Their daughter would grow up within the new Clave, the better, stronger one, with a kind, caring, responsible Consul, who hated no one simply for who they were and would not try and make Sophie feel odd or different for having powers, Alec would tell her to cherish her powers, to embrace her heritage, he would never let her be expelled from school because of who she is, or anything her siblings had to go through, Sophie would have a much easier life.

“Great, see you then!” Catarina says, before ending the call.

Just as Tessa is about to slip her phone back into her pocket, her phone starts buzzing again, and this time Magnus’ number flashes up on screen.

“Hello you!” Tessa answers enthusiastically.

“My, you’re in a good mood.” Magnus lightly says.

“How could I not be? I have my fabulous, wonderful husband, Kit is settling in here so well and I have a beautiful new baby, what’s not to be in a good mood about?” Tessa says in a joyful tone.

“Good point, dear. So Tessa, darling, Alec has taken the boys to The Institute for the evening so I can get some work done but I simply cannot concentrate right now, I’ve given up for the time being, but I thought I might as well take advantage of my rare free time and come visit you and the little one? Would that be alright?” Magnus asks. He could easily go meet Alec and their boys at The Institute but he so rarely got time to himself to go see his friends, and he simply couldn’t stop thinking about sweet little Sophie Carstairs, she was giving him serious baby fever and he simple had to see her or he was afraid he would adopt every child in need of a family, everywhere.

“Of course, that sounds lovely, Catarina and Ragnor are coming around in about an hour so maybe you could come then, if that suits you?” Tessa asks, delighted at the idea of being with all her friends and her beautiful daughter.

“Ah it will be just like old times, I always thought it would be fun to add a baby to our little gang!” Magnus says in a joking tone.

Tessa laughs and says

“See you in about an hour, then?”

“That you will!” Magnus replies.

Once she has hung up, Tessa returns to the music room, where Jem has turned the music down and is now sitting at the piano with Sophie in his lap, letting her smash her little hands against the keyboard.

“That sounds excellent Sophie! Uncle Will would be so proud, and daddy is very proud!” Jem exclaims, turning his daughter around so she is facing him, and blowing a raspberry on her cheek, causing her to giggle loudly. “Yes, yes I am! Daddy is so proud of his little musician!” Jem coos, peppering Sophie’s face with kisses.

“Mummy is very proud too.” Tessa softly says, slipping onto the stool beside Jem and leaning against him. “We have a talented little girl on our hands, I saw you two waltzing earlier.” Tessa lightly adds, smiling up at Jem.

“Honestly I thought if I sat still for one more moment I would fall asleep!” Jem says, smiling brightly at Tessa.

“Magnus, Catarina and Ragnor are coming over soon to see Sophie, we should probably get her dressed.” Tessa lightly says, her eyes running over Sophie’s pink baby grow, which by now was destroyed with spit up.

“Yes I suppose you’re right, I know I should have gotten her dressed earlier but I was afraid she would just spit up all over her clean outfit and I’d have to change her again.” Jem says.

“She probably still will, but there’s not much we can do about it.” Tessa says, taking Sophie’s little hand in hers.

“True, I’ll go get her dressed, do you want to feed her after that?” Jem asks. At 3 months old Sophie was just settling into a routine, she slept pretty much through the night, waking once or twice for a feed, she woke around 7:00 a.m. and then had a nap around 10:00 a.m. until about 12:00 p.m. and another around 3:00 p.m. till 5:00 p.m. and then she was down for the night around 8:00 p.m. She was feeding every 5-6 hours and had no problems nursing, which Tessa was extremely thankful for.

“Yeah, she is due a feed soon, if I feed her now before everyone comes over she’ll probably be in a good mood while they’re here, then I can feed her again when they leave.” Tessa says.

________________________________________________________________

*1 hour later*

As Tessa sits in bed, winding Sophie, with Jem beside her, she is pulled from her sleepy state by a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it, you finish winding her.” Jem softly says.

“No, no don’t leave, I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep while I’m holding her, I can finish winding her downstairs.” Tessa says, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Ten minutes later, everyone is settled in the living room, Sophie is dressed, fed and winded and in a very good mood. Currently, Catarina was holding her, she was the first out of the three to hold her, since she was the most experienced. She was extremely sweet and gentle with Sophie and clearly adored her, and Sophie was fascinated by her bright white hair and blue skin, every time she looked at Catarina her eyes went wide.

“I can’t believe how much she looks like you Jem, it’s quiet unnerving!” Catarina says in amused tone, looking from Jem to Sophie. Little Sophie had thick black hair, big brown eyes, Jem’s bone structure, mouth shape and pallor, all she got from her mother was her eye shape and nose shape. Tessa was thrilled that Sophie looked so much like her father, and Jem was too, but he had also really wanted her to look like Tessa.

“It’s so unbelievably fair, isn’t it? I literally grew her inside of me and she still comes out looking like her dad, when I did all the hard work!” Tessa jokingly says.

“It’s typical, Ephraim looked much more like Tobais than he did Eva, and your James looked just like Will, didn’t he?” Catarina asks.

“Yes he did, they could have been twins, Lucie looked a bit more like me, but she still mostly resembled Will.” Tessa lightly says, everyone had always said Lucie looked just like her mother, and though she did have more of her features than Jamie did, Tessa still saw more of Will in her, and she certainly saw a lot of Jack in Kit, and not so much Rosemary.

“Well lets hope she doesn’t grow up to be as influential as her older brother.” Ragnor says in an amused tone, remembering the outrageous things he had been able to coerce James Herondale into doing, particularly the time he bet him he couldn’t shoot out the lights in a gambling hall, that was a fun night.

At the mention of this, Jem’s eyes grow wide with concern.

“Ragnor, please don’t rope my daughter into outrageous behavior when she’s older.” He says. Ragnor laughs and says

“Relax James, I would never! I promise to be nothing but a caring, loving and responsible guide to little Sophie!” Ragnor declares. Magnus snorts and says

“You are the least responsible person in the world Ragnor, last time you babysat for Alec and I you let Max and Rafe watch The Haunting Of Connecticut, even 13 year old Drusilla Blackthorn knows better than to show kids horror movies!”

“Oh Ragnor you didn’t!” Tessa says in a tone of shock.

“I only let them watch the first half hour! It wasn’t even that scary! And I am responsible, I stopped Tiberius Blackthorn from committing Necromancy.” Ragnor says in a defensive tone.

“No you didn’t, you tried to but in the end it was just pure luck that it didn’t actually work, and Ty still has to deal with the consequences.” Magnus says.

“Have their been any signs of Sophie’s powers yet?” Catarina asks, changing the subject to something less bleak.

“Nothing yet, but Jamie and Lucie’s powers didn’t surface until they were teenagers, so we’re expecting the same with Sophie.” Tessa says.

“How did the birth go? Was the pain as awful as you remember?” Catarina asks. Tessa represses a shudder at the memory of her daughter’s birth, which had been a terrifying experience.

“It was terrifying, very sudden and very painful.” Tessa quietly says.

“Why? What happened?” Catarina curiously asks.

“Well....” Tessa begins to tell the story of how her daughter came into the word.

*London, April 2012*

It was a warm, spring day in the middle of April 2012 and Tessa and Jem were standing on The Black Friars Bridge, looking out onto the Thames, remembering when they use to meet here every year for one brief hour.

Tessa was currently 9 months pregnant and due in just a few short weeks, that day she and Jem had decided to take a day trip to London, spend some one on one time together before the baby arrived. They had invited Kit, but he declined and chose to stay at home. Tessa and Jem were awfully worried about him, he was barely eating, seemed to be up all hours of the night, nothing seemed to interest him and he pretty much slept all day. Tessa had suffered badly from depression after James was born, and recognized all the symptoms she had, in Kit. They would have to speak to him soon.

As Tessa and Jem stand looking out at The Thames, they suddenly hear fast approaching foot steps. Tessa turns to see the source of the noise, and sees a young mundane boy, pounding down the bridge at full speed, seemingly taking no notice of his surroundings. Tessa takes a step toward him to ask him if he is alright, when he smacks into her, full force, causing her to lose her balance and topple to the hard concrete, hard, landing on her back.

“Tessa! Oh my god, are you okay, is the baby okay?” Jem asks in a panicked tone, kneeling beside her and helping her to sit up. Before she can answer him, Tessa is hit with a strong, sharp pain in her stomach, causing her to groan and clutch at her stomach. “Oh god, we need to get you to The Institute, I don’t think mundane doctors can help us.” Jem says in a tone full of concern. He and Tessa were no longer part of the Clave, but at the same time they could not ask for mundane medical help right now, if the baby was born now and was born with a distinctive feature like golden eyes, they wouldn’t be able to hide it from the mundanes.

As Jem helps Tessa to her feet, she notices her underwear feel damp. Pushing her coat aside, Tessa presses her hand to the inside of her thigh, her breath hitching in her throat when it comes back stained scarlet.

“Oh my god! Did you cut your hand when you fell? Oh god you’re loosing so much blood!” Jem asks in a tone of pure panic.

“N-no, I didn’t cut my hand, I’m bleeding, down there.” Tessa says in a fearful tone. Just as Jem is about to hail a cab, there is a sudden gush of water from between Tessa’s legs. The baby was coming.

20 minutes later. Tessa and Jem are in the London Institute infirmary, Tessa has changed from her wet, bloodstained dress, into a hospital gown, and is trying to work through her contractions. When they arrived, Jem had contacted The Silent Brothers and begged them to come help. Brother Enoch assured him he would come check on Tessa and the baby, and would be there very soon.

As Tessa grits her teeth through another contraction, The Infirmary door squeaks open and Brother Enoch silently steps in and makes his way over to Jem and Tessa.

“Brother Enoch! Thank you so much for coming, I’m so worried about Tessa and the baby, some idiot mundane knocked into her and knocked her over and she started having contractions and bleeding and then her water broke!” Jem hurriedly exclaims.

Worrying will do no good to your wife or child, James, calm yourself. Tessa, lie back and I can examine you and the child. Brother Enoch tells them.

Tessa does as instructed, flinching as Brother Enoch’s cold hands come into contact with her bare stomach. It had never been like this with Jem, when he was Brother Zachariah, and he had looked after her during her pregnancies with Jamie and Lucie, she did not mind his touch, it did not feel inhumane like Brother Enoch’s did.

For the most part everything is well, but the child is in distress, they are not in any immediate danger but it is best they are born as fast as possible, Tessa, I can give you a herbal concoction that will speed up your labor so that your child may be born much faster than if you labored naturally. Is that alright with you? Brother Enoch asks. Tessa didn’t care what he gave her, as long as it meant her baby would be okay.

“Do what you have to, I just want my baby out safely.” Tessa weakly says.

Once Tessa has taken the herbal concoction, within minutes, her contractions become closer together and much more intense. After only an hour of labor, she feels the urge to push.

I can see the baby’s head, push as hard you can, Tessa. Brother Enoch tells her. She was quickly running out of energy, but she knew she had to find the strength to bring her daughter into the world.

Tessa takes a deep breath, clutches Jem’s hand, and pushes as hard as she can, groaning in pain as she feels the baby’s head pass through. She was sure things hadn’t been this painful with Jamie or Lucie, but then again they weren’t in distress and her labors with them had not come on due to injury, like this one had.

Your baby’s head is out, just a few more pushes. Brother Enoch says. Jem glances toward the bottom of the bed, and even though he had delivered hundreds of babies himself, he still found himself disgusted by what he saw, it was different now it was Tessa and his own child.

5 minutes later, Tessa feels a weight lift from her, and waits to hear her baby cry. Almost an entire minute passes, and the baby does not cry. Tessa’s heart contracts in fear, she couldn’t loose her baby, she couldn’t.

“Oh god no.” Jem quietly says, silently praying to The Angel to let his daughter live. Just as he and Tessa are about to give up hope, a loud, sharp wail pierces the air and they both relax.

“is she okay?” Tessa asks Brother Enoch.

She is fine, she simply needed some help clearing her lungs, though she seems to be struggling to hold onto her body heat, place her inside your gown, skin to skin will help her immensely, as I am sure you both know. Brother Enoch says, passing the baby to Tessa.

As Tessa cradles her baby to her chest, she feels her adrenaline wear off and feels more grateful than she ever has in her life, for her beautiful and perfect daughter.

Devon, July 2012.

“Oh god that must have been so awful for you.” Catarina says in a sympathetic tone, after hearing Tessa’s birth story.

“It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever been through.” Tessa quietly says.

“Did you ever find that idiotic mundane who knocked into you, Tess?” Magnus asks. He knew if he ever got his hands on the little shit, he would kill him for hurting his best friend and her baby.

“No, neither of us got a proper look at him, I doubt he hit into me on purpose, I don’t care about him anymore, Sophie is here and she’s fine, I still have some pain and bruising but I don’t care, Sophie is healthy and that’s all that matters to me.” Tessa softly says.

“Goodness me Miss Carstairs, only 3 months old and already causing so much drama!” Magnus coos to Sophie, who he is now holding. She smiles widely up at him and lets out a little giggle. “I think that smile says that I am your favorite Uncle!” Magnus declares, smiling broadly at the baby in his arms.

“What utter nonsense, come to Uncle Ragnor, Sophie, look what I can do!” Ragnor coos to the baby, producing a ball of magic in his hands and turning it over and over. Sophie’s eyes grow wide and she instantly reaches for Ragnor, who happily takes her, and sits her in his lap. She reaches up to touch the ball of magic, which Ragnor made sure would not hurt her in anyway, and giggles at the tickling sensation it gives her.

“You like that little one, don’t you? You may be able to do this yourself one day, you’re not just any old boring Shadowhunter are you? No, you’re better than the others, in fact you are my favorite Shadowhunter!” Ragnor coos to her. Sophie smiles up at him in delight, as if she understands what he has just told her.

“Oh wait till I tell Rafael!” Magnus jokingly says.

“Alright so maybe I have two favorite Shadowhunters, but that’s it, isn’t it sweet Sophie? Just you and your cousin, the rest of The Nephilim are idiots, yes they are!” He coos.

“If her first words are anything along the lines of ‘Shadowhunters are stupid’ I will not be pleased with you, Ragnor.” Tessa teasingly says.

“Well they are, I am just trying to be responsible and teach my niece the truth!” Ragnor defensively says.

“You know half her family are Shadowhunters, including her father?” Tessa says.

“Well of course James is not an idiot, I am sure he agrees with me that most Shadowhunters are bafoons!” Ragnor exclaims.

“Actually, yes, you’re right, most Shadowhunters are idiots, but those idiots are all in Alicante now and we have a new Clave and a new Consul who aren’t idiots, and my daughter will grow up surrounded by good people, Shadowhunters or not, but she will never think that Downworlders are lesser than her, she will grow up knowing the Cohort were and are ridiculous children throwing tantrums because they don’t get their own way, she will be better than them.” Jem firmly says.

Later that night, after Magnus, Ragnor and Catarina have left and Sophie has had her evening feed, Tessa sits down on the couch, with Sophie propped up against her legs, and produces a ball of magic for her daughter.

“You may be able to do this one day my love, but that won’t make you any less of a Shadowhunter, if you want to be a Shadowhunter, your powers are yours and yours only, and you can do with them what you please, as long as you don’t hurt anyone else. Your powers don’t make you bad or evil, they make you unique and you, you will always be my sweet baby girl and I will not make the same mistakes with you that I made with your brother and sister.” Tessa quietly says. Sophie needed to grow up knowing about her potential powers, she needed to grow up surrounded by people like her, magic needed to be a part of her everyday life, turning a blind eye to her Warlock heritage and powers would do no good. Tessa had not known about her powers or how to use them and that had ended up almost costing her a happy life, if Sophie grew up in control of her powers and knowing about them, then she could defend herself and be safe, Tessa would do everything in her power to keep her daughter safe, she would not let her endure the same suffering and pain those before her had, she would grow up in a new era and she would be amazing.

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furfur83 · 5 years ago

Text

What or who is this even for?

I was told to write you a letter. It could help they said. To be honest I worry that there is no help for me. I always had depression, apparently of the bipolar variation but no doctor figured that out until recently. Medication never helped so it’s no wonder I quit trying to find help. But you, you pushed me into seeking help again. I am so mad at you for it too. I was coping fine on my own (or so I thought). I was getting by at the very least. Your addiction was the hardest thing I thought I would ever deal with. Watching you spiral out of control, coming back and progressing towards being yourself again, then another spiral, then coming back... over and over and over... my heart ached and I mourned the loss of our relationship every time I had to let you fall. You hated me every time you went back to the drugs, then you loved me for not enabling you when you were sober. It was so abusive. I let you come back every time you were clean. I loved you through all of it. Even the hateful things you said to me and the threats. I knew it wasn’t you talking, but it never hurt any less.

I hate that I know all of the things I know about addiction now. I was comfortable in my ignorance bubble. I knew these things happened to people. I knew the damage that happened to these families, I saw it on TV, read it in my college textbooks, and heard about it from friends. But I never experienced it firsthand until you put me through it. The lies, The thieving, the complete change of our interactions, the sleepless nights, the worry, the panic and fear. The phone would ring late at night and I was terrified it was that call. When you went missing and I knew you were on the streets I cried constantly because I wondered if you were alive. And if you were, were you cold or hungry and I couldn’t answer that question for myself. I felt guilty for being warm and having hot, home cooked meals while I didn’t know what your state was. I stopped eating because of the guilt I felt every time I did. I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop trying to find you to see if you were okay. I was 120 miles away and I still found you from time to time. I couldn’t give up trying to make sure you were still alive.

You let us know when you had been robbed and beaten. Your ear was detached from your head. You let us know when some people hit you in the back of the head with a 2x4 because you were panhandling and they thought it was funny. I still can’t believe that happened to you. And I couldn’t prevent it. I couldn’t save you. And I lost my faith in humanity because people were so damned cruel. They never considered that you were an actual human being who people loved. And I couldn’t believe you chose that life over us. Over me.

The last time you came home, you called daddy after months of struggling on the streets of Baltimore. You had to crawl out of an abandoned house and beg someone to use their phone. You told me it took hours to find someone kind enough. Daddy drove out there in the middle of the night to find you. And he drove by you because he didn’t recognize you. I remember he called to tell me he found you and you came home. I said I was driving to Baltimore to see you. He tried to talk me out of it. But I needed to see you. He said I wouldn’t want to see you like that. I didn’t listen. I immediately started driving. I thought of everything I wanted to say to you. I wanted to slap you silly. I was so angry. You were asleep when I got there. Under a blanket, a pillow over your head. I pulled the blanket back because the silhouette was not that of my brother. My brother was 6’2” and 250 lbs. His hands were the size of dinner plates and he had calf muscles bigger than my fat thighs. This silhouette was small. What was under that blanket was not my brother. I lifted the pillow. I saw the tattoo on your neck that I despised. I still didn’t believe it. This was a holocaust survivor. This was bones draped over with skin, this was not, could not be my brother. It wasn’t until you said my name and looked at me that I knew it was you. Your voice hadn’t changed. I couldn’t slap you like I wanted to. I was afraid you would fall apart. I hugged you but not too hard. I cried. You cried. You were so weak you couldn’t dress yourself. I helped you. I made you a sandwich. We talked. You ate that sandwich like it was the best meal you had ever had. But your stomach hurt so bad you could only eat half. An ad came on TV for McDonalds. You said something about you wanting a burger. I asked if you had tried the chicken tenders yet, you said yeah, someone threw some away and you grabbed them out of the trash can and they were really good. My heart sank. You had been eating trash. We never grew up poor. We never struggled for food. And yet, there you were, telling me that trash tasted good. Like it was such a commonplace statement for you. I couldn’t handle that. Then you told me about when Daddy drove by you because he didn’t recognize you. You hit your knees in the middle of the street and cried and screamed but no noise came out because you were too weak to scream. You begged God to save you and Daddy turned around and came back. He almost didn’t but something told him to. You said you were going to go back to sleep. I said goodbye, hugged you and kissed you, knowing you would be on blackout no matter where you went for a while and knowing at a recovery house you would be limited to where you could and who you could see so I told you I better see you for Thanksgiving. Daddy was desperately trying to find somewhere for you so you could go inpatient and detox. I said goodbye to him and I cried the entire 2 hour ride home. Alone. How could you have let that happen to yourself? Who was this person? What had I just witnessed and experienced? My entire life was flipped upside down and I had been traumatized by what had just transpired between us.

Thanksgiving came and you weren’t allowed to leave. I understood that. But Christmas was not negotiable. You made it to Christmas! You asked for both of our parents to be there, and they were. They hadn’t both been to Christmas at my house ever. Getting them together in the same place and time was incredible. I knew this Christmas was special. I didn’t know just how special it was then. I watched you pray over your food. You were never religious in any way. You in fact referred to Jesus as a Zombie on many occasions. But the gratefulness you had for simply being there and being able to enjoy a holiday with us was something I will never forget. Then we played Cards Against Humanity and I don’t think I ever heard you and Daddy both laughing so hard together. I thought this was it. It was over and we could start rebuilding. After Christmas we talked on the phone a lot. We talked about your court dates and your recovery. We talked about your doctors appointments for treating the hepatitis and your knee surgery. You told me you would never go back out there because the next time would kill you. You promised me you wouldn’t. On January 15th you said you would be busy with appointments but when mommy took you to them you would call me from her phone and promised that you would find a way to call me on my birthday for sure. Okay yeah, February 1st, it’s a date.

You never made that call. You disappeared again the day after you promised me that. How could you?! I believed in you again and you let me down. You made me feel stupid for trusting you. 68 days clean! 68!!! How dare you! You threw it all away! You ruined the chance to fix things. So I cried. I got angry and I waited all over again for the call to come get you. A week goes by. Mommy came to stay with me for a couple days for my birthday. We were going to wait together and see if you called. Maybe you were in a new rehab on blackout by now. We called around and as usual nobody would tell us anything, but we tried. We called and texted all of your friends like we usually did, nobody had heard from you or seen you. It was getting really cold out. I started getting really worried. Mommy was no good, but we tried to be as normal as possible for Clayton’s sake. Your nephew was shielded from a lot of what transpired with you but he knew enough to know something was wrong again. So we tried to keep it normal for him. After dinner we were all sitting at the dining room table just talking like we always did and someone lightly knocked on the door. My daddy was on the other side. At first I was excited. Out father has never just dropped by or come to visit without telling me first. Especially not on a day that wasn’t a holiday! This was super nice! Our mother’s face went white. I was confused. I looked at Daddy’s face and I just said no. It was all I could say. No. Over and over. No. No. No.

It was over. For real over. There was no way you were coming back from this.

You were found in an abandoned house in Baltimore City. Alone. You had overdosed. Your heart stopped. You had scratch marks down your face from your own fingernails and there was nothing left on you to identify you. Your wallet was there but nothing in it. Your necklace mommy gave you, your ID was gone, your food stamp card, your bus pass, all gone. Of course they were. They weren’t sure exactly how long you had been there, they put your date of death as January 21st at around 1:30 pm. But it was too cold outside to be sure. Nobody called you in as an emergency. You were called in as a found body. Daddy had to go identify you. Then he drove the 2 hours to my house because he knew Mommy was going to be there and he figured it would be best to tell us all together. I don’t know how he made that ride after seeing you. He was alone. I couldn’t have done it. I feel so bad that he had to be the one to do it and he was all alone. That’s so unfair.

I have had to deal with our parents and the pain you caused them. Your nephew and the pain he has because of you. Your grandparents and the guilt they carry. Pop pop still thinks you ended up where you did because all those years ago he took you there to show you where you would end up if you kept hooking school. You ended up in the same damned block he took you to. I don’t know if you knew that or realized it when you went there but damnit... you’ve devastated your grandfather. I get the messages from your friends. I get the phone calls. I get your mail and I get your debt collectors. And I get the guilt and the pain. And I get the agony and suffering. I am left with the mess. And you get peace. Or I hope you do anyway. I don’t know if you were good enough or had a good enough relationship with God to get into heaven, I want to think you did but we both know you were no saint. And if what you believed is true, there’s nothing after you die, then you can’t hear me or see me and this is all for nothing. Thanks for that.

If I seem angry, I am. You left me. You abandoned me. You broke your promises and you destroyed me. You left me with so many unanswered questions. Why? How could you do this to me? To our family? To yourself? What was so miserable in your life that drugs were your only escape? What did we do wrong? Were you really alone when you were dying or did someone watch you die? Were the scratches because you were trying to stay alive or from beforehand? Were you cold? Were you hungry? Was it fast or did you suffer? Did you do it on purpose?

You knew the next time you went out there you were going to die. And you did.

1 note · View note

buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years ago

Text

The Winchester Blood Line: Part 5

Pairings: Sam x Reader, Past John x Reader

Warnings: One Night Stand, Swearing, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 4,118

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

“So I got a question for you.” Sam said with a smile as he leaned on the hospital bed rail and looked at Luke Michael (Y/L/N) in your arms. “Does this count as our first date? I mean, we were kinda on our way to dinner.”

“You’re not getting off that easy, Winchester.” You told him in a sing-song voice as you looked at your baby boy. “Valentine’s dinner date is still going to happen.” He chuckled as he reached out to brush your hair back behind your ear.

“I’ll never have a problem with that.”

“You wanna hold him?” You asked with a smile as you looked up at him but he shook his head.

“I do, but I will later. Get your love first.” Your smile grew as you nodded your head and looked back down at your son.

“He’s mine.” You said with a smile as you brushed your fingertip across Luke’s cheek and down his small nose. “My baby.”

“Our.” A voice you never wanted to hear again say from the doorway to your hospital room. Your stomach turned as John pulled back the privacy curtain to look at you. “Our baby.”

“If you think…” You growled as you used your hand and arm to block your son from the stranger. “You’re gunna come in here and…”

“Dad?” Sam whispered as he stood up straighter. Your head whipped over to him as he looked back and forth between you, Luke, and John.

“Did you know?” You demanded as you looked up at him. “Did you know?!”

“No!” Sam responded with a shake of his head. “I swear…”

“He didn’t.” John said as he took a step forward.

“You!” You snapped as you curled up around your child carefully. “Get the fuck away from me. Get out!”

“I need to talk…” You shook your head and pushed the call light, hoping that RJ, who traded with a coworker in the maternity ward as a float LPN specifically to help you instead of working his regular shift in the ICU, could get there fast.

“You need the get the fuck away from me.”

“Hey, sweetie…” RJ said as he turned the corner.

“Get my dad.” You said with tears in your eyes. “Hurry, please. I want him gone…”

“He’s right down the hall, hold on.” He said with a nod as he took off at a run.

“Dad, you need to go.” Sam said but John took another step toward you.

“I just need to talk to her…”

“Not on your fucking life.” Michael said as he ran into the room and yanked John back. “You’re not coming near my daughter or that baby, you fucking garbage piece of shit.” You knew John must have opened his mouth to say something because your father shoved him back hard, making the oldest Winchester man slam into the wall on the other side of the hallway. “Stay down.” Michael growled as he closed your room door.

“Sam…” You said as you looked over at him.

“I didn’t know.” He said as he sat down on the bed by your hips. “I swear, I didn’t know he was your…” He cleared his throat and shook his head for a moment as he searched your tear stained eyes. “Baby, I swore to you, I wouldn’t keep anything from you ever again. Yea, my dad told me to watch you…”

“He what?” Your dad asked as he turned away from glaring at John through the little window in the door to look at Sam instead.

“Stop it, Daddy. I knew about that.”

“He never told me he was the dad. He never told me that Luke… he’s… Jesus, he’s my brother.”

“Now that’s fucked up.” RJ said with a shake of his head. You instantly burst into tears, and shook your head as you looked down at your son.

“I need you to go, Sam.” You whispered as you closed your eyes, not wanting to deal with either of the Winchesters at the moment. “I’ll call you.”

“I know you will.” He sighed as more hate for his father filled his soul. “I’m really sorry, (Y/N).” With a nod of your head, you looked up at him, apologetically.

“I know you are, Sam. I know you are.”

——

“Can I ask you something?” RJ asked as he sat with you after his shift until your mom and Chris got there to meet their grandson, as he rocked Luke to sleep. You looked up at his smiling face as he tilted his head to look at you since you were laying on your side. “You like him, don’t you?” You sighed and nodded your head, but he continued before you could say anything. “Then what does it matter who his dad is? Sure, it’s a little awkward to explain to people. ‘Hey, yea. We know he looks like my boyfriend. They’re technically brothers, but he’s also his dad now, which makes his blood dad his grandad’.” He scoffed and shook his head with a small shrug.

“Baby girl, listen to Rico. No one gives a fuck. And you don’t have to answer to no one but yourself. The only thing you have to explain to anyone is why you would wear all black to a wedding or why you wore white pants after Labor day, and even that is no ones business. And for those nosy bitches who try to make it their business, just claw their fucking eyes out. You don’t owe skanks nothing. This little man…” He said as he looked down at his grand son with a smile.

“This is the only person you need to answer to ever again. Not me, not your dad, not your mama, or Chris or Mikey… just him… and maybe Sam if he puts a ring on it, but I promise you, boo. If he doesn’t come to our door asking for your hand, or if the rock is shit, you can bet your ass I’m putting my foot down.” You smiled at him and nodded in agreement as you pointed at your charging phone.

“I wanna call him, and have him come back…”

“Honey, he’s down in the lobby.” He said with a smile as he stood up. “Here, take little love. I’ll go get him.” You nodded your head and smiled as RJ laid Luke down on the bed against your chest.

“Hi handsome.” You cooed as you moved the blanket away from his face. “God, I can’t believe how much I already love you. It almost hurts because there’s just not enough room for it all. But I promise to do right by you, Luke. I promise that I will raise you to be the best man you could possibly be. I promise to teach you how to play baseball, and I’ll take you to Cowboy’s football games. I’ll teach you how to treat a woman, or a man, and how to love them unconditionally. And I promise that I won’t refer to myself as the cool mom ever, and I’ll…”

“Buy him his first porno?” Sam asked softly as he stood in the doorway listening. You smirked and nodded as you looked up at him. “You gotta let him pick out his own first car. And it’s gotta be a junker so that our dad…”

“You don't share a father.” You said simply with a shake of your head. You pat the bed by your knees and shifted the lower part of your body back a bit to give him room. You took a deep breath and sighed as you looked down at the newborn in your arms. “John walked out on him before I even woke up. Before the sun even thought to rise, and before the sheets below his body could adjust to his body heat.

He wasn’t there when I missed my period, he wasn’t there when I was throwing up everything and anything I ate or drank because I had horrible morning sickness the first trimester. He wasn’t there for appointments, or ultrasounds. He wasn’t there when I picked out a crib, or names, he missed the sleepless nights, and the hormones, and the general uncomfortableness that is pregnancy. He even missed the birth. He has and will never be a father to this child. I accepted that fate the day he saved me from Crowley and told me he couldn’t be a father.

But then we come to you. You, who has bent over backwards to help a stranger even after you no longer had to. You, who could care less that this little angel was fathered by another man. You, who came over at three in the morning even though you had a test the next day, just to bring me some ice cream because I couldn’t get off the bed to get some myself. You, Sam Winchester, have been more of a father figure to your brother than your own father has ever thought to be to his sons. And I should know, because you’ve told me the stories on how he raised you.” You looked up at him with a small smile as you brushed you hand across the swaddled love of your life.

“Sam, I love you. There’s no point in either of us trying to lie to each other about that any more. And sure, it’s a little strange to consider that maybe, one day, if this progresses further, your brother could call you dad. But I’d rather the guy who’s trying to do something with his life raise my son over some asshole that couldn’t be bothered to even give me a reason why he couldn’t. Not that it’s something I want…”

“I get it.” He said with a nod as he rested his hand on your hip. “And yes, I love you, too but thank you, for ruining my Valentines Day dinner date announcement. Rude.” You smiled and looked back down at your son as he yawned and stretched against you.

“I’m so in love with him.” You whispered as you put the tip of your finger against his palm. His fingers reflexively closed around your finger and if it was at all possible, you fell even more in love. “Sam, I can’t.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Sam said with a nod. You sighed and looked up at him.

“Do you think you can handle this kinda crazy?”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” He chuckled as he brushed his thumb across your hip bone. “I eat, sleep, and breathe crazy. This is nothing.” You nodded your head as you carefully pulled your finger free from Luke’s hand.

“You wanna hold him, now?”

“Before you boot me out again?” He teased with a wink. “Absolutely.”

“Haha.” You breathed as you leaned back.

“Oh, come here, little man.” Sam cooed as he picked up the sky blue bundle. “Hey. Welcome to the world, Luke. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you the porn.”

“Thank God.” You teased as you adjusted your head on the pillow to look at your men. “I was not looking forward to that.”

——

“Sam, go to school!” You laughed as you got out of the car with Luke in his car seat. “I can handle him for a couple hours.”

“I know you can.” He said with a nod as he came around the front of the car with your hospital bags. “But…”

“Sam.” You repeated as you stopped in front of him. “You have to go to class. You already missed yesterdays and you made me promise you at the beginning of the year that I wouldn’t let you miss more than three days total. So I love you, but I’m gunna be a good girlfriend here and tell you to go to class!” He sighed and glanced at his watch before nodding his head.

“Alright, fine you win.” He said as he gestured to the house. “Let me go get my bag.”

“Good boy.” You teased as you adjusted your grip on the handle of the carseat. “We’re just gunna hang out anyways, aren’t we Luke. Take a little nap in the swing and play some piano? Get you started young, right?” You smiled at your son as you set the car seat on the coffee table.

“Alright, Dean’s still on his way.” Sam said as he came running down the stairs. “And Mikey is still coming over for dinner with him and Michelle.”

“She’s cooking.” You said with a nod as you picked up your son, and cradled him in your arms. “I know Sam.”

“I know you know.” He said as he gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Love you. I’ll be home soon.”

“Say bye, Sammy.” You cooed as you waved Luke’s hand gently. “Make good choices.”

“Bye Luke. Bye babe.” You smiled up at him as he quickly walked out the door, locked it, and ran to his car so he wouldn’t be late. “He’s a good man, Luke. A good, good man. Too good for us.” You looked out the window to watch him pull back out of your driveway and speed off to school. You sighed softly and turned back toward the living room, suddenly exhausted. You had had nothing but chaos the past couple days, family and close friends that kept a steady flow of visitors in your hospital room.

“I think we should take a nap before we tackle cleaning up for grandma, what do you think, little man?” You asked as you headed toward the stairs. You froze when someone knocked on the door thrice, slowly. You turned in your spot and looked at it, not even having to question who was on the other side, just by what you could see of the top of his head.

“Go away, John.” You said evenly with a shake of your head.

“You can leave the chain on.” He called out just loud enough for you to hear. “I just want a minute. One minute then I’m gone.” You looked down at the little boy in your arms, so full of innocence, who knew nothing of the evils in the world… and who never would if you had any say about it. You walked over to the door and pulled it open with a sigh.

“It’s cold.” You said as you took a step back. John walked in and pushed the door closed behind him as he looked at the newborn in your arms.

“What’d you name him?” He asked as he leaned against the door.

“Luke.” With a sigh, you pulled back the blanket and moved the sky blue hat back a little bit. Your son squeaked in his sleep and opened his eyes to look up at you with a small shiver. You smiled down at him and moved the hat back in place. “Sorry, baby boy.”

“He looks like you.” You nodded in agreement with his whisper as he slowly reached out and touched his youngest son’s cheek.

“He also has my last name.” You said as you looked up at him. “And he’ll be raised in a home where monsters don’t exist, and he’ll play sports, and have family traditions. He’ll go to and graduate from the same school with the same friends, and he’ll go on camping trips with his grand fathers in the spring and he’ll go to summer camps, and school ski trips. He’ll be a normal child, with a music teacher for a mother… and apparently a lawyer for a father.” John looked up at you in complete understanding and nodded.

“So Sam’s really out?” He asked.

“Sam never wanted to come back in.” You said with a small shrug as you turned to put Luke down in his swing but John took a step toward you.

“I know I have no right…” He said quickly as he went to reach for you to stop you but thought better of it. “But can I hold him? Just once…” With a small sigh, you nodded your head and turned back toward him.

“You have to be his grandfather.” You whispered as you laid his son in his arms. “It’s strange enough without complicating titles…”

“I know.” He breathed as he walked over to sit down on your couch. “I can at least do right by this one.”

“Unlike his brothers?” You asked as you sat down on the couch beside him. He nodded his head but kept his eyes on the little boy in his arm as he pulled the blanket back to count fingers and toes.

“I did the best I could with Dean and Sam.” He said with a nod. “I hated that they had to grow up in the life. But knowing that at least two of my boys are out and living the lives that they always should have…” He nodded his head as he smiled down at your son and wiggled his finger and subsequently, Luke’s hand. “That makes everything I have fought for worth it. And as his father, if being known as his grandfather is what is going to keep him safe and out of the hunters life, then so be it. Put Sam’s name on his birth certificate. Let him have a normal life. That’s all I want for all my boys.” You nodded your head and wiped a couple tears off your cheeks as he bent down and gave Luke a kiss. “Take him.” You nodded your head as he scooted toward you on the couch to pass your son back to you.

“You don’t plan on coming back often, do you?” You asked as he fixed the blanket around his son for the last time.

“No.” He replied as he finally looked up at you. “I’ll just want him on the road with me. And that’s selfish. I’ll drive through couple times a year to check from a far… but I’ll keep in touch with Sam. But I will always, always protect you. All three of you. My son, his girlfriend… and my grandson.” You nodded your head as he got up from the couch and quickly walked out of the house without another word. The moment the door closed behind him, you started to cry for his loss for him, knowing full well that he was standing on your porch doing the exact same thing on the other side of your door.

~~~~~~~Epilogue~~~~~~~

“Sam!” You called out from the front room of your house as you looked at the large, stiff manilla envelope from A&M Law. “It’s here!”

“What’s here?” He yelled back from the kitchen where he was making cookies with Luke. You smiled and headed toward the kitchen as you tucked the rest of the mail under your arm.

“Your diploma.” You said as you turned the envelope in your had toward him. “Samual Winchester, you are officially a lawyer.” He huffed a laugh as his face went from happy to slightly sad at the same time. You smiled at him and nodded as he looked down at his three year old son, who was sitting on a stool as close to the oven as physically possible so that he could see the cookies behind the glass, and not get burned. “It’s real, baby.”

“I can’t believe it.” He whispered as he brushed his hand over Luke’s curly brown hair. You walked over to him with a smile and handed him the envelope.

“You made it, Sam. You made this happen. You fought so many things, and conquered so many personal demons to get here… but you’re here.” He nodded his head and opened the envelope to look at the physical representation of his progress.

“I got out.” He repeated as he pulled the white paper out and laid it on top of the envelope.

“You got out.” You repeated as his timer rang.

“Dad, it’s done!” Luke shouted as he shot to his feet with the timer in his hands.

“Yea, I can hear it, too.” Sam laughed as he handed you the diploma. “Push the red button, and back up for me.” Your son nodded as you walked over to grab the frame you had bought a couple weeks before, while Sam took the cookies out of the oven, and put them far enough back on the counter where his son wouldn’t get burned.

“I’m putting it on the piano.” You said more to yourself as you put the rest of the mail on the table with the rest of the never ending stack and flipped the filled frame in your hands. “Yep. Until you get your office, that’s where it’s going.”

“Honey, you can just put it…” Sam tried as you walked across the foyer.

“Nope! It’s special. It’s going on the piano next to our family photo. End of story.”

“Mommy’s silly.” You heard Sam chuckle behind you as you walked over and gently set the frame down on the left side of the piano. You adjusted the photo of you, Sam, and Luke that was taken on his first birthday when you officially (and privately) added Sam as Luke’s birth father to his birth certificate. You smiled at the memory of that party, and the memories that came with it. Your mom and RJ sharing the kitchen and happily gossiping like school girls, Dean and Mikey working on finishing up your brother’s Mustang. Your dad finally referred to Sam by his name and not ‘Boy’ that day, and Chris, who got a face full of cake when Dean got Luke to start an impromptu food fight that lasted all of five seconds before you shut it down. It didn’t surprise you that John didn’t show up that day, but you were a little surprised to find a wrapped package on your doorstep the next morning when you went to get the paper for Sam.

“Mommy, you eat a cookie?” Luke said as he came in to the living room, walking really slow with a cookie in both of his hands.

“Yes, I’ll eat a cookie, sweetie.” You said as you walked over to where he stopped at the threshold of the living room. “What kind… what is this?” You asked as you crouched down to look at the ring shaped cookie in his hands.

“It’s a ring.” Your baby boy said as he looked up at you with a smile just as Sam kneeled down behind him.

“It’s a very special ring.” Sam said as he pulled his son up on his knee, and traded the cookie for a black ring box. “A ring, that goes to show how much you both mean to me. A ring that says that no matter what comes our way, we are in this together. A ring that promises that I will be here, every day, for the rest of our lives, losing sleep and chasing after our son with you. And a ring that says one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, I want to have another, and another… and maybe one more after that.” You huffed a laugh as you looked over at the diamond ring Luke was trying so hard not to shove in your face to show you.

“(Y/N), I love you.” Sam continued as he set the cookie down on your knee for a moment and took the box from Luke. “I knew I loved you since the day you tried to tase the table I was sitting at. And I would literally be lost in the world if it wasn’t for you. So please, baby. Please marry me and give me the apple pie life I never knew I deserved. Will you marry me?” You nodded your head, physically incapable of answering as tears fell from your eyes.

“No cry, mama.” Luke said as he leaned forward and pushed them away a little roughly, causing both you and Sam to laugh.

“Yes.” You said with a nod as you wiped your tears away. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Sam’s smile grew as he lean forward and captured your lips with his, causing Luke to ‘bleck’ beside you and try to get away from the love fest.

“Alright, alright. Go child.” Sam laughed as he let Luke go. Your son grabbed your cookie and ran off with a laugh as Sam put the engagement ring on your finger.

“You are so adorable, Sam.” You giggled as you moved to sit on his lap on the floor of your foyer.

“You bring it out in me, baby.” He said as he kissed your cheek. “And I will love you for it for the rest of my life.”

#Sam Winchester x Reader #The Winchester Blood Line #Sam x Reader #John Winchester x Reader #John x Reader

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