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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 4

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

If you have been reading this series....things are going to start happening....

Title: Dreams, Chapter 4

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3773

Summary: For Sam and the reader, a winter night working together leads to an uncomfortable confrontation and a confusing dream.

Warnings: angst, fluff?, alcohol, swearing, slow burn, I think that’s it!

The tree was still up a few days later when you were throwing together sandwiches. It was a gloomy afternoon, stealing from the already meager offering of sunlight you got each day, but at least you could see the Christmas lights as you worked in the little kitchen and listened to Me Talk Pretty One Day. Brushing crumbs off your hands, you ducked your head into the bedroom to tell Sam lunch was ready.

He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him, looking surprisingly young with his long limbs folded. He glanced over at you briefly with a noncommittal nod before turning his gaze back to the wall. You walked into the room when you understood; following his eyes to the photos where you’d taped them up. Toeing off each of your boots, you climbed onto the mattress with him and gently put your arm around his broad shoulders. “He would’ve loved this,” Sam murmured, and it was almost too low for you to hear.

“Which part?” you asked, trying to match his tone.

“This cabin, the bar, Christmas.”

“I think you’re right.”

You looked over at the pictures, a tight row intentionally placed a little too low so you could see them as you fell asleep. Sam tilted his head to rest on yours.

“We had a lot of fun though, didn’t we?”

You considered the memories and the heat coming off of him under your cold fingers. “Yeah, we did.” After a beat you opened your mouth again. “Getting that tree was fun.”

Sam pulled back and you looked up at him. A sad smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

You curved your head back into him. “Dean would’ve liked that too.” He was silent for a moment.

“There’s no way he would’ve worked at the bar and not made every night a party.”

He was right. Even just passing through, bars like the one you worked at were Dean’s favorite—no frills, honest people, décor not so nice it couldn’t tolerate some spills in the name of a good time. In the right mood Dean would’ve been everyone’s best friend in an hour, taking shots with the owners and playing pool with anyone who had a spare minute.

You sat upright and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay, then tonight’ll be a party.”

Sam looked at you in surprise. “Uh, what?”

“You heard me. Tonight, we’re doing tequila shots and dancing on tables and talking to people longer than to take their orders.”

“It’s a Monday.”

“Wouldn’t have stopped Dean. Now come eat this sandwich I slaved over, you’re a lightweight on an empty stomach.”

Sam’s smile was tired, but he obediently untangled his legs and got off the bed to head to the kitchen. You padded after him, letting a deep breath out through your nose. Dean would be so pissed if he saw you weren’t being strong for Sammy, just a little tougher, come on. By the time Sam sat down at the tiny breakfast bar to eat, you’d screwed your face back together.

In some ways, it was better that you’d had this sudden change of heart on a Monday, when there weren’t so many customers to watch you crumble if it came to that. You had a propensity for being a sad drunk even in the best circumstances, and this first time truly drinking around people since losing Dean was about the worst circumstance as you could imagine.

A few shots in Sam’s cheeks were flushed and you could feel the heat in yours as you sucked hard on a lime wedge. He was pretending to know about some football controversy with the over-shoulder towel that was ever present when he worked, his legs crossed and accentuating the long, relaxed line of his body. It was an especially cold night and condensation clouded the windows of the bar where hot air met the freezing glass. You watched as a woman about your age—you were pretty sure her name was Megan but had only served her a handful of times—traced lazy shapes in it before replacing the moisture with a hot breath and starting over. It was almost hypnotic and you didn’t know how long it was until you snapped back to reality when Sam’s warm hands wrapped over your shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, low and private, straight into your ear.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you lied.

Sam gently and half-consciously kneaded the muscles in your shoulders. Before you realized what you were doing, muscle memory bobbed your head to the side, kissed his rough knuckles, and pressed your cheek to his hand. You both froze.

“Aw, so cute,” Steve sang out from across the bar top.

You took your chance to step forward out of Sam’s grip. “Yeah, yeah. Refill?” Steve nodded, and you snatched another Miller High Life out of a mini fridge under the bar and popped the cap with a fluid practiced motion. About a week ago you’d realized that the twist-bottle callus you had just below the first joint of your index finger had come back, a recurrent souvenir that had lasted years after you’d quit bartending last time. You were thankful for it as much as the distraction from your bizarre reflexive step over the unspoken boundary between you and Sam. It wasn’t that the contact was unprecedented, obviously, you could only catch even chunks of sleep tightly wound around Sam and kept your fingers wrapped around his forearm as he drove, but Dean was the last person whose skin your lips had touched. Until now, you corrected yourself. It was a very specific kind of closeness in a relationship already stretching the limits of what appropriate intimacy could possibly be.

You jammed a cold metal scoop into the ice machine to break up chunks and buy some time. The same grief-hungry part of your brain that searched Sam for facial tics and habits that Dean had couldn’t stop repeating how much those hands felt the same, dry and warm and firm under your lips, under your cheek, and you wanted to clutch at them, a phantom of Dean’s that first stitched you up in Bobby’s kitchen all those years ago when life was easy and bloody, so nervous to touch you his hands shook and the scar still remained to this day. You crashed through those thoughts with a solid thump of This Is Sam Not Dean Sam Your Friend Sam The Only Thing You Have In This World, and how cruel it was to triple distill him down to only the parts that were reminiscent of someone else. Sam, who chopped wood to keep you warm, who restocked beer in the little life you’d created here. Sam, who in his own unfathomable sadness let you latch onto him as a steady point in a storm and kept you afloat just as you had him.

“Hello?” Joe repeated, a touch of concern peeking through his annoyance.

“Yeah, sorry! What’s up?” you asked, hearing the shrillness of your voice as you tried to overcompensate.

“I’m trying to buy you a drink, hon. 5 shots, dealer’s choice.”

“You, me, Jake, Steve and who?” you asked, racking up 5 sturdy shot glasses.

“Your Paul Bunyan over there, unless you’re trying to take his too. I’ve never seen you guys really drink before, gotta jump on my chance,” he winked.

“Oh, okay. Uh, Sam—” you called out across the bar. He was wiping up a spill you knew didn’t exist from the way he focused too hard on the bar top, trying to look busy. He looked up at his name and walked over with his hands jammed in his pockets. His unease was palpable, and your heart sank as you let go of any possibility that he wouldn’t have registered the fleeting kiss and the shift was only in your head. “—Joe’s trying to get you drunk.”

“Careful, Joe, you think you can carry me home?” Sam joked, and you thought you would be the only one who’d be able to detect the tightness in his throat underneath it. He rubbed a lime wedge on the web of his thumb and poured salt over it before handing you the shaker. You almost dropped it when your fingertips grazed his.

“To the only people dumb enough to move up here in the winter,” Steve proclaimed, touching his glass to the counter before shooting it. You all followed suit, politely chuckling at the teasing. When you took the lime wedge out of your mouth, Sam had his palm open in front of you. You dropped the rind in his hand and let him take the stack of glasses to the sink.

It didn’t get as crazy as Dean likely would’ve gotten which was probably good for the bar’s bottom line and your drive back to the cabin, but Sam did end up somewhat accidentally hustling Jake for $100 over a game of pool and singing along to Shania Twain when you put it on. You were careful not to touch him or stare too long the rest of the evening, and by the time you were flipping chairs up for the night you had almost convinced yourself that nothing was different save for a little softness around the edges of the ever-present bolus of sadness in your stomach.

Sam had two cases of Miller Lite from the basement in his grip, the veins on his forearms popping out as he set them on the ground in front of the beer cooler and crouched to replace the ones that had been drunk that night. You double checked that the cash drawer of the register was even and hopped up to sit on a spare spot of counter.

“That’s the last one?”

“Yeah, I already did the Coors and Bud.”

“Are you good to drive or do you want me to?” You wiggled your toes in your shoes, feeling the ache of standing for hours in the balls of your feet.

“No, I’m good to drive,” Sam said, shaking hair out of his face. He looked up at you, hazel eyes hard to read with fatigue or fear or pity or some murky combination thereof. You drew tight spirals over orders you’d taken that night, feeling the pen press impressions into the small notepad. The absence of words spread out to close the distance between you, feeling cloying and claustrophobic even as the Nate Bargatze standup you’d cued up piped out through the bar’s speakers.

“Hey, I—”

“Are you—” Sam started at the same time. You held out a palm to signal for him to continue, not truly wanting to speak yourself. “Uh, sorry. I just…I—I’m not Dean. I can’t be Dean.”

The words and deflation in his shoulders made you wish you’d been set ablaze. Stunned, you felt your mouth open and close around words that weren’t materializing, just collecting in your throat and hardening there, the backup starting to choke you.

“I, uh—I know,” you finally managed to squeak past the lump.

And part of you wondered if he was right in thinking you were using him as a stand-in. As atypical as the whole situation was, you couldn’t imagine that it was normal to sleep in the same bed and spend virtually every minute together. You began to feel sick at the thought that Sam would be out living up to his potential somewhere if it weren’t for you, back to law school or righting the wrongs of the world rather than in a Northwoods dive bar restocking domestic beers at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning. The selflessness of it seemed unfathomable and yet so entirely something Sam would do. Suddenly it felt like the walls were collapsing around you.

The moment stretched out and Sam stood up, leaning on the counter across the bar from you. His jaw was set hard and he tilted his head the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge of tears. “Sam, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He cleared his throat but looked down at the nonstick mats on the floor. “No, ah, you don’t need to apologize. I just need you to know I can’t be him for you.”

You didn’t dare look up in case you met Sam’s eyes as you nodded, so eviscerated and humiliated you were having a hard time taking a deep breath. After a long minute you heard the clink of bottles as Sam finished restocking, grabbed your coat to mumble something about warming up the car, and went to the small parking lot. You managed to make it into the Impala before your vision started swimming and the potential enormity of the situation crashed against you; was this the end of your carved out hideaway, full of grief and memories and comfort and little moments of affection and joy you had just barely started to accept? All for some stupid thought that Dean would be happier if you were out getting wasted, an idea that reduced him to a drifter barfly instead of the complex man who’d been more loyal and loved more deeply than anyone you’d ever met. The tears dried up quickly as self-disgust rolled over you and started ringing in your ears. You didn’t hear Sam coming and jolted when he opened the door, recoiling against the passenger side to give him as much space as possible. He glanced over at you with eyes so pitying that you couldn’t bear to look at them, staring out the window at the abject darkness the rest of the drive home.

Sam didn’t turn on the stereo.

Back in the cabin, you quickly shucked off your coat and snatched what you needed out of the bedroom before barricading yourself in for a shower. You didn’t bother taking your makeup off first, allowing the sting of mascara to get washed away in the water. It was too hot and you didn’t care; you only came out when you realized you were going to leave Sam in a cold shower in the last week in December.

You brushed your teeth in the mirror and took a few deep breaths before sliding out, heading past the open bedroom door straight to the kitchen in order to gulp down a panicked glass of water. Mercifully, you heard the bathroom door lock when Sam entered it quietly. You took the opportunity to grab your pillow out of the bedroom, tossing it on the couch and pulling the throw off the sofa’s back to cover yourself. Your eyes were closed tight and ramming up against your racing mind when Sam came out.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said softly from behind you.

You opened your eyes but didn’t move your head to seek him out. “It’s okay.”

Sam appeared in front of you, legs bending severely to perch on the short coffee table. His bare chest still glistened a little from the shower and you knew the green flannel pants he was wearing were soft and thick to the touch. Earnest hazel eyes meeting yours, Sam braced his elbows on his knees.

“Sam, I’m really sorry. It was a weird reflex and it was unfair for me to—”

“No, I, it—it wasn’t that. It’s just like, sometimes when you look at me, you look like you’re seeing a ghost. I’m just—I need to know you’re not staying here because I’m the closest you can get.”

If your heart hadn’t been shattered and re-shattered over the last almost- two-years and today, the fear and resignation in his eyes would’ve sent you to pieces. You pushed up to sitting in order to give Sam the respect he deserved.

“I can’t—I won’t lie and say you don’t remind me of him, but you’re my best friend—been my best friend since I first met you guys—and I am so, so, sorry I made you feel…I could never try to replace him, Sam.” You were barely making sense, having a hard time stringing together how you felt. “The only place I want to be is with you. You’re all I’ve got.”

It felt desperate and needy but it was true and Sam deserved the truth. You didn’t shy away from him, stayed there holding his gaze until he seemed content having searched your eyes for anything hiding from the light. After a moment he nodded tightly against lips pressed in a firm line. “Okay.”

Sam stood up, the broad planes of him catching the glitter of the Christmas tree lights. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and tentative. “Can you, uh, can you come back?”

It took a moment to process before you nodded, standing up and snagging your pillow before following Sam into the bedroom. You climbed into your side of the mattress, close to the wall and your tiny precious gallery, and Sam folded around you, his warm skin seeping through your t-shirt onto your back. You felt tense and comfortable all at once, safe and uneasy. The two of you sat there for a long time, the relatively light weight of Sam’s arm over you betraying that he wasn’t asleep either. When drowsiness finally began to tug your eyelids closed, he pressed his lips to a spot on your shoulder exposed from the looseness of its sleeve. The last thing you remembered was his arm going heavy like an anchor across yours.

The sun is hot and delicious on your cheeks, baking the cotton of your jeans and t-shirt into you and turning the roof tiles under you into a frying pan. Wispy clouds move with no urgency across the sky above you and you can’t think of anything better than this, glancing down to worn laces on Dean’s boots undone to give his feet some air as his t-shirt clings half-humid to him. You know his freckles are going to be darker by dinner and it makes you smile to think about it but you’ll never tell him—it makes him shy to be reminded of the spray of pigment that makes him feel alternatively feminine or juvenile but never stunning the way you think it should. You press up to your elbows, barely registering the sting of heat and grit of the roof underneath you and kiss the spot on Dean’s arm where his shoulder slopes into his bicep. He smiles down at you, a lazy half-open smirk perfectly framed by the blue sky behind him like a painting.

“You’re so weird,” he chuckles. “Who kisses someone’s arm?”

“Then come down here,” you toss back, exaggerated pout ready for him. He ducks down to you, the warmth of his lips on yours like a cookie fresh out of the oven, like sliding down the hallway on new fuzzy socks, like the summer’s first plunge into water.

Sam’s head peeks out from under the gutter. “Bobby’s putting brats on the grill, do you want any?”

“Hell yeah, extra onions,” Dean yells down, grinning smugly when you make a face.

“Me too!” you call out, watching Sam squint up at the roof.

“No onions though, right?”

“You’re the best, Sam.”

Sam beams up at you, dimples almost high enough to reach the squint-crinkled skin around his eyes. He nods and ducks back out of sight.

“Come on, I’m thirsty,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches a hand down to you and takes a half step back to brace himself, stepping on the lace of his other boot. He stumbles and it’s a quick shuffle and you realize he’s too close to the edge his next step is into thin air like Wil E. Coyote and you’re grabbing at that same thin air and you can see his face change when he realizes and some part of your subconscious that’s even deeper than this can feel it’s happening again and the sound is so final, such a wet crack but you scrabble to the edge anyway because you have to see and Dean’s lying there.

He’s clutching his left leg bent against his chest like a stretch. “Son of a bitch, what the fuck!” he mutter-yells, and you hear the thump of Sam and Bobby running through the old house and skittering to a stop in front of him as you carefully shimmy down the porch post with your hands tearing on the gutter’s rusty edge, jumping down when you feel the railing beneath you.

“Dean! Are you okay?” Sam yells over Bobby who’s cursing out the goddamn idjit told you not to climb up there it’s like having a bunch of teenagers in this goddamned house and Dean winces and nods angrily.

You’re lifting up the hem of his jeans and gingerly taking off his boot and Dean hisses when you peel off his sock, but nothing is poking through the skin and that’s better than you expected. “Can you stand up?”

He nods again and you can practically taste him biting back the string of expletives when you and Sam each take an arm and lift him to standing. You snake a hand into his pocket and grab the keys to the Impala, leaning behind Dean to say to his brother, “I’ll take him to the ER.”

Dean doesn’t argue and it’s yet more evidence that it’s pretty bad, but you feel fine, elated almost, that he’s still warm under your palm and against your side, that he still smells like fresh laundry and domestic beer and a little bit of salt and engine grease. Sam’s long arm opens the door when you get there and slides Dean in and you promise to text when you know how bad it is as you round the car and get to the driver’s side. You turn the key in the ignition and throw your arm around Dean’s seat to reverse out of the driveway. Dean’s looking at you as you throw the car back into drive, staring almost, and his face is soft even around the broken ankle.

“I’m always going to love you,” he says, smooth and sure of himself. You tug your eyes away from the road with half a question on your face but Dean doesn’t explain why he’s saying this now. “I’ll be okay and I’m always going to love you, no matter what.”

It doesn’t make any sense and you open your mouth to tease this unexpected sappiness, remind him the ankle is just one more in a long string of injuries he’ll owe you for, and then Dean’s gone, the car’s gone, and the heat is coming from Sam’s chest in front of you.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 5

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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lahyene · 4 years ago

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A Hollywood Love Story.

Pairing: young!chris evans x reader

Summary: Making it in Hollywood is hard, and when you run into the up and coming Chris Evans at a party, you can’t help but be a little intrigued by the frat boy vibes he practically emanates. You never knew you’d actually fall in love with him while both of you climb the ladder to the top.

Themes: romance, fluff, alcohol, smoking

Word count: 2208

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, your crop top barely covering your breasts and your shorts practically the size of underwear. As a girl must dress if she’s trying to make it big in Hollywood, being nothing but an Instagram model. Cigarette in your mouth, you take a drag and let the smoke blow out rather close to the face of the man who’s desperately trying to chat you up right now, but you couldn’t care less as your eyes wander the scene of this house party. You’re here to network, to find connections. If you can’t make this work, you’re going to have to move back home and that’s the last thing you want after being exposed to so much freedom.

You saw him the second you walked into this party. He hasn’t quite made it big yet, but he’s probably the most famous one here. Chris Evans. He’s appeared in a few movies, nothing blockbuster, though he’s very well known for his incredibly handsome features and well defined body. You’re sure the two of you have more in common than one would think, being seen more so for your appearance than your personality or talent. People assume you to be trashy and shallow, but they don’t realize that in this world, you have to come off that way in the beginning. No one’s going to wait around to get to know you or the level of depth you have. It’s all about your looks until you finally make it.

When you last saw him, he was on the couch with a girl on either side of him, taking turns making out with each. You’ve heard he’s quite the party boy, dabbling in drugs and alcohol, and practically drowning in female companionship. You thought he was dating Jessica Biel, but seeing his tongue shoved down this blonde’s throat as his hand snakes up the thigh of the brunette, you figure they’re not as committed or exclusive as they let on.

Quite honestly, you’re not interested in him in terms of networking. He isn’t going to do you any favors, he’s probably in a phase where he needs to look out for himself before anyone else. And you completely understand. It’s what Hollywood does to you-- makes you selfish, desperate, twisted. You know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but damn, is it a long tunnel.

You’ve barely even realized the male in front of you is still talking. You’re about to shut him down when you see Chris enter the kitchen, without his little playthings, surprisingly enough. The two of you make eye contact. You don’t even have to try; you can already tell he’s intrigued. You aren’t sure whether that’s flattering or concerning. He seems like he’d be intrigued by a hobo, as long as said hobo were to have a vagina. He walks over to you with a gait of confidence, corner of his lips already tugging upwards. He steps in right next to the man, his presence shutting him up.

“Hey there. Haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name, beautiful?”

You take another drag as you listen to him, your expression barely changing. This time, you turn your head to blow the smoke out before looking to him again. “Y/N.” You tap the cigarette in the ashtray next to you, arching an eyebrow. “And you’re Chris, if I’m not mistaken? It’s nice to meet you.”

“So you already know who I am.” He states, and you’re almost amused by that arrogant twinkle in his eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Y/N.” The male standing next to him finally speaks up in annoyance, “Excuse me, I was in the middle of a conversation with-”

“It’s not a conversation if only one person is talking.” You cut him off, disposing of the cigarette entirely before handing him your empty cup. “Make yourself useful and toss this out for me, would you?” He scoffs incredulously but takes it, grumbling as he walks away. Chris looks at you with a grin, clucking his tongue. “Damn, baby girl. Ice cold. Not that I can blame you, you looked bored as fuck sitting over here.”

“Were you watching me?” you ask innocently, your voice silky as you gaze up at him. His eyes are gorgeous, you have to give him that. His whole face is, really. As much as you’d love to say that he’s overrated, you can’t. He’s handsome, and he knows it. “A little bit, yeah.” He admits shamelessly, glancing back to the spot where he was sitting on the couch, the area slightly visible from where you are in the kitchen. “Those little kittens over there are great and all, but… I dunno. Something about you is more appealing.” He looks back at you and smirks, continuing, “Probably the fact that everything about your beauty is natural.”

He’s right, but you imagine he probably says this to even the most Botox-ed of Hollywood women.

“Thank you.” You practically purr nonetheless with a small smirk. “Wanna step outside with me for a bit? It’s getting kind of hot in here.”

“Sure. Let me grab us a drink too. What do you want?”

“A beer’s fine, thanks.”

His eyes practically light up, his smirk growing wider. “Oh, yeah? Damn, I’ve never met a girl at one of these parties that drinks beer. Always complaining about how it’s going to make them fat or whatever.”

You shrugged nonchalantly as you slid down from the counter, tapping your lightly toned stomach. “Fast metabolism, I guess. Those fruity cocktails and shit have way too much sugar, I’d probably get less sick if I just drank rubbing alcohol. Beer’s good.”

He laughs and you can tell he’s already impressed. You feel strangely good about this. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll meet you out on the deck.”

____________________

It’s a whirlwind of a romance.

You never thought this would happen to you. You constantly hear about celebrities getting together after knowing each other for ten seconds, getting married after dating for eleven. You’d scoff at the thought. That’s infatuation, not love.

Now as you’re holding Chris’ hand as he uses his other one to shield you from the lights of the paparazzi cameras flashing in your face, you wonder how the hell you got here. Going on dates every week, spending the night at whomever’s place is closest- you’ve even Facetimed his parents a few times, for God’s sake, and you’ve only been dating for three months.

You haven’t told him you love him yet, nor has he told you. You’re not ready for that. He’s clearly still dripping in the residue from his playboy days, and you’ve simply always had a difficult time with… well, emotions.

It’s the main cause behind any arguments you two have. While he still has a very frat boy-esque mentality, he’s also very sensitive to feelings. He’s a romantic at heart; he’s like an open book, and he surprisingly has no problem being vulnerable. You, on the other hand, keep everything bottled up. It’s what you’re used to.

Still, you make it work. You’ve never been in a relationship that feels so serious. Even the arguments only furthermore make it seem real, like you've been dating for years rather than a few months.

The two of you finally approach the gate of the apartment complex, entering as you let out a little breath upon being free from the paparazzi’s clutches. “I don’t know how you deal with this everyday.” You shake your head, barely laughing. “It’s exhausting.” He chuckles and guides you inside, raising a brow. “Well, baby doll, it’s going to be your life pretty soon now that you’ve found yourself an agent- you know that, right?”

You can’t hold back your smile, even though you’ve been strictly telling yourself not to keep your hopes up. “I don’t have one yet, it’s just a meeting. I can’t get too excited!” He scoffs and suddenly grabs your waist, playfully tackling you down onto the couch as you squeal. “Well, I’m going to be excited for you then. C’mon baby, look at you. You’re fucking gorgeous, and you’ve been gaining more and more followers by the second. And the agency reached out to you first to set up a meeting, you didn’t even have to send your headshots in. You know how good of a sign that is?” He playfully starts tickling your sides and you practically shriek in laughter, squirming through your giggles. “Chris!!”

He finally stops and you exhale, breathless but smiling as you reach up and hold his face lightly. “You really think I’ll make it big one day? That I’ll eventually be walking that runway during Paris Fashion Week?”

“Hell yeah I do, cupcake.” He murmurs, leaning down to peck your lips, “And I’m going to be sitting front row at every single fucking show.” You smile, briefly shutting your eyes before opening them again as you trail your fingertips along the stubble of his jawline. “Oh, yeah? What if you forget all about me because you’ll be a big Hollywood star by then? What if you show up front row, sitting next to your girlfriend Megan Fox?” He blinks and laughs deeply, moving his mouth down to kiss at your neck. “Mm… I’d be watching you walk that runway and dump her right then and there to beg for you back, that’s what.” You hum softly in delight as he nibbles on your sensitive skin, his husky voice continuing, “But you know that’s not going to happen, right baby? I can’t imagine doing this whole Hollywood thing without you by my side. You support me so much, and I want to do the same for you. I just… have a really good feeling about this relationship.”

You lightly move his head to look up into his eyes, reading his expression. He looks nothing but genuine.

“Me too.” You whisper, caressing his cheek lightly with your thumb. “I think we’re both gonna make it big one day. And we’ll be doing it together.”

____________________

“He was my first.” You laugh softly as you wipe at your eyes, looking up towards the ceiling of the lavish five star hotel room as if that will stop the tears from returning. “I was only eighteen when we met. Still new to LA, only had a few thousand followers on Instagram. God, why am I crying right now?”

Your friend Taylor hands you a tissue, shaking her head. “It’s okay to cry sometimes, you know. It’s good to have feelings.”

You scoff through the tears, taking the tissue and wiping at your wet eyes. “I just can’t believe everything we’ve gone through. Me becoming an international model, him becoming Captain freakin’ America, adopting a dog together, traveling the world together for his press conferences and my photoshoots, meeting each other’s families…” You sniff, finally letting a tear actually slide down your cheek. “Do you remember when I had to get an appendectomy? And I was so fucking freaked out about the surgery, I had never had one before- but he was there with me the entire time I was recovering. He even told the director of Gifted that he needed a few days off.”

“Yes, Y/N, we remember.” Jasmine sighs, handing you a glass of wine. “Drink up girly, you clearly need it tonight.” Candice raises an eyebrow, questioning, “Hasn’t she drank enough? I think that’s why the crying is happening…”

“And we even talked about having kids together. We just knew we’d make it, you know? That our relationship would last forever. It wasn’t delusional, we knew it.” You sniff, taking the wine nonetheless as you take a sip. “Oh my God, remember when I had that pregnancy scare? And it looked like I’d be having a baby, and I was so nervous to tell him, but when I did he was so fucking ecstatic. Guys, he was so happy. Literally jumping for joy. He told me he wanted nothing more than to have a baby with me, even though we hadn’t planned for one that early.”

“Well, thank God you weren’t actually pregnant,” Meng pipes up, a glass of wine in one hand as she goes to open your closet door with the other. “Because then shopping for this would have been a lot more difficult with a baby bump.” She pulls out the wedding dress, playfully moving it from side to side in front of her body. All the girls immediately laugh, cheering as they raise their glasses. “Hell, yeah! Our girl’s getting married to the love of her life tomorrow!”

You giggle through your tears. Your happy tears, to be exact.

“C’mon, Y/N, stop crying already!” Elsa laughs, shaking your shoulders lightly. “You’re acting like Chris dumped you!” You laugh too, wiping at your eyes. “I can’t help but be a little emotional, okay? God, this is his fault. I never used to be such a crybaby until I met him.” You lift up your glass for another toast as you smile widely. “To the best damn bridesmaids in the world. Thank you for dealing with my sensitive ass during this whole marriage process.”

“Anything for you, soon-to-be Mrs. Evans!”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #writing

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katelyn--renee · 4 years ago

Text

Out of the Fire (Part two)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part two)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2200 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later.

Part two summary: Flashback to when you first met your green eyed hero and their budding romance.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death.

Author’s note: Here is part two! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all it’s fluffy goodness! :)

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All graphics and dividers done by me! :)

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! If you would like to be tagged in the series, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!

<<-- Read part one, here!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

About five weeks ago.

The shop was busier than usual, but being the final days of summer, it was expected. It wasn't anything you or Charlie couldn't handle, of course, but it sure did make for long days and even longer nights of cleanup.

"Charlie, table two needs refills, table six never got their vanilla lattes, and table four is ready to pay." You announced as you joined your partner behind the counter with a handful of dirty mugs and plates, having just made one of many rounds through the seating area.

The two of you danced around each other gracefully, moving in harmony as you switched from one task to another. “On it.” She acknowledged, already preparing the missing drinks and throwing in a complimentary pastry for the mistake.

You set the pile of dishes down into the sink before turning to the next customer in line, flashing him a friendly smile. “Yes, hi, how can I help you?” You greeted urgently, looking up to meet a set of stunning green eyes. You faltered slightly, taken by surprise by his strikingly good looks.

He smiled, almost bashfully, as he began to place his order, seeming not to notice your hesitation. “A round of coffees, black, for me and my buddies ,” He motioned toward the booth near the large bay window which was occupied by three other bodies; two men and one woman, all of whom adorned matching uniforms. “Cream and sugar on the side. Oh, uh, larges… or eh, talls?” He added with a sheepish chuckle, clearly unfamiliar with the coffee house lingo.

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from smiling more and potentially embarrassing him. “Venti.” You corrected him playfully. You saw the confused look on his face, his head cocking like a confused puppy, before adding, “For our ‘large,’”

You used air quotes to emphasize your point, rolling your eyes at the technical terminology. “It’s venti.” You saw it the moment he understood what you were telling him, and he chuckled again, not missing the way he ducked his head to hide the slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

“Never too old to learn something new.” He chuckled again and winked at you, the gesture setting butterflies loose inside of your stomach. It was your turn to look away this time, your face hot with a blush. He fished his wallet from his dark blue cargo pants, looking at the assortment of baked goods.

“Throw in a few of those bagels and croissants, too, please.” He added, casting his gaze down at the display case once again. “Oh, and a piece of that cherry pie.” He added almost dreamily, pulling out a couple of twenties.

Upon further inspection, you took notice of the soot and ash that dirtied his face and darkened his hair in certain places. He had dark circles under his gorgeous eyes, too, clearly exhausted after a long shift. You glanced in the direction of his crew members, finding much of the same. “Long night?” You asked, trying to be friendly as much as you were curious.

“I look that rough, huh?” He teased, a look of mock offense accompanying his handsome features.

You shook your head, a smile still curving your lips at the corners, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You clarified hastily as you calculated his order into the register, making a point to leave off the coffees; it was the least you could do for him… eh, them, right?

He winked again and laughed, the sound deep in his chest, assuring you that he was only teasing. “I know you didn’t,” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, watching your face and the way you tried to suppress your smile. “How much do I owe you, sweetheart?” He asked, glancing down at the display screen.

The term of endearment made your heart flutter slightly, and you couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto your face again. You swallowed the feeling down, pressing the enter key before you read aloud his total.

“That’ll be $19.94, Mr. Firefighter.” He rose a questioning brow at the total, glancing up at the menu prices. “Coffee’s on the house.” You added quickly with a closed-lip smile, your eyes sincere. “It’s the least I can do for your services.”

Several emotions seemed to make their way across his face, contorting it briefly before settling on gratitude. “Thank you.” He said, his voice genuine. He held out one of the twenty-dollar bills, paying for his order. “That was really kind of you, truly.” He smiled softly, glancing down at the name tag attached to your apron. “(Y/N).”

A smile formed on your lips before you could stop it, and your cheeks flushed at the way he said your name, your eyes finding the name embroidered onto the left side of his dark blue button-up shirt, opposite of a silver badge over his heart. Red patches were on either sleeve, proudly showing off the station they serve. “It’s no trouble, Lieutenant Winchester...” You promised with a sly smile.

He laughed, appreciating your observation. “Dean.” He insisted as you accepted the bill. Your fingers touched, brushing against each other softly. The touch, however slight, was like an electric shock, igniting every part of your body.

There was an annoyed grunt behind the firefighter, but the two of you paid little attention to it. You put the money into the till and collected his change, but Dean insisted that he didn’t need it. He walked backwards to his table, his bottom lip drawn up between his teeth. The two of you couldn’t seem to stop watching each other, nor did you want to, silently flirting with your eyes.

You giggled when he bumped into an unoccupied table, watching as he almost knocked over its contents and awkwardly fumbled with the accompanying chair that nearly fell over. He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled self-consciously, trying to conceal his embarrassment. He ducked his head when he got back to his table, his friends giving him a hard time.

He hid his face in his palms as a dark-haired man with scruff and blue eyes clapped a hand against Dean’s shoulder, booming with laughter. “Smooth,” You heard the blonde female tease, snickering at her partner. You watched them as you gathered up their order, blushing when you caught him stealing a few glances your way. When finished, you brought their order out to them personally, earning you another wink from the fireman.

The rest of the shift went by in a blur, unable to get those emerald eyes out of your head. Charlie had seemed to notice your distraction and, in perfect Charlie fashion, commented on it as you were closing up shop. “That fireman sure left his mark on you, huh?” She teased, a knowing smile drawing her lips up.

You scoffed at her and tried to play it off like you didn’t know what she was talking about… and failing. “W-What? No - No, I - Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie.” You muttered, locking the doors and placing the keys into your pocket.

She looked skeptical and cocked her hip, propping a hand there. “Uh-huh, sure.” She stated, waving her hands. “And I’m not the Queen of Mordor.” She said sarcastically, “Oh wait, I am.” She said exaggeratedly with her hands thrown in the air, referencing her extracurricular activity of LARPing.

You rolled your eyes fondly at your best friend; she’d dragged you along to her LARPing weekends on more than one occasion, and you’d humored her, going along with it because it made Charlie happy. “You can’t fool me, sista, now spill the beans.” She insisted, following behind you with the broom as the pair of you cleaned up.

You sighed, wiping down one of the tables and the chairs that joined it, already knowing that you wouldn't win this battle against the feisty redhead. “I don’t know…” You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you thought about the encounter. “I can't explain it, I don’t know how to explain it… but there was just something about him… y'know?" You recalled, picking up one of the chairs and putting it on the table. "I just… I can’t quite put my finger on it…"

Charlie giggled, "Bet you wish you could." She teased, clearly hinting at more than she said. You gasped and feigned innocence, throwing the towel at her. Charlie laughed more, catching the soiled cleaning cloth before it collided with her face. "Oh, come on (Y/N)! I know that look in a woman's eye. I’ve seen it dozens of times! You want him. Bad!"

She threw the cloth back, and you caught it with ease. "Jeez, you make me sound so desperate." You grumbled, not denying Charlie's observation, despite the dramatics.

Charlie hadn't missed a beat, and she grinned, a cocky sparkle in her eyes. "So you do like him." She chimed accusingly, clearly happy to be right.

You rolled your eyes again, moving onto the next table as Charlie continued sweeping under the one you'd just cleared. "Okay. Yeah, fine." You admitted, "I thought he was cute and charming and sexy in that uniform,"

Charlie made an ‘I-knew-it’ face, but you continued before she could make a sly remark, "But it doesn't matter. It's not like I'm ever gonna see him again." You stated with a reluctant sigh, spraying down the next table with the cleaning agent, trying to hide the disappointment lingering in your voice. You began to scrub at a stubborn spot on the table, trying to distract yourself.

Charlie frowned sadly, reading into your mood, and leaned the broom down against the table before closing the space between you. "I'm sorry for being pushy. It's just that you work all the time. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?" You were about to answer when she held up a finger, "Other than this café. This doesn't count, this is work."

She had a point. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done anything that didn't involve this little shop. "Exactly. I just wanna see you have some fun and that," She thumbed over her shoulder toward the door, referring to Dean, "was fun." You chuckled softly, your cheeks getting warm at the thought.

"You deserve to live a little,” She put her arms on your shoulders and squeezed affectionately, “Especially after what that snake put you through." You frowned at the reminder, dread coiling inside of your stomach and a frown pulled at your lips at the mention of your ex, Nick.

Like always, Charlie didn’t let you get too lost in your thoughts, "And who knows, maybe he has an equally attractive sister for me." She added with a playful shrug and a giggle, effectively distracting you. "Fate works in mysterious ways, sista; you never know what she might throw your way." She added mysteriously, wiggling her eyebrows for added effect.

As it turns out, Charlie was right. Fate did work in mysterious ways because, in the weeks that followed, Dean continued to show up, sometimes with his crew, but mostly by himself. The times he showed up varied, depending on his work scheduled, which you soon noticed was quite busy. Regardless of the hour, he always showed.

It wasn't long before you memorized his order by heart; a venti coffee, black, and a slice of pie; whichever flavor was baked for the day's special. The flavor never seemed to be an issue for the firefighter, but it didn’t take you long to realize that cherry was clearly his favorite, with pecan a close second.

The pair of you flirted and subtly got to know each other as time went on, teetering somewhere between acquaintances and friends. He’d flirt. You’d flirt. But it never went any further than that.

Charlie teased you about it the whole time, of course. She wouldn’t be your best friend if she hadn’t. You’d just roll your eyes or shake your head every time she’d urge you to "grow a pair and ask him out already."

You wanted to. Of course, you wanted to; you’d be an idiot not to want that.

But you didn't, of course, because you were too embarrassed and too afraid to act on your feelings. You'd done that once before already, and you paid one hell of a price for it. Hell, in a way, you still were. Nick left such a nasty scar on your heart; you weren't sure if you could ever love again. You were in a constant state of fear, afraid of being hurt again.

Charlie, being the wonderful best friend that she is, always tried to remind you that love… true love… would never hurt you. That real love was the stuff of magic and fairy tales. That what you had with Nick wasn’t love. It helped, a little, but that fear never truly went away, you just sort of learned to live with it.

Maybe someday you’ll feel differently.

And there you have it. Part two is complete. I hope you enjoyed that chapter as much as I did. Awkward/adorable Dean is one of my favs. Haha.

As always, thanks for reading!

Read part three, here! -->>

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278

Out of the Fire (series)

@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness

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ayatosmlktea · 5 years ago

Note

Hi may i request some levi x reader in which she is a gentle nurse who goes to the underground ocassionally to help the kids in need there? Kinda like charity idk. Levi (still living in there with Farlan and Isabel) thinks her actions are not selfless or maybe resents her by thinking she looks down on all of the underground citizens, until Farlan gets injured and the reader helps them, making Levi see her in a new light, having a crush on her. Thanks you

A/N: This was a great request! Sorry it took so long! This request is just about 4000 words...I obviously got carried away with it but I hope you enjoy it!!!!!

𝑱𝒖𝒅𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍

To say that Levi despised her was an understatement. The way she would come and go as she pleased, pitying their despairing life was vile to him. There was absolutely no way that anyone of her social standing could do anything out of the kindness of their own hearts.

There was always an ulterior motive. At first he hadn’t paid much attention to her presence, figuring that once she got a taste of what the underground was like she would go running back to the surface at the first sight of filth. He hadn’t paid much attention to the medical care she was giving a few of the kids, sure he could appreciate the poor underfed brats being taken care of. No one looked out for anyone down there, it was eat or be eaten.

Levi didn’t know why her presence made him so annoyed, or why the mere sight of her had his skin crawling in a way that made him want to scrub his skin until it was raw. Levi hated pity, especially when it came from spoiled good-for-nothing rich outsiders. The last thing any of them needed were constant reminders of how close the lives they wanted were only to have it ripped from their grasp. Isabel and Farlan were less jaded than Levi was and a little bit too trusting of the gentle stranger that came in and out of the underground.

“She’s really nice, big bro! You should give her a chance!” Isabel pleaded, Levi merely scoffed. Like he would ever let himself get close to her kind. The last thing he needed was some stuck up snobby rich girl pitying him.

“I’ll pass,” Levi replied, his tone indicating that the conversation should end there. Isabel sighed dramatically but decided to drop the topic for now knowing that if she pushed any harder she was never going to get Levi to even look at Y/N. Rounding the corner a sneer flashed across his face as his eyes met the crouched form of the unofficial underground nurse.

“Come on, let me see that beautiful smile of yours” Levi rolled his eyes at the soft words that made the small girl giggle. Pulling out a few tissues from her bag she wiped away any stray tears on the child’s face and then gave her extra ones to blow her nose.

“This is going to hurt a little bit but you can handle it right? You’re a tough cookie!” The red haired child nodded tentatively, her hands clenched in her lap while the h/c woman unwrapped a pad of alcohol wipes and rubbed it over a fairly nasty scrape on the girl's knee. Her fingers worked quickly as she wrapped white gauze around the little girl’s knee, securing it with clips and medical tape.

“There! All better” The kind hearted smile she gave the little girl while handing her a small piece of chocolate had his stomach churning.

“See! Told ya she was nice” Isabel chirped, skipping over to chat with her newly made friend. Levi was not impressed, not in the slightest.

“What’s your deal?” He asked, looking down at her with an unwavering gaze that would have had most men running with their tail between their legs. E/C eyes finally raised to meet his glare, her brow cocked as she let out a scoff.

“Why do I need to have a deal? Can’t I just help because I want to?” Packing up the bandages into her small black bag she stood up, smoothing the creases on her skirt. She was taller than Levi, crossing her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one leg. Her sudden cocky demeanour a complete flip from the kind-hearted young woman that had been crouched before him seconds ago.

“No, no one does shit just because they want to. Everyone has a price, what’s yours?” Y/N rolled her eyes, a curt laugh grating against his ears painfully.

“What a cynical worldview you have, some of us don’t give a shit about money. These kids need help, would you rather I let them succumb to preventable infections and have them suffer?”

“Tch, no one here needs your charity. Whatever you’re expecting to get from these people you think you’re helping isn’t going to happen. Stop giving these kids false hope, all you’re doing is waving your perfect life in their faces while reminding them that they’re never going to live one” Levi’s words were cold, sharp and unforgiving. Every sentence gradually louder than the next until he was spitting his feelings of resentfulness easily and without restraint.

“I’m assuming you’re Levi. Isabel did say you were a bit difficult to get to know.” Levi’s eyes briefly glanced over at the bashful looking red-head before focusing on Y/N.

“I don’t care what your opinions of me are, if you don’t like me then stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours!” Not giving Levi the chance to come up with another jab to her intentions she turned her back on him and started walking off with Isabel at her side.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance Levi strode off in the opposite direction, he would make damn sure that their paths never crossed again.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

“You’ve got to be kidding me” Levi groaned, it seemed that no matter how hard he tried to avoid her, they always seemed to run into each other. Y/N’s presence had become too frequent for Levi’s liking. He couldn’t shake his gut feeling that her intentions were not as innocent as she wanted them to think.

What normal person went out of their way to care for kids they had no obligations to? Even their own parents didn’t seem to care about them as much as Y/N did. Levi had no idea what was so appealing about her, he was surprised Isabel continued to hang around her for as long as she did.

“Hey it’s okay! It’s only going to feel like a little pinch for two seconds and then it’s over” Y/N was trying to soothe a crying boy, he looked scared and if Levi didn’t know any better she looked exhausted. Her clothes were stained in a mixture of dirt and what looked like blood.

His nose scrunched at how dirty she was. Noticing the small needle in her hands Levi could gather enough to know that she was having trouble trying to calm the frantic boy sitting across from her. There was a white bandage wrapped around his upper arm.

He should have just kept walking, completely ignored her and pretended that she didn’t exist, but his feet wouldn’t move.

Her eyes slowly raised, a small spark of relief flashed across her face.

“Can you please hold him still for me? I just need to give him this shot so he doesn’t get an infection” Her tone was soft but her eyes were pleading with him for help. Figuring that it was better to get it over with, and not because he felt any compassion for her, Levi squatted down nudging the child to look at him.

“Listen kid, just sit still and let her give you the shot. Otherwise you’re going to get sick, is that what you want?” She inwardly cringes at his absence of gentleness but it seems to work, and she isn’t going to argue with it.

“There! It’s all done, wasn’t so bad was it?” she smiles brightly at the boy who wipes away a few tears shaking his head. Handing him a small piece of chocolate, the same thing she did after treating every one of her ‘patients’, she checked the bandage on his arm one last time.

“Make sure you wash this properly tonight okay? Have your sister wrap it again tomorrow morning and don’t go playing around with metal, got it?” Y/N says sternly, handing him a small roll of bandages.

“Thank you, miss” he sniffles, giving her a quick hug before running off.

“Still running your charity business I see” Levi mutters, Y/N rolls her eyes in response.

“Do you really think I’d still be doing this for free if I didn’t care about these kids? I’ve had my fair share of intimidation down here” Y/N replies, it wasn’t unlike Levi to make jabs at her work. It had already been nearly three months of consistently sneaking down into the underground and caring for the sick, hurt children and occasionally some of the adults.

“I know how you feel about me but I’m not going to justify my actions, I help people who need it. That’s it! There’s nothing in it for me except being able to sleep at night knowing that I’m able to make a difference for these kids” She’s persistent, Levi gives her that much. It’s almost a little endearing. Endearing? Where the hell did that come from, Levi shakes his head. He was not about to get soft for her, no matter how pure her intentions seemed.

At the end of the day their worlds were never meant to collide.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

Levi didn’t know why their paths always collided. He couldn’t explain why he was watching her like some creep from a distance. If he didn’t see her at least once a week he knew something was off. Nearly all the kids had taken a liking to her, even some of the older troublesome teenagers were putty in her hands.

Perhaps it was the gentle touch she so willingly and freely gave that they’d never know. Levi watched her work with a fascination that he would never let her know, her fingers were gentle and skilled. Not once had she ever commented on their lifestyle or made them feel the way that everyone viewed them.

She didn’t seem to mind the dirt and filth that clung to her clothes, and was more than willing to spend extra time with the children she helped care for. Maybe she wasn’t like the others, maybe there was something different about her heart. His many harsh jabs at her never deterred her and she was more than capable of holding her own against his crass humor.

Somewhere along half heartedly insulting her he’d actually come to miss her presence. After her confession last time that she’d run into the less favourable men of the underground, Levi had taken it upon himself to personally escort her back to the entrance. He was a well known thug, people wouldn’t bother her if they knew what was good for themselves.

Y/N couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful, and more often than once she’d found herself wanting to kiss him. It was a little ridiculous, falling for someone who acted like they didn’t want anything to do with her, but underneath layers of walls that had been up to keep his heart protected was a very vulnerable person. Y/N chalked it up to her nurturing nature, it had to be the only reasonable explanation for why she craved his presence at night.

She was also fairly close to Farlan, except he didn’t bring a parade of butterflies with him whenever he was around. He didn’t make her uncharacteristically nervous, and he most definitely didn’t make her swoon when their eyes met. Sighing in defeat, Y/N covers her head with her pillow.

She had a thing for Levi, and she had it bad.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

The door to their house slams open, Levi and Farlan stumble in both covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. Farlan looks a lot worse for wear than Levi, a large pool of blood soaking through his shirt. His face is deathly pale and there are large beads of sweat dripping down his face and he can barely stand on his own.

“What happened?” Isabel cries rushing towards the two, helping Levi carry Farlan over to the couch and lying him down.

“We got ambushed” Levi huffs under his breath, he would’ve had no trouble taking out the thugs that had jumped them if Farlan hadn’t been sliced open while he had been caught off guard.

Lifting his shirt Isabel nearly gags, the wound is deep and wide across his stomach with blood flowing out.

“Get some towels and put pressure on it, we need to stop the bleeding” Levi orders snapping Isabel out of her trance.

While they’re all fairly good at stitching up small wounds, neither of them have ever done anything this big before and at the rate that Farlan is losing blood they need to act fast.

“Go get Y/N! She can help” Levi wants to say no, he’s stubborn and too prideful to admit that they need her help.

“Please!” Levi doesn’t say anything, one look at Farlan’s face is enough to convince him that now would be the right time to swallow his pride. He doesn’t even know where to start looking for her but at least his ODM gear can make the search for her faster.

It almost feels like luck is on their side, Y/N isn’t far from their house and Levi almost flies right into her as she rounds a corner.

“I need your help” Y/N can’t contain her shock, not once in all her time in the underground had Levi ever asked her for help and on top of it he looked like he’d been to hell and back.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks jokingly not thinking his request was actually serious. Her eyes assess his black eye and cut lip.

“It’s Farlan” Her eyes widen ever so slightly, the pit of dread in her stomach signaling that it was probably bad if Levi had grown some balls to ask for her help.

“Please” Y/N is sure she’s been knocked out or at the very least hallucinating and she wants to make a witty jab but the look in his eyes is one she’s never seen before. It’s almost desperate, and if she looks a little closer, scared. Nodding she lets out a surprised yelp when Levi grabs her in his arms.

“Don’t let go” he mumbles before manoeuvring them through the streets.

“Yeah, like I’d do that!” She tries to sound sassy but the feeling of soaring through the air makes the words catch in her throat coming out more scared than anything. Y/N can’t deny that the feeling of zipping so freely through the air is just as exhilarating as it is terrifying, it’s something she’s always wanted to experience. Her eyes always followed the trio with amazement and adoration at how effortless they made it look.

Her arms tighten around his neck as he makes a sharp turn and she wonders if she imagines the barely audible sharp intake of air he takes. His feet hit the ground and the force of his momentum is hard enough to throw her out of his grasp if it weren’t for his arms holding her against him.

“Um thanks” she mutters, hoping to God that her face isn’t as red as it feels.

Her legs are a little wobbly and her heart feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest and she’s sure her face is on fire. Levi ushers her into the house, his hand just ghosting over the small of her back leaving sparks of electricity in their place.

“Y/N! Thank gods you’re here” Isabel nearly cries with relief, her hands are soaked with Farlan’s blood and it makes her stomach churn. She’d been expecting something bad, but this was almost beyond her capabilities.

“Okay I need a bowl of warm water, some more towels, a bucket and I need an extra pair of hands.” Dropping her bag next to the couch and rolling up her sleeves she looks to Levi.

“Do you have somewhere else we can move him? Preferably a table?” Y/N and Levi carefully move Farlan’s barely conscious body onto the large table they dragged from the kitchen beside the couch. Levi grimaces at the blood soaked cushions, guilt eating away at him. Isabel brings over a bowl of warm water and towels.

“Maybe you should wait outside Izzy, you did a great job stabilizing him until I got here” Y/N gives Isabel a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to” she offers, while washing her hands.

“Of course I’m staying” he rolls his eyes, almost offended that she would insinuate he couldn’t handle it. Sure it was messy but Farlan was his family.

“Okay then let’s get started. We’re running out of time”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

What felt like hours later, Y/N closed the last stitch. Her fingers were so cramped she couldn’t uncurl them, her feet and back were aching but Farlan would live. He’d lost a substantial amount of blood, but there was nothing she could do about that for now.

She’d have to come back with more supplies tomorrow. All she wanted to do was collapse onto the floor and sleep, her eyes were burning and blurry. Levi had gone to call Isabel inside and the two carried Farlan into his room. She grabbed the bloodied towels and threw them into the garbage. She’d have to bring more towels too.

“You should rest” Levi murmurs from beside her causing her to jump out of her skin.

“God Levi, don’t do that!” she huffs, her body just barely leaning against his as he moves to turn off the tap water.

“Someone's jumpy” he smirks, enjoying the crimson tint that spreads over her face. God his smirk was lethal.

“Shut up” Y/N huffs, drying her hands. Her body was so tired she could barely pick her feet up. Levi grabs her by the upper arm, leading her to his bedroom. Even in her state of exhaustion she feels the room becoming smaller and hotter as she watches him sort through his clothes, finally throwing her a plain shirt.

“Change and then get some sleep, you look like shit” Levi directs her to the bathroom.

“Always so charming” Y/N mutters, feeling a little self conscious at his comment. It wasn’t the first time he’d commented on her appearance but it was the first time that it made her feel self-conscious. Maybe it was because this was the first time she’d ever seen a side to his personal life, or maybe it was because all she wanted was one compliment from him.

It was probably pointless, the Levi she’d grown to love didn’t come off as someone who had time to let anyone else in. Looking back at her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit he had a point. Her hair was a little frizzy, strands were coming undone from her ponytail and the circles under her eyes were a little darker than usual.

Despite being too tired to even think about putting effort into her appearance, the feelings for Levi that had taken over her rational mind would not allow her to leave the bathroom without even trying to look half decent.

Wearing his shirt was something else entirely, it smelled like him, which was probably creepy of her to say but it made a longing to call him hers pang in her heart.

“Stop being so fucking soft” she scolds herself mentally. It wasn’t going to do her any good to fall for him. Not that it had worked in slowing down her feelings.

“Just tell her! What’s the worst that could happen?” She hears Isabel say through the door, her curiosity spiking.

“She could hear me” Levi responds dryly.

“Is that big bro’s shirt?” Isabel asked, her eyes darting to Levi briefly, as Y/N walked out of the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah” she mumbled feeling suddenly tiny under Isabel and Levi’s gaze. Something unreadable flashes across Isabel’s face before grabbing the dirty clothes out of her hands.

“I’ll go wash these for you!” She chirps.

“Oh no it’s okay, I can do it!” Y/N protests but Isabel is having none of it.

“Y/N please, you saved Farlan’s life. This is the least I can do” Y/N still felt guilty letting Isabel wash her clothes but she knew how stubborn the red-head could be.

“Go sleep, you need it” It was strange being in Levi’s room, it was personal and intimate and yet it felt like she was just a stranger looking in. His room was clean, unsurprisingly, there weren’t many things in it but she didn’t have to ask him to know that whatever was in the room had some sentimental value to him.

“The bed isn’t going to bite” Levi declared once again giving her a heart attack.

“Stop doing that! At least make noise or something” Y/N groaned, willing her heart to calm down. The two of them sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed, not saying anything and it was only making her more nervous.

“Thank you” his words were so quiet she wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t sitting so close to her.

“You don’t need to thank me, I’m always happy to help” Y/N replied truthfully, it was something she would have done for anyone else.

“I guess I was wrong about you” he chuckled softly, her heart was pounding in her chest so hard it physically hurt. This was the first time she’d seen him smile, let alone laugh. Levi turned his head, his eyes lingering on her lips long enough to make the back of her neck prickle with heat.

She didn’t know what spurred it, maybe she was too tired to care, but she found herself leaning into him and to her surprise Levi wasn’t moving away. His hand cupped the side of her face bringing their lips together in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her entire being was screaming, nerves on fire and heart about to explode. It was everything she had ever dreamed of and more.

Levi had never felt anything softer or tasted anything sweeter than her lips. It made his head spin, and his stomach flip with nerves. His mind was so overwhelmed with pleasure that the sting of his cut lips didn’t even register in his mind. He didn’t want to stop kissing her but his lungs were burning for air.

Y/N pulled him right back in, her fists gripping the collar of his shirt and his other hand tangles itself in her hair at the nape of her neck. Kissing her was addictive, it felt like finally coming up for air and the feeling of her hands cupping his jaw had his nerves short circuiting. Eventually, her impulsivity wore off and the realization of what she’d done hit her hard.

“I can’t believe we just kissed” she whispered, bringing a hand to her slightly swollen lips which were still tingling from his touch. Levi immediately took her words to mean that she regretted it and his body tensed, waiting for her to take it back.

“Oh, was it a mistake then?”

“No! That’s not what I meant!” she explains frantically knowing that he’ll shut her out at the slightest hint of rejection

“I obviously have feelings for you, dumbass” Levi rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“So articulate, Y/N”

“I’ve thought about doing that for a while” she mumbles, Levi could feel the tips of his ears growing hot at her confession.

“Say something! I look like an idiot confessing all by myse-” Levi drags her back in for another kiss effectively cutting her off.

“Is this a good enough confession for you?” He smirks and suddenly Y/N isn’t that tired anymore.

“I don’t know, you might need to convince me a little more”

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queenxxxsupreme · 5 years ago

Text

Marks on the Boss

A/N: I am super bad at naming this shit This was requested by

Warnings: implied smut, hickies/love bites

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Prentiss sees Hotch has some love bites on his neck....

It was early in the morning. The BAU team was slowly walking in through the doors one by one. The only ones in the bullpen were Morgan, Reid, and JJ.

"I can't stand the smell of lavender." Morgan shook his head.

"Lavender? You don't like lavender?" JJ couldn't believe what she was hearing. "How could you not like lavender?"

"I just don't." Morgan shrugged his broad shoulders. "Never have."

"Lavender works as an anxiolytic to increase relaxation and helps you sleep." Reid pointed out. "It interacts with the neurotransmitter GABA to help the brain calm down and quiet nervous system activity."

"That why I use it for Henry." JJ nodded her head.

The three profilers watched as you and Prentiss walked into the bullpen and went to your desks.

"Good morning, guys!" You chirped, setting your bag down on your desk before you went to join their little group. "What're we talking about?"

"Uh, smells." JJ answered with a little laugh.

"Ones we like or don't like?" Prentiss leaned against Reid's desk while you leaned against Morgan's next to JJ.

"Take your pick." Morgan replied.

"Ooh!" Your eyes got really big for a second as you thought of what to say. "Garcia has this really nice plug in air-freshner in her cave that smells like fireball."

"I think us non-alcoholics call that cinnamon, Y/L/N." Rossi spoke as he passed the team.

"I'm not an alcoholic!" You mockingly gasped. He grinned.

"Is Hotch in yet?" He asked over his shoulder. You stayed silent, knowing very well he wasn't. But you'd just arrived. Answering his question would make you look suspicious.

"Haven't seen him." Morgan shook his head. "Which is a little weird. He's usually here first."

"Guys!" Garcia called from the doorway of the roundtable room. "We've got a nasty one."

"I don't like the smell of cinnamon." Reid scrunched his nose up as all of you started to move towards the roundtable room. "It's too.... spicy." You laugh softly at his choice of words.

***

Shortly after everyone got settled around the table, Hotch showed up.

"Sorry I'm late, everyone." He moved to take his seat at the end of the table towards the back of the room. You very briefly met his gaze but it didn't linger for long. You diverted your eyes down to the tablet in front of you. "Go ahead when you're ready, Garcia."

Prentiss was the first to see them. There was one dark mark just under his right ear, then another little further down on his neck. Hotch could feel her eyes on him. He glanced up and met her gaze. She quickly looked down at the notes in her hands.

"Is something wrong, Prentiss?"

"No, sir." She answered a little too quickly. You peeked up through your lashes to see what she was looking at. Your heart dropped at the sight of the markings you'd left on him. You both agreed no visible marks. However, last night you must've gotten carried away.

You stood up suddenly, catching everyone's attention.

"I-I need to use the, uh, the restroom." You hastily made your way towards the door. Smooth on, Y/N. As you walked to the bathrooms, you pulled your phone out to text him.

To: Aaron Hotchner <"She saw the bite marks on your neck.">

You gripped your phone tightly in hand. The door to the bathroom was pushed open. You slipped into the restroom and went to lean against the counter. A few moments later, your phone silently buzzed.

From: Aaron Hotchner <"What bite marks?">

You bit your bottom lip.

To: Aaron Hotchner <"The ones I gave you last night.">

A few more minutes pasted before you decided it would be wise to go back to the roundtable room. You didn't want to seem suspicious.

Just as you were walking out of the bathroom, someone grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall just beside the door. You were ready to fight whoever it was until you saw that it was Hotch.

"Hi." You smiled innocently up at him.

"How the hell are we going to hide this from them?" He was stressing out about it. Of course he was. He always had something to stress out over.

"If they ask, just tell them you were with someone last night." You shrugged your shoulders. "You don't have to tell them who."

Hotch sighed through his nose and looked down the hall to ensure you two were still alone. You reached up to straighten his tie, even though it didn't need it.

"Aaron, I'm sorry." You apologized quietly. "I'll be more careful next time."

"It's unprofessional." He muttered, bringing his eyes back down to you. There was a little something in those icy blue orbs you adored so much. He liked the marks. He wasn't upset like you thought.

"Yeah?" You raised your brows. "Well you know what else is unprofessional?"

"What?"

"Me kissing my boss." Your fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him down so you could steal a kiss from him. His hands found your waist, his long and slender fingers almost making you laugh. But he didn’t allow the moment to last long. He pulled away and stepped back, straightened his jacket-which you had messed up-and running his fingers through his hair.

“Is it really that noticeable?” He turned his head a little and reached up to rub where he thought the marks were. You bit you bottom lip, secretly admiring the marks you made on him.

“I can fix it. Go into the men’s bathroom. I’ll be in in a moment.” You turned to go back to the bullpen but he stopped you.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my makeup bag out of my go-bag.”

***

“Aaron, hold still.”

“Y/N, I don’t like this.”

“Then we can finally tell the team.” You perked up, only for him to shake his head and mutter a ‘no’ under his breath. “I’m almost done, Aaron.”

After mixing your foundation with moisturizer, you got the correct color to match his neck. Then you proceeded to add the foundation to the markings on his neck but this was easier said than done. Who knew Aaron Hotchner was such a baby?

“I don’t like the way it feels.”

“Oh please.” You rolled your eyes at him. “You can’t feel it.”

“Yes I can.” He countered.

“There.” You wiped the remaining foundation off on a paper towel and admired your handy work.

“And what about Prentiss?”

“She can keep a secret. I trust her.”

He let out a sigh and looked back to the mirror.

“Next time, keep the love bites off my neck.”

“Oh, I’ll try to remember that one, Agent Hotchner.” You rolled your eyes again, a smirk playing on your lips, and started to walk away.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You turned on your heels to face your boss slash boyfriend.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

You grinned a little, feeling warmth stir in the pit of your stomach. You bit your lip for a moment and taking in the peace and quiet. It wasn’t often that you two got to be like this during the day, to be carefree and let loose.

“Yes, sir, Agent Hotchner. I’ll see you on the jet, sir.”

***

"Hey, Emily.” You smiled to Prentiss as you sat down across from her. She was sitting by herself towards the back of the jet. Morgan had been with her but he left just a few moments before you took his seat.

“Hey, Y/N.” She greeted you. You glanced over your shoulder to Hotch, who sat towards the front of the jet facing. He was with JJ and Rossi going over the case.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about-,”

“Shut. Up!” She cut you off, a big grin crossing her lips. “No way.”

“What?” The smile fell from your lips. “No way what?”

She deadpanned and raised her eyebrows.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Y/N. Hotch has hickies on his neck-,”

“Shh!” You hushed her, reaching across to put your hand over her mouth. “Emily, I’m telling you this because I trust you.”

“How long?” Prentiss leaned forward in her seat, now completely captivated by the conversation.

“A few months.” You smiled shyly. “But we aren’t just messing around, Em. We’re serious.”

“Ah, Ms. Y/N has a boyfriend?” Morgan nudged your arm with his hand, wanting you to scoot over a seat so he wouldn’t have to climb over you. You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. What the hell were you going to say?

“She was telling me about this guy that just moved in next door. Things are getting serious pretty quick.” Prentiss spoke quick, almost too quick. She looked to you, her eyes widening just slightly as if to signal you to say something.

“Is that a bad thing?” You looked to Morgan.

“How long have you known him?”

“Couple weeks.” You blurted out with a shrug of your shoulders.

“I guess it depends on how you feel, kiddo.” He reached over to ruffle your hair but you took the chance to elbow him in the ribs. You hated when he did that. “Good one. Y/L/N.”

You settled back into your seat, stuck there for a while longer now that Morgan had taken the aisle seat. You looked out the window, watching the clouds below pass by. Your phone buzzed in your hand.

From: Aaron Hotchner <”I’d love to meet his boyfriend of yours.”>

You peeked over your shoulder between your seat and Morgan’s to see Hotch looking at you, a little grin on his lips.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #thomas gibson #criminalminds #criminal minds #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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snippychicke · 4 years ago

Text

Aftermath--One

Aftermath

So, here I am, starting yet another F**** project. Because I have no self control and I am in love with both the Swedes as well as positive encouragement.

Aftermath is obviously a slight AU to end of Season 2. No major changes except...did no one tell the creators that just because someone fell unconscious when being strangled doesn’t mean their dead?

Title: Aftermath

Rating: Teen

Triggers: obviously references to violence, blood, racism including one racial slur. I’m going to go light on that hopefully, however. Slight gore warning?

Eventual OCxOtto

Herb did not, in fact, take away the dead body.

It was still sitting in Raymond's living room after everyone else had disappeared in flashes of blue lights. Wrapped up in the rug his sister had gifted him and Allison on their wedding day. Silent. Foreboding.

Raymond watched it as he sipped at his scotch. There was no way in hell he could move it by himself. And who could he trust to move it?

To move him.

That wasn't an it, that was a ‘him’. That was a human body resting in his living room. Who, admittedly, tried to kill him and Allison. But still, he could at least acknowledge him as a fellow human. After all, Raymond had tried so hard to be the respectful and peaceful man his grandmother raised him to be. Even when faced with the violence because of the protests, being unfairly treated time after time, he never raised so much as a hand to another human being.

But here he was: stuck with a dead white man in his living room. It didn't matter that the man and his brother had forced their way into their home (his home, now that Allison was gone) with intent to kill both of them. The white man was dead in his house, and he was alive and relatively unharmed.

He would go to prison. He was going to be <i>hung</i> for this. Raymond tipped the rest of the scotch back and poured another full glass. All of his work, gone.

It was probably a good thing Allison had...left to be with her family. It was comforting to know she was safe and alive. A small cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

His lips touched the cool glass when he heard it. A noise so soft he was sure he had imagined it. Still, it made him freeze, his body tense as he held his breath, eyes darting to the rug.

No. The man was dead. It had been hours since the attack. There was no way.

Raymond shook his head, deciding it was probably just the house settling, and shot back the drink, feeling the burn in his throat match the burn of his eyes. His whole life had just ended. It wouldn't be long and he would join…

His somber thoughts were cut off by another sound, this one unmistakable. Raymond jumped to his feet, throwing his glass out of reflex towards the body, which made a grunt when the glass bounced off the rug and shattered on the floor, she shards miking with the alcohol.

Raymond grabbed a knife off the table, careless that it was nothing more than a butter knife as he held it out waveringly.

Silence. No further sounds. No movement. Raymond stood frozen, eyes trained on the body, and mentally dared it to do something. Anything.

If it did, he would...he would…

The rug moved and a groan cut through the heavy silence. There was no doubting the haggard breathing and muffled moan of pain. Raymond cursed every foul word his grandma would wash his mouth out for and ran back to the kitchen to grab an actual knife. The long thick butcher’s knife his wife had used so skillfully once upon a time.

He pushed that sober realization away and stalked back to the living room, gripping the wooden handle tightly in his shaking hand. Raymond towered over the rug, knife poised to strike. He had to do something swift. Otherwise…

He was a dead man anyway. The thought silenced the instinct to strike, and the knife clattered harmlessly to the floor. He was going to die either way, but wouldn't it be better to die innocent than guilty? Not just for his soul, but for the movement. His brother and sisters?

He dropped to his knees and desperately undid the knots he and Allison had tied, allowing the rug to fall open. The man's face was no longer placid with death, but grimacing in pain, lips pursed as he sucked in haggard breaths. The blood was caked around the remains of his right eye, bruises coloring his neck, but otherwise, he was almost as pale as his white hair.

"Hey, uh buddy," Raymond said as he placed a hand on his shoulder, earning a painful grunt and he quickly removed it. "Right. Sorry. Let's… let's get you a hospital." Except questions would be asked, and he would be arrested.

But…

"Actually, I think I know someone."

--+--

Lorelei groaned as she fell into the old couch, slipping off her shoes and rubbing the knots in her feet. The third shift in a row at Parkland Memorial Hospital left her sore and exhausted. This week had been nuts, between the street shooting and the asylum patients escaping.

Then there was the man found in the woods. She grimaced at the memory of being called down to the OR because they had been short-staffed. Dr. Wilson had done his best, but they all had their doubts.

Her eyes were starting to drift shut when there was a bang on the door, hard and frantic enough to rattle the windows. Her eyes shot back open and she jumped up out of instinct, her heart thundering in her chest as she stumbled around the coffee table to open the door.

Raymond Chestnut stood on her aged porch, a pale man nearly twice his size in a bloodied suit draped partially over his shoulder.

"What the hell?" she started. Usually, it was some neighborhood kids coming to her for help this late, or someone else in their community. A car engine broke the otherwise quiet night further down the street. Raymond shot her a look, panicked and trembling under the other man's weight, and she didn't need any further encouragement to slip underneath the man's other arm and help Raymond drag him into her home and ease him onto the old couch that was far too small for the man.

Her stomach curdled at the wounds she saw, though the bloody mess of an eye was probably the worst. "Shit. We need him in a hospital, Raymond."

"I know!" He hissed back, keeping his voice low despite the privacy. "But can you imagine me pulling in the ER with him like this? I'd be swarmed with police, Lei, and be lynched by dawn!"

"What even happened?" She asked, undoing the silk tie to study the bruising around his neck. Obviously not an accident, but if Raymond got in a fight, why would he bring the man here?

Nevermind that Raymond was as pacifist as it got, and she couldn't see him doing ...this.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he stated with a dry tone, wiping the sweat from his brow.

She shot him a look, "I worked in the ER on a full moon on Halloween this year. <i>Try me</i>."

Before he could even start, she disappeared into her kitchen, and he could hear the faucet running as she rummaged through drawers. Within a minute she was back with a basin of water and more than a few washcloths. "Well?" She snipped as she damped a washcloth and worked on the caked blood around his eye, making the man hiss and flinch, his other eye fluttering slightly.

"Him and his brother came to my house, attacked me and my wife. Allison did that," he gestured to the eye covered by a washcloth, "before telling his brother to kill him. Which I certainly thought he did when he strangled him, but nope, here we are."

Lorelei paused and looked at him, trying to see a hint of a lie. Raymond was a poor liar, and Allison, while always a bit different and headstrong for sure, was still a lady. She had a hard time seeing the hairdresser stabbing someone.

Granted, being attacked in her own home…

"Come on. Let's get him back in your car. He needs a doctor, We can say we found him on my doorstep like this. Dr. Cahoy is working tonight, and..."

The man's hand shot up and gripped Lorelei's wrist tightly, making her freeze and Raymond jump. The man's other eye was open and staring hard at her. "No."

"No?" She repeated, falling into her working persona. "I can't treat the trauma to that eye. We need to take you to the hospital."

"No," he repeated, his hand tightening slightly, his fingers easily encompassing her wrist.

Yet it wasn't quite strong enough to hurt. She ground her teeth at the stubbornness on his face, studying the dark grey-blue eye staring back at her. "Fine. But in return for my services you have to promise not to go after Ray and Allie, okay? Or any negro for that matter."

His eye glanced briefly at Raymond before fluttering close, and he let go of her. Lorelei stood, rubbing her wrist as she thought. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. White men could get the care they need at the drop of a hat. She saved her stores for others truly in trouble.

Yet something in her gut was leading her towards an idea that there was something was not quite right. He only said one word, but there was a definite accent to it, and not one she was familiar with either.

"Ray, start boiling some water. There's a pack of gauze and gloves under the sink."

Raymond didn't ask any questions but nodded his head and followed her directions. Lorelei sighed as she touched the man's shoulder, making him crack open his good eye once more. "I'm serious here. I am not a doctor. I can do my best, but I doubt I can save your eye. You need a hospital."

"No," he repeated, though this time softer. Almost apologetic.

She pushed the thought away. "Do you have any plans to hurt Ray or Allie?"

"...no." he closed his eye, becoming stoic but not before she saw a flash of something. Anguish? Regret? Or just pain?

"I'm holding you to that. Now, give me a name I can call you. Don't need to be your real one," she continued as he looked at her strangely. "I just need a name you'll answer to."

"...Otto." That time she caught the accent but still didn't have an idea from where.

"Well Otto, I'm Lorelei, but you can call me Lei. And this is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch."

Part two

#tua #tua swedes #tua season two #tua the swedes #tua otto #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #fic: aftermath #the swedes otto

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flowercrown-bucky · 4 years ago

Text

That Old Black Magic

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Modern!Loki x Reader, Modern!Thor x Reader, Loki x Wanda

Series Warnings: Cheating, affairs, swearing, legal alcohol consumption, smut later on, mention of smoking

Summary: What do you do when you fall in love? Embark on a clandestine affair with their brother, of course.

Authors’ Note: This is very dialogue heavy towards the end. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Oh, and hold tight, it’s a long one.

I was supposed to post this yesterday but forgot oops

Start At The Beginning | Series Masterlist

Chapter Five - Regarding long dismissed feelings that must, as ever, be addressed.

TAG LIST: OPEN (PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED!)

“Y/N?” He muttered into your hair.

You murmured in response.

"I love you."

"What?" A spluttered, incredulous laugh left your lips. "Sorry, Loki, for a moment, I thought you said you loved me."

This was it, Loki thought. This was his do or die moment.

"I did." He mumbled. "I do."

Your whole body froze. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. His words echoed in your ears.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I. Love. You.

It wasn't possible. Loki didn't love you. Loki couldn't love you.

You'd played this game since the very first time you'd met. Dancing around each other, skirting around your feelings. Secret, exciting, harmless. You were drawn to him and he you, there was no denying that. Since you'd first met, you'd been drawn together, as if dictated by the will of some cosmic force.

But it was never anything serious. Never anything real. You'd had your moments, quiet and tender and clandestine, hidden away from prying eyes. Moments where you'd wondered how things would pan out if circumstances were different. If - and it was a big if - you weren't engaged to his brother.

As you closed your eyes, hundreds of Lokis' filled your mind.

Loki at the garden party. Loki half-smiling at a joke you'd told. Loki laughing so hard he spat beer out his nose. Loki sleeping on his brother. Loki in the sea under the moonlight. Loki gently embracing Wanda. Loki gently embracing you. Loki that night on the roof, mere steps away from pouring his heart out to you. You looked at the Loki before you. His bottom lip trembled slightly, his eyes glassy.

"Wanda..." Your voice trembled as you spoke. "Thor."

He stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around you, cradling your body.

"It doesn't matter about them." He murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It doesn't matter about anyone. All that matters is me and you. So long as I love you and you love me, everything will be ok."

You said nothing, trying very hard to disguise how every muscle in your body was tensing under his touch. You weren't fooling anyone.

"You do love me, don't you?" He stepped away, trying to meet your gaze. "You love me too, right? Y/N?"

You turned your head as shame filled your body. Tears filled your eyes, and you worried that if you looked at him you might start bawling uncontrollably.

"Y/N." His voice was low. "Do you love me?"

Your silence said it all.

"I'm sorry, Loki." A tear escaped your eyes, rolling down your cheek.

"You do, Y/N." His voice was almost pleading, his hands catching your biceps. "You do love me, I know you do. Everything that's happened, everything between us, I know you do. Say you love me."

You had been right. The sight of him had, in fact, caused you to sob uncontrollably, your body trembling under his firm grasp.

"Say it, please." He begged you, tears rolling down his face. "Please, tell me you love me. Tell me the truth. Please."

"I'm sorry, Loki." You repeated.

"You do, you do." It seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "I know you do."

"Loki, stop." You pushed him away from you. "I'm sorry, Loki, but I don't love you."

Loki felt like he'd been stabbed, your words like a knife driving straight through his heart. His breaths escaped him, as if he'd taken a heavy fall, his lungs suddenly feeling as if they'd been shattered. He'd never felt this way before, he felt almost as if his heart was about to quite literally break into two pieces, taking out most of his vital organs in the process. How had he been so wrong? Could he have really misjudged everything that had happened so badly? He thought back to the first time he'd met you, the way you'd looked at him then.

He thought about the way you were looking at him now.

"You don't.... Love me?" He whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.

You wiped the teardrops from your eyes uncomfortably. You weren't sure what to say.

"I should.. I should probably go." He rubbed at his eyes, turning and all but running for the door. "Just, don't tell my brother, okay?"

Your heart lurched in your chest. Could you let him go that easily?

"Loki!" You called after him. "Loki, wait!"

You were met with nothing but the slamming of the door.

Loki slammed the door of his flat with force it had never known before. Was he angry? Was he sad? He wasn't entirely sure.

He'd headed for the Kraken when he entered his kitchen, his fingers unscrewing the bottle as if it was of their own accord, pouring himself a more than healthy portion of rum. He sat himself down on the balcony, his fingers trembling as he attempted to light his cigarette. It took five tries but eventually, the zippo gave in and his Marlboro Lite was smoking .

After three drags of his cigarette and two sips of his rum did he eventually allow himself to cry. Tears rolled down his face, his nose filling with snot. Every contraction of his throat and chest felt like it might be his last. It felt as if every single sob might shatter his rib cage. How could he have been so wrong?

Thor had found you curled in a ball, crying, and more than slightly tipsy.

"I'm sorry, my love." Was all he'd said, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You'd been scooped up gently, and placed in your bed, the duvet tucked around you.

"Loki didn't come round, did he?" He asked, climbing into the bed next to you. "I forgot I'd invited him."

You shook your head violently.

"Look, I'm really sorry." He reached over to you, wrapping you into his chest. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too." Your voice came out in a whisper, unable to look him in the eyes.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

Meanwhile, Loki had been living the endlessly grey shades of life. It wasn't as if anything had changed. Anything but, really. His life had remained exactly the same.

He woke up every day at 6:05 and went for his daily jog. Monday through Friday, his breakfast would be a largely uninspiring bowl of porridge, following a shower that had, for a week, been cold due to his boiler's diverter valve sticking. He'd arrive at his office between 8:35 and 8:50 AM (Traffic-dependent), which gave him precisely enough time to make himself a large coffee - black, with one sugar - and read through his case notes before his first client meeting of the day. His working day would often overrun by an hour or so, which he didn't mind on days he was on his own (The exceptions to this being Thursdays and Fridays, Fridays being date night). Honestly? He happily stayed at the office until 7PM, giving him just enough time after he'd cooked and eaten to wallow in misery and self-pity, followed by an hour of half-hearted chatter with Wanda on the phone before he decided bed was the wisest option.

On Thursdays, he stayed at Wanda's. This typically meant he had to leave the office before 5:30, else she'd worry. They'd have a perfectly pleasant meal and a few glasses of wine before settling on the sofa to stream Netflix shows, before retreating to her room to fuck before going to sleep. The sex, as the chatter, had also become half-hearted, and this, he could tell, was something Wanda was becoming increasingly suspicious of.

It was a Thursday such as this that Loki had bailed on. He wasn't feeling well, he'd told his girlfriend. It wasn't entirely untrue.

You had hurt him unbearably, and that, was not a well feeling.

Not to mention that the pretence was killing him. Pretending you were in love with one woman when you were truly in love with another was no easy feat (Not to mention you'd soon be his sister in law, which would make his feelings a little too Game of Thrones for his liking), nor was pretending to be insanely busy so as to avoid both aforementioned women and the latter's fiancee.

Not to mention how you'd crushed his heart under your proverbial heel, leaving the proverbial shatters in the proverbial dust.

He'd wondered briefly on his drive home if he'd ever catch a break.

So, he lay sprawled on his sofa, a large wine in his hand, trying to ignore the phone lying next to him that was constantly notifying him of his girlfriend's concern for his welfare, and trying not to dwell on the fact that he could not dispel the image of your face from his mind every time he fucked said girlfriend.

So, naturally, the knocking on the door had really pissed him off.

He stormed over to the door, internally condemning whoever it was who'd decided to come visit him. What was so important they couldn't have just texted? If it was a door-to-door salesman or an evangelical believer, he would have to utilise extreme restraint in order to not knock them out. He flung the door open, ready to snap at whoever it was.

He was not expecting it to be you.

"Hey, can we talk?" You turned to face him. The smile on your face was small, shy, reassuring, but it still dazzled him.

He wasn't sure what to say. In all truth, he was completely dumbfounded.

"No." Was all his mouth could conjure up.

He'd been dreaming of this for weeks, of you rushing into his arms and declaring your undying love for him, but now that you were here, all he felt was anger. Anger for how you'd humiliated him, anger for how you'd hurt him. As if his body knew better what was good for him than his brain did, his arms reached out by themselves and slammed the door.

If Loki thought you'd leave him alone at that, he was very much mistaken. You clenched your hands into little fists, banging on the door with each alternately. You'd come to talk, and you were not someone who would leave things lying down. You were a fighter, and you'd be damned if one man thought he was going to change that.

His confession had deeply unsettled you. Panicked you, even.

You knew he felt for you. After all, he’d made no real attempt to hide it. Regardless of your own feelings, pushing him away, you knew, was the best thing to do for everyone. You loved Thor, and Loki would get over it. In time, he would come to see that you’d made the right choice.

You did not like the little voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that it was him clouding your thoughts as you drifted off to sleep in his brother’s arms.

"Loki!" You yelled. "I know you can hear me."

Your banging on the door continued for another minute until you heard shuffling from the other side.

"Will you shut up?" He grumbled. "I have neighbours, you know."

"Then let me in." You argued.

The sigh that came from the other side of the door came from a man who sounded like he was really, really done. The door swung open, revealing a man who looked as exhausted as he sounded.

"You have five minutes." He told you, his arms crossed over his chest.

Loki was not sure why exactly he had let you into his flat, but there you were, sat on his sofa opposite him.

"I'm sorry, Loki." You said, looking up at him.

"So you've said before." He but his lip, staring down at his shoes.

"I humiliated you." You said.

"Yeah, you did." A bitter laugh left his mouth.

"I hurt you." You continued.

"That too." He brought his hand up to his throat, undoing his top bottom.

"Can you just stop, and listen, just for a second?" You asked. "Yes, I hurt you, yes, I humiliated you, and a whole lot more, too, I would imagine. But I want to move on from this! I want us to be the way we were! Is that too much to ask?"

"Y/N, you didn't just hurt me." His voice was low, quiet. Calm, even. "I held my heart out to you, and you trod it into the dirt. I told you I love you, and you didn't love me back. That, I can live with. But now, you say you want back in on my life? To what, to laugh at me? Why the fuck are you even here, Y/N?"

You bit your lip, trying very hard not to cry. It wasn't working.

"Say something." Loki rose to his feet, standing roughly half a foot from you. "Fucking say something! Why the fuck are you here, Y/N? To throw it in my fucking face?"

"Because I do." You whispered, covering your face with your hands.

"What?" He asked, stopping in his tracks.

"I fucking love you, Loki!" You shouted, suddenly finding your voice, and in the more literal sense, your feet. "I fucking love you and I'm engaged to your fucking brother, and that's so many kinds of fucked up I don't even know where to begin."

To say Loki was stunned did not even scratch the surface.

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. For so long, he’d ached to hear those words, but now you’d actually said them, he wished you hadn’t. He almost wished there was some way he could push them back into your mouth, make them unsaid.

“You do?” Was all his brain could think to say.

You nodded, suddenly bashful, unable to look into his eyes. You stood, awkwardly facing each other. Your heavy breathing was the only noise in the room, sneaking glances at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking, to see if they were looking at you. Who would be the one to break the silence? He reached for you, tugging you into his arms. Your head fell against his shoulder, your body contained in his arms as they wrapped around you. In spite of yourself, you let out a heavy sigh.

‘Push him away, it’s for the best of everyone’, the voice in the back of your mind chided. Bang goes that theory.

You opted to ignore it.

“Hey now, stop with those tears.” His tone had become soft, a world apart from the anger from just moments ago. “You’re much too beautiful to cry.” His hand came down to cradle your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes with his thumb.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whispered.

“I know.” He replied.

“It’s wrong.” You continued.

“I know.” He repeated.

You nuzzled your head into his chest, relaxing under his touch as your arms wound around his neck.

“Loki.” You whispered, your voice hoarse. “Loki, I want you to kiss me. Please.”

He blinked at you in disbelief. He’d waited a year and a half to kiss you, and now you were actually asking, his body seemed to be betraying him.

You looked up at him, one eyebrow slightly quirked.

All he could think was how pretty your eyes were.

“Well?” You asked.

Chapter Six - I Put A Spell On You

—

[Also, little known fact about me - I’m a professional copywriter. I wrote this in between some other pieces and I can hear my professional voice coming through in this where I’m usually able to separate the two, but I sort of roll with it here. So you know, like, soz. I guess. #sorrynotsorry. Also, while I’m here, don’t cheat on your partners kids.]

—

SERIES TAGS:

@jessiejunebug @sherlockfan4life @soapbox-moments @amour-delicate @milea @writingforthelonelysoul @justyourneighbourhoodretard @chxrryycola @erinlaufeyson @marvelousell @rogerrhqpsody

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

chambers - vi

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3892

Description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

Well, this was awkward.

Peggy sat across from you, a gorgeous off the shoulder red dress, red painted lips, hair curled perfectly. Lipstick stained the rim of her wine glass. “Relax,” She soothed, her hand coming to place gently over yours. Her nails were red lacquered, perfectly manicured. “You look like you’re waiting for the floor to drop from beneath you.” She humored.

“I think in some ways I am,” You smiled at her. You almost couldn’t believe you were even here. You’d come back to almost the minute you’d gone into the ice. A separate timeline. A new future. You looked around the room, other couples just as cozy and close. It was a romantic italian place, pianist playing softly in the corner.

This was your first date with Peggy. Steve’s first date with Peggy. The plates in front of you were soon picked at and consumed, the woman across from you with her eyes twinkling made your heart skip in your chest. She was just as beautiful as you remembered. This aching hole being filled by her soft touch. Her hand in yours as you slowly danced to the pianist’s lilting melody.

“I’ve been without you,” You could hear yourself say, “Longer then I would have ever liked to be.” Her dark brown eyes smiling up at you.

“I love you, Steven.” You smiled, pressing your lips to her forehead, before resting your head on top of hers,

“I love you too.”

It only made sense that you would have that memory now, sitting here in a little cafe in Brooklyn, sweater sleeves curled over your fingers as you tried to warm them from the cold. Fall was here and it swept through the city quickly, the leaves were almost fully changed you’d noticed on the drive in. A few stragglers still holding their green hue while others have submit to their lifecycle.

“You could hardly even call this coffee,” Eric joked as he settled into the chair in front of you, “You have a sweet tooth?” He smiled as he took a sip of what looked like black coffee. You smiled back, wrapping your cold fingers around the mug of your milky sweet coffee taking a testing sip. Almost perfect.

“Not usually,” you admit, “For whatever reason I just really like my coffee being sweet.” You shrug, “It’s how my grandmother always took hers.” He was handsome, just like you remembered. Dimpled cheeks, very white teeth, his smile was infectious and made you warm all over.

“So, how’ve you been?” He asked, leaning forward, your mugs and hands almost touching. Today was VA day, a week had passed since you’d last seen him and you told Sam and Bucky that you were going to head into the city early to grab coffee with Eric before heading over.

Sam was quick to give a teasing flirtatious grin, whereas Bucky wasn’t too keen on the idea. “I’ll go with you,” He offered. He was obviously irritated when you’d told him no.

“I’ve been alright,” You took a sip of your coffee before continuing, “Been taking a break from the testing and everything.” You’d explained you Eric briefly over text about complications that came with heart surgery, but you didn’t tell him what those complications were.

“It must be strange, huh?” He glanced out the window and then back at you, “Living with heroes like that.” You shrug absentmindedly.

“They’re just like everyone else,” You laugh, “but they’re really nice people,” Eric nods, “They’re a fun crowd.”

“I bet.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “So you work for the Avengers?” He asked, picking at the muffin he’d bought. It was probably best to lie here,

“Yeah, I just assist Dr. Banner in his lab,” You lie, “I have no idea what he’s doing half the time, but he likes the company. What about you?” The motor oil around his nail beds,

“I’m a mechanic now, my Pops had his own shop that I took over after—“ he choked up a bit, “After I blipped back.” You placed your hand gently over his,

“Hey, it’s okay.” You smiled, “You don’t have to hide that kind of stuff from me.” Rubbing your thumb against his rough hand you continued, “Everyone still hurts from the blip. Everyone.” He nodded, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry and make this awkward—“

“I don’t feel awkward.” You offered, watching a smile break out on his face. “Listen, I’m not sure if I’m ready to date yet either. This was kind of like—“

“Dipping your toe in the water?” He asked, god he was cute.

“Yes.” You laughed. “So don’t feel pressured about it. Really.” He nodded, beginning again,

“Anyway, I’m a mechanic.” He laughed nervously clearing his throat, “I live here in Brooklyn, I have my entire life aside from when I was doing my tours.” He’d done two of them. He spends most of his week working under the hood and the rest of it was spent going to the VA, visiting his sick Mother who was now in hospice. He was just a normal guy.

A handsome, sweet, opened the door for you as you left, normal guy. It was nice.

He didn’t make a big deal about your heart. The fact that you just had surgery, which was also nice. It seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about when they found out you’d had a heart transplant, not having to talk about it and skirt around knowing the name of the donor like you had to with everyone else.

He’d bought both of you coffee to-go, “The stuff they have down at the VA is kind of trash.” He laughed, the two of you walking to the community center where your cars were parked. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the sun was shining, your sweater becoming a poor choice now that it reached the days highest temp.

You’d been a block or two away when it happened.

The fight or flight kicks in before they even made themselves aware, Eric was grabbed before you were, you watched a fist meet his face, blood spattering on the ground as you screamed in alarm. Hands met your arms and Steve took over, twisting around to turn his wrists, smacking your head against his, causing your ears to ring and vision blur momentarily as he fell to the ground unconscious.

Another man, twice your weight and at least a foot taller than you grabs you roughly, shoving you to the ground, grabbing your foot and dragging you into the alley where Eric was pinned against the wall, punches raining on his gut, “Let her go!” He yelled, trying to break free.

You kicked your handler in the groin, the large man grunting in pain as he curled over, grabbing himself as you jumped up from your spot on the ground, your hands had gravel embedded in them, beginning to bleed.

You raise your fists, back against the wall facing the large man as he straightened back up. “Give up kid,” He grunts, “Just come with us.” You ball your fist tightly, turning to swing on him, but your fist fell through the air, the man being ripped away from you, throwing you off balance to fall on the ground.

Bucky.

And Sam. The two men who were pummeling Eric were soon disbanded, one taking off out of the alley and onto the street, the other unconscious, Sam’s hand fisted in his shirt. You crawled on your knees, over to Eric pushing his chest against the wall, helping him sit upright from where he collapsed on the ground.

“Bucky!” You yelled. The super soldier had the large man in a headlock, his eyes slowly closing and the hand that beat against his metal arm slowing until it stopped. “Bucky…” You felt your vision begin to blur as you fell backward, head hitting heavily against the concrete.

“Stay down kid.” The greaser spat. You could taste the blood in your mouth, the concrete beneath your hands as you pushed yourself back up, stumbling on your feet. “You’re either a fuckin’ idiot or you just wanna die kid.” He raised his fists back up.

“I don’t like bullies,” came from your mouth, and you remembered. This guy was being fresh with a girl. In the diner where you were having lunch and sketching. He wouldn’t leave her alone. “Especially not perverts who don’t understand what ‘no’ means.” The guy rolled his eyes at you taking a quick swing that connected with your jaw, tossing you back on the ground. You groaned in pain, trying to get back up.

There was a scuffle and when you looked up, Bucky was in boxing stance in front of you, landing a right hook on the jaw of the greaser, throwing him back into the wall before the guy took off leaving the two of you with your heavy breathing.

An asthma attack was coming on. “Alright big guy,” Bucky’s hands met your arms, pulling you off the ground. “Breathe, Stevie.” Bucky matched your breaths with his, pulling a little jar from his pocket. He popped the lid and held it under your face. Peppermint oil. You could feel it, cold down your airways, his soothing breaths matching yours until you were calm.

“Hey Buck.” His hair was slicked back, he was wearing his work uniform. He must’ve just come from the canary. He rolled his eyes at you before wrapping an arm under your shoulder to help you walk home.

“You can’t keep doing this Steve.” Dabbing alcohol on your bleeding lip and fists. “One day you’re not gonna get back up.” Throat tight with emotion. You felt guilty. Every time. But you couldn’t help it. You can’t just stand by and do nothing. It just wasn’t who you were.

“Hey.” His voice was soft against your ear. You shifted in his arms. You were in his arms, turning your head, wincing at the sunlight coming through the car windows you quickly covered your eyes with your arm.

“Bucky.” You whined, head pounding.

“I’m here doll.” Fingers moving soothingly against your back. He was whispering to you. You could feel you were in the back seat of the car, it was moving quickly. You felt nauseous.

“I’m gonna be sick.” You groaned, he shifted you up slowly, sitting you upright in the back seat.

“You definitely have a concussion.” Your eyes were squeezed shut as you heard him move around.

“How’s she doing back there?” Sam’s voice came from the front seat. So he was driving.

“Where’s Eric?” You asked as Bucky pressed his cold hand to the back of your neck. It felt so good. You placed your hand over it to keep it there.

“We had medical take him back to the compound,” Bucky explained, “Where does it hurt?”

You opened your palms and he could see the gravel embedded in them, knuckles split and bleeding from the fall. “Just my hands and head.” You couldn’t open your eyes. It hurt.

“We’re almost home,” Sam said from the front, “I’m gonna go check on the perps and see how Eric is doing. Buck, you think you can take care of her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

He’d lowered the blinds and threw a bandanna over the lamp next to your bed, creating an easy light for you to manage, finally being able to relax your eyes for the first time in what felt like hours. The chair next to your bed was wordlessly pulled close as he laid out a pair of tweezers, rubbing alcohol and some bandages. A little dish was there to collect the pulled gravel.

“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” You joked. Wincing as he pulled the first piece out. He scoffed, continuing on in his work.

“I didn’t want you to go alone.” His gruff voice replied, “I told you I’d go with you.” You sucked your teeth as he pulled out a particularly large piece.

“To be fair, you thought Eric was the threat.” He looked at you through his lashes.

“I still don’t like the guy.” You hummed in response. “You know this means you can’t leave the compound by yourself anymore?” He gently dabbed your hands with the rubbing alcohol, before spreading a cream on them.

“What could they possibly want with me?” You asked, “Who even are they?” He, with great care, wrapped your hands.

“We don’t know,” He admitted, “Could be Hydra,” He shrugged, “Could be something else. We’re going to interview the two guys we captured, so I’m sure we will know pretty soon. Here,” He put two pills in your hand and a glass of water, “Take these and lay down.” He shifted the blankets around, slapping his hand against the pillows as he helped you get comfortable.

“Don’t leave me.” Your wrapped hand gently gripped his. His other hand lay over yours,

“I’m gonna be right back sweetheart.” Sleep was coming on quickly, “Get some rest. I’ll be back.” His hand softly slipped from yours and you slipped into sleep. “Sweetheart?” Bucky mumbled to himself.

Bucky looked at you for a moment longer, lingering, before exiting the room. Face turning into a scowl he quickly took the elevator down, meeting Sam right outside of the interrogation rooms where they had the two perps cuffed in separate rooms, letting them stew. “They didn’t have cyanide capsules, so I don’t believe they’re Hydra.” Sam was staring at the monitors, arms crossed.

“How’s the guy?” Bucky asked, Sam’s eyes shifted over to his quickly before turning back to the screens.

“He’s got some internal, but he’ll be fine… This isn’t your fault Buck.” Hand coming to rest on his shoulder, Sam turned to him.

“No,” He growled, “It’s yours.” Shrugging his arm off him, “I wanted to tail them Sam. If you’d let me be there--”

“No.” Sam shook his head, “People still would have gotten hurt or these assholes wouldn’t have come out of the woodwork. Either way, you can’t tail her to go get coffee just because you think that dude is a shady guy for no other reason than your ‘intuition’.”

“My intuition has never been wrong before,” Bucky leaned in, looking at the monitors. “No one knows she’s got Steve’s heart Sam. Even if they did, they don’t know what it’s doing to her. So what’s going on here. Why do they want her?”

“I don’t know man.” Sam looked at his friend in concern. “You’re getting better with her.” Bucky nodded, chest tight.

“I’m trying.” He cleared his throat, looking over at Sam. “I feel guilty.”

“You should.” Sam smirked, “So who's gonna be good cop and who’s gonna be bad cop, cause I was thinkin’ it’s my turn to be bad cop.” Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping his jacket from his shoulders and rolling up his sleeves.

“If I don’t get to hit at least one of ‘em I’m gonna hit you instead.”

Wanda sat steadfast next to the sleeping man, fingers itching to do it. To look inside his mind. She had to know. Bucky was clear about how much he didn’t like this guy and she trusted Bucky. She can look, just take a quick peek. It would give her all the information she needed to make a sound decision on whether or not to trust him.

A red tendril spilled over her palm, crawling down her fingers to slip into his temple.

It was chaos.

Screaming, blood. A nightmare. The fear, the anger. The loss. It felt so familiar. Like she’s seen this before, but she doesn’t know where.

She sat back in her seat heavily, panting. The stress and anguish. Her heart was racing. She found no ill intention, but an immense attraction to you. She found exactly what you’d described. A man who had seen war, who had lost everything, she saw his mind as it was. Nothing to be hidden. So why did she feel so uneasy?

“Lock them up for the night.” Bucky instructed to the two agents standing guard outside the interrogation room. “Make sure they’re at opposite ends of the cells, we’ll be back to deal with them in the morning.” The two young cadets nodded, a ‘yes, sir’ and they were off to their task.

“We’ll work on them tomorrow,” Sam looked at his watch. “Go check on Y/N, maybe get her to eat something.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.” The pair watched the two criminals be taken to their cells and locked in for the night before leaving,

“There’s gotta be a leak.” Sam agreed. “I’ll call Clint.” Bucky hummed in agreement before walking away, deep in thought.

“We should maybe reach out to Peter too.” He said as the two entered the elevator. “Have him keep an ear out when he’s patrolling.”

You were right where he left you, the dim light giving a soft illumination to the room. He walked over to your side of the bed, brushing the hair out of your face before squatting to your eye level.

“Hey Y/N,” He spoke softly, gently rousing you from sleep. His advanced eyesight scanned your pupils as your sleepy eyelids parted.

“Bucky.” You whimpered, head throbbing.

“I’m right here kid.” What was he doing? Fingers gently massaging your scalp stilled and awkwardly removed themselves. “Here, take these.” He helped you sit up, giving you two more of the tablets you’d taken earlier, following them with the stale water from your bedside. “Are you nauseous?”

“No.” You croaked, sinking back into the pillows. “I’m sleepy.” Your throat felt thick and palms were itchy.

“Alright, I’ll be right here okay?” The shuffling of the chair as he sat down heavily. He gave you one last look as you drifted off,

“Okay.” Mumbled against the sheets.

He pulled out his phone drafting a text to send to Peter Parker,

suspicious activity in Brooklyn, focus patrol. all suspicious persons bring to compound.

With a tap it was sent and he settled down deeply in the chair, fatigue hitting him for the first time in two days. “Peppermint oil.” Mumbled against the sheets, drool forming by your lips. “That’s sweet, the peppermint oil.” He watched you shift around until you were laying on your back, arm tossed over your head, one across your belly. His heart tight in his chest.

It helped with asthma. The peppermint oil. A ventilation inhaler didn’t exist for another twenty years. Bucky made due. He kept it in his pocket everywhere he went in those days. Just in case. The thought made your heart sing, but it wasn’t your heart. It was Steve’s.

It made Steve’s heart sing.

He was sure to wake you up periodically, making you drink water, giving you more medicine, before sinking back into the chair next to your bed. Your own private watchman. If you weren’t hurting so badly you’d be enjoying the company, just because it was Bucky and the attachment Steve had to him, that was then passed down to you, was sated by it.

The next morning it was as though nothing had happened, when it came to your injuries anyway. Your head was clear, hands had no mark when Bucky went to change your bandages.

“How are you?” Wanda asked, pulling you into her arms.

“I’m fine,” You smiled, you looked to your right through the glass window where Eric was resting, “How is he?”

She swallowed heavily, “He’ll survive.” She looked you in your eyes, oddly. “He’s been in and out throughout the night, he’ll need to stay for a few days but should be good to go by Monday.” You worried your lip,

“I owe him an explanation,” You sighed, “I feel terrible.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Wanda defended, hand soothingly rubbing your arm. “We had no clue that someone was targeting you.” She seemed angry, “Nothing on our radar.”

“Who is doing this?” You asked, looking up at your friend. She shrugged,

“I’m going to go join them in the interrogation.” She said, “See if I can find out. Do you need anything?” You shook your head, eyes staring blankly at Eric’s sleeping form. She left.

The door handle was freezing when you put your hand on it, turning to enter. A chair was set next to the bed, one that you sunk yourself down into. It was quiet in here, the slow melodic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound.

His jaw was a mix of black and blue, a swollen eye, his right hand was bandaged where he had tried to fight back against his two assailants and failed. Guilt churned in your gut. Maybe you should have let Bucky come with you after all. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone. Then Eric wouldn’t be lying here with a morphine drip 12 hours out of surgery.

“No self pity on my watch,” A groan from the bed, his split lip coming in a half smile. Your watery eyes met his.

“I’m so sorry Eric I-”

“Hey,” His fingers twitched, hand moving dismissively, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from--” He groaned, shifting in the bed. You leaned forward, taking the bed’s remote and using it to sit him upright. He winced.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m sorry we were attacked. They were after me. It honestly--” You felt a fat tear roll down your cheek, “It is my fault.”

The man in the bed studied you for a moment, “Did you tell them where we were?” He asked, “Did you tell them to attack us?” His bruised mouth never faltering in a smile. “You had no control over this.”

“Still, I’m--”

“I know.” He smacked his dry lips, reaching a hand over for the water cup on his tray. You’d quickly grabbed it, bringing the straw to his lips. “So,” He rested his head back on the pillow, “Are you gonna tell me what’s really going on here?” He gestured vaguely to the tip of the thin pink scar that was peeking out from under your t shirt.

You owed him an explanation. He’d taken an ass beating for you, it was the least you could do.

A chill went down Bucky’s spine as Wanda told him the name of who was responsible. She knew the name in passing, an issue she’d never had a problem with. Something that happened adjacently to her, but she knew the name enough to know the man was dangerous.

The trio thought to the couple sitting in the medic ward, Eric recovering from internal bleeding and you, who was still trying to figure out what was going on with your body, your heart. What would he want with you? What did he think he could possibly do with you? And also who was relaying this information to him?

Sam put on his Captain voice, chest tight, shoulders back. There was tension there, and a lot of it.

“Call Sharon Carter,” He commanded, “Tell her to come to the compound with all the information she can find on Helmut Zemo.”

Bucky thinks he’s going to be sick.

taglist // @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @an-lover

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #the winter soldier #steve rogers

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heywoodvirgin · 4 years ago

Text

Borró Cassette ( Chapter 2)

Guys, writing is really not my thing, but I love Jackie so much not to try to ^^

Chapter 1 here ^^

Modern!Jackie Welles / Original Female Character

Rated : Teens and up

angst and fluff ahead !

***

- Medium plier.

It was the first thing he said in ten minutes or so.

Jack was under his cruiser’s wheels, hands focused on oiling some pieces of his machine’s brakes when she stepped into the garage.

For the first two weeks following their… argument, Mey avoided taking that route, instead opting for a detour that made her waste a solid thirty minutes every morning and evening. She thought avoiding places they used to share was a temporary solution, she was wrong. Every step she took in the opposite direction made her think about him longer, recalling all the hours he so generously spent teaching a slow learner like her how to ride a moto, how he’d always secured her helmet himself every time he took her for a ride, and those were many times, so many she couldn’t count anymore.

So when Mey finally decided to stop whatever childish game she was playing -not replying to his texts and calls, among others- and test her luck, she found herself standing gracelessly in the middle of his garage, blocking the last rays of sun he was using to work.

For long minutes, she stayed planted there, like a stupid scarecrow, marinating her anxiety, unable to say the word that mattered most. He noticed her, of course he did, and said nothing, just a flash of surprise in his eyes, and he was under his moto gain. It wasn’t like Jackie to act cold like that. Resentful wasn’t in the list of words to describe Jackie Welles, not even in the bottom line. He never ignored her. It felt so wrong to be in the receiving end of his spite or whatever this was. She missed the warmth of her friend; it was almost shocking now, as she realized it. It was just one small “sorry”, but she still didn’t feel it in her, she still didn’t feel like she was the one that should say sorry. He fucked up, he should know, by now. But also, she knew that his apologies should go to the person his wrongs were directed to, not to her, if she would take her time and think. But now, all she wanted, was a heart-to-heart talk, something she played in her mind over and over, every day during two weeks and five days and twelve hours, and here she was standing, mind blank, not even capable of uttering a simple hello.

When she finally found the guts to move and sit carefully on the sofa, and when he still didn’t react, she felt the panic, acid prickling at her skin. The sun had completely set down, last rays licking the far away mega buildings of the city, the garage lights flickered on. It was a quiet summer evening, one of few they had in the crazy city, but her neighborhood was one of the quietest, she had to admit. She liked it most of the time, but today wasn’t one of those days, it felt like the entire world went silent on her. That till he spoke.

- Medium plier.

She blinked a few times before she registered his request, moving to fetch the tool from its box, still memorizing perfectly the space around.

- Screwdriver, 4.

And it went like that for an hour or so, them moving about and working together. She was glad he offered her that physical occupation, even if it was mainly her handing him his tools and watching him sweat under his machine. For a minute, her mind was just on the craft and she was relieved he still sounded pretty himself as soon as he opened his mouth, even if them occupying their hands didn’t prevent her mind to go racing about everything, and his too, she could tell in the way they couldn’t look each other in the eye, yet.

It was until he threw at her a wet rag to wipe her hands and she creased her nose because of the reeking petrol smell that they exchanged an amused look.

- Hey, never get used to the smell huh?

She shrugged, briefly smiling.

- So how have you been? He looked at the floor, discarding the wet rag near an old stool.

- Fine, she nodded to the floor, fighting a sudden rush of tears, trying to contain them in, in vain.

- Ven aqui.

He didn’t need to say more and she was in his arms. She didn’t remember him giving her hugs like that before, she shut her eyes, crushed against him, fisting his shirt, and he seemed to reciprocate, folding his bulk around her. He smelled like gas and sweat, but she only buried her head further in his chest. After some time like that she could feel the breath knocked off her chest and she started laughing

- Eres un idiota, you know that, she mumbled in a huff, a big idiot.

- I really shouldn’t teach you this one, but I know right, sorry hermana, I really mean it.

- Well, sorry too, she shrugged, as they let go of each other's embrace.

- Hey, no more tears, ok? Drink with me tonight?

- Sure, but just a lil', ok? She sniffed.

- Pft, aguafiestas, he grumbled, picked up two bottles of tequila and passed her one.

- So to what are we drinking tonight?

- A la reunión! Amiga!

- A la reunión, then!

- Opening one of your expensive ones, just for me? she winced after one little gulp.

- Solo pa’ti, hermana, even if I know you’d rather go for one of your exotic stuff, tomatoes juice or something like that…

- Shut up, since when is tomatoes juice exotic, she internally face palmed.

- It is if I say so. Come on now, let’s sit, I’m beat, and starvin’.

- When aren’t you. She teased as he put his arm around her shoulder, leading her to the couch.

They sat comfortably in silence for some time. When she finished her bottle, he was already at his third or fourth.

-You, Mimi, you won’t close the door on me anymore, huh, any door…

She could tell the alcohol started to work its way to his head. He was starting to tell her things that she could misunderstand, like only him could…

- Hey, hey, no more tequila tonight, please? She gently took the bottle from his hands. His usually warm palms were clammy and cold, shaking slightly.

- It’s a bad day, not a bad year, and even if it is, it certainly won’t be a bad life, remember, these are your own words you used to tell me.

- Si, recuerdo. He chuckled sadly.

- How can we regret something we don’t want, Huh.

- Do you, Jack? Mey’s throat was oppressed; she kept her voice low, as if afraid to hear her friend’s answers. She felt powerless, the weight of his grief falling on her chest. She knew that whatever she would say now, it wouldn’t be enough.

- What if I do Mimi, it’s done you know… it’s gone… I killed it.

- Shut, shut no, Jackie, no. If it’s someone’s fault, it should be mine, too. She softly scratched his scalp, a failed attempt to soothe him. His body was stiff with unshed tears, tension threatening to break at any moment, and she wished he would at last, cry. Let it seep out of his system. She wished he could do it with her, as tears pickled at the corners of her eyes, stinging, fat drops of salty water, falling free.

- How’s that your fault too, Mey? He turned with questioning eyes, and she found her courage failing her, as his eyes searched her face and her hand fell on his forehead. It was still hard to look him in the eyes.

- I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve been there when you were alone facing this decision I-

- You being there wouldn’t change my decision, hermana. It was already settled, and for some time now. Me and Lin, wasn’t working anyway.

- Because you didn’t want it to work. She didn’t want to accuse him in any way, it was a statement that she and he both knew was true.

- Because I didn’t want it to work.

- Why? she asked in a little voice.

- Eh, the boxer and the super model, you believed it too?

- I- thought it was perfect, Jack, I really did.

At least for some time.

- You’re a romantic.

- Look who’s talking, she let out a teary laugh.

- But that’s not what I was talking about… I meant…

- I know what you meant, and there too, it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

The silence that followed was the heaviest Mey had ever felt between them.

- How… How did she take it?

- Surprisingly well. She’s a smart girl, Mimi. Bet that’s why she wanted us to be engaged, can’t blame her for not trying.

- She is a good woman, Jack.

- Lo sé, lo sé. Jackie said quiet, tears wetting the fabric of her dress. It was good, she thought. He still trusted her enough, enough to let her see his most vulnerable side, even after almost a month of absence, of total silence.

It was such a relief, if she let herself be honest. To find him again, broken, but still her friend who would call her hermana, offer to make dinner and end up dozing off, head in her lap.

It felt good to touch him again, too. Now in the quiet hours of the night, she could hear the cold neon lights purring, electricity running through the garage’s old wires, the tunes of whatever music he left on, that was almost muted, reached her from the furthest corner of his hideout. It smelt like motor oil and alcohol and old leather, a bit of him too, and before the knots in her stomach started to twist again, she talked herself to go and let him rest.

-Don’t you think it’s time to go and get some sleep in that fancy bed of yours? She prompted, trying to sound as light as she intended.

-Nah. Like it here more, reminds me of where I came from. ‘sides, it’s comfortable.

-Might be comfy for you, big head, but my legs are starting to get numb, so… She tried to shake his head off her lap, playfully pushing at his shoulders.

- Don’t even try, weak ass.

- That’s abuse of power!

- La niña learned to talk, too. Not bad.

- Fuck off.

- What about you going home now, huh, I’m just gonna crash here tonight. Couch’s enough comfort for my ass, for now. He straightened up, rubbed his eyes, dusted his jeans, offered a hand for her to take.

- Or you can crash on mine. She shrugged, taking his offered hand and fighting a blush. Or not- she started when the response took a bit long to come.

- Let’s get the fuck outta here, then. And he gave her a real smile, this time.

#jackie welles cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #jaquito and tequila #Friends #unrequieted crush #Jackie welles deserves better #fanfic #angst #fluff #alternate universe #modern jackie welles

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dilliebar · 5 years ago

Text

Flower

Hey guys, so I decided to write a lil fanfic loosely based off of the new Ellie/Dina screencap because it’s adorable and we stan a pair of cute lesbians. I’ve written fanfiction before but not for The Last of Us or on AO3 so bear with me.

AO3 Link:��https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464600

Ellie’s hand wrapped around the nearly-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol. It wasn’t much, and medical supplies were getting harder and harder to come by on patrol, but Dina was worth it. Even if Ellie had been able to clean her bullet wound with 100% alcohol and sacrifice a limb to a witchdoctor or some shit, she would still insist on checking and cleaning every ten minutes and sticking to Dina’s hip, despite the shorter girl’s protest.

Ellie closed the medicine cabinet and took a moment to study her own wounds in the mirror. She hadn’t come out nearly as beaten up as Dina did, with barely much more than a scratch on the right side of her face. Part of her almost felt guilty for it. She’d always felt a responsibility to look after her. Maybe if she hadn’t let her and Dina get separated, everything would have been fine. Maybe if she looked a little more carefully when opening that basement door, she wouldn’t have gotten shot.

But all of that was over now, and Ellie was going to do all she could to make it up to her.

She exited the bathroom and made her way down the hall, knocking lightly on the bedroom door of Dina’s home and letting herself in. Ellie had barely managed to lug them both back to Jackson the day before, and since then, Dina hadn’t left the bed. Her face fell a bit as she entered, the sight of Dina still laying under the covers, eyes open, staring into nothingness. The plate of food that sat on her bedside table sat untouched.

Ellie sat herself criss-cross on the left side of the bed facing Dina, though her eyes didn’t look up.

“Can I see?” she asked, placing a hand on the edge of the covers and moving them down.

Dina turned over on her back in response, pulling up her peach-colored shirt up over her belly to reveal her bandaged abdomen. Ellie lifted the dressings to get a closer look, and as she expected, the stitches were doing their job and it looked to be healing as best as it could be. Still, she dabbed some of the alcohol on an old cotton towel and pressed it against the wound, cleaning it to the best of her ability. When she was done she pulled down Dina’s shirt, replaced the covers, and went to move off of the bed, but felt a soft hand grab around her tattooed arm.

Ellie looked back down at the girl, who had shifted her absent stare to look up at her in a pleading manner.

“Please stay.”

She nodded and didn’t hesitate to lay next to Dina, pulling the covers over her own body and rolling onto her side. Their gazes locked, and Ellie couldn’t help but notice the tinge of pain that rested in the pools of those deep brown eyes. She had never seen her best friend this hurt before, both physically and emotionally.

A brush with death will do that to you.

In that single thought Ellie realized just how close she had come to losing Dina. She thought she had known when it was happening. She thought she had known just after. She thought she had known on the ride home. But in reality, she only knew just how much she would lose in this moment. She would miss the smiles, the sound of her voice, the snarky comments, and rare moments like the dance that only came once-in-a-lifetime. Instead all she’d have of her was the blood that stained her hands and traumatic memories of a day that never should’ve come, and if that’s how she felt, she couldn’t even imagine what was going through the other girl’s head.

“Ellie?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked back to the now-teary-eyed girl that lay only a few inches from her.

“Yeah?”

Dina took Ellie’s hand and held it between her own. She brushed her thumbs over her rough skin, feeling it as if she’d never feel it again. Her eyes averted the green-eyed-girl’s gaze.

“Promise me you’ll never leave.”

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, which tore Ellie’s heart in two. A tear fell from Dina’s eye and she instinctively reached her free hand up to wipe it away, lightly cupping her face in an attempt to comfort the girl. Their eyes met again.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted their intimate moment.

“Hey kiddo, s’me.” Joel’s voice called from the hallway.

Ellie pulled back from their embrace and stood to open the door. She took a moment to straighten her clothes and brush stray locks of hair out of her face.

“Hey.” she greeted, opening the door a couple inches. Joel stood there in a dark green button-up, guitar strung across his back. Ellie had caught up with him briefly at the gate when they rolled in, Dina hanging over her shoulder, but she hadn’t stuck around long enough to tell him the whole story. Word must’ve gotten around.

“Hey, uh, heard what happened,” he cleared his throat and gestured to the girl in bed, “she alright?”

Ellie sighed, unsure of the real answer.

“The wound is healing fine,” she replied, then pointing at the guitar strung across Joel’s back, “you brought your guitar?”

He nodded, swinging the strap over his head, “Thought it might cheer ‘er up a bit.”

Ellie nodded in response, and opened the door further to let him in. Dina loved guitar with a passion. Not playing it, but she always managed to coax Ellie into playing for her any time they were together, or at least whenever a guitar was available. She wasn’t even that good, but the way Dina rested her head on the taller girl’s shoulder as she plucked away at the worn strings always convinced her otherwise.

Joel pulled up an old, dusty chair from the corner of the room up to the side of the bed. Dina sat up, and Ellie lay beside her, placing a loving arm around her shoulder as Joel placed his fingers delicately on the fretted neck of the guitar.

“Whaddya wanna hear, Dee?”

She thought about it for a minute, brushing her soft fingers against Ellie’s calloused hand that rested on her shoulder.

“The one named after that flower?”

Joel smiled, “I think El sure knows that one a lil’ better than I do,” he placed his fingers, “but that’ll do.”

The song was called “Hey There Delilah”, and Ellie and Dina had found it on vinyl in an old bookstore about a year ago. From the moment they sat criss-crossed in her bedroom, listening to the black disc as it spun round and round, Dina fell in love with it, and Ellie had spent weeks memorizing chords and calloussing her fingers just so she could replicate the tune. Ever since, Dina called it “the flower song”, and Ellie wouldn’t normally have cared much for it if it didn’t mean so much to her best friend. Now it was her favorite, too.

Joel began plucking away to the intro, which was pretty simple compared to previous songs they’d found. It was loving, but somber. Sweet, but bitter. It was something that seemed to define their relationship as a whole.

Just as he opened his mouth to sing the first lyrics, he stopped playing, and looked up.

“Ellie, wanna be my lead?”

Ellie smiled in disbelief, “Uh, no I think I’m good,” she laughed. Joel sighed and went to keep on playing.

“Aw, El,” Dina looked up at her, “C’mon, please? I’ve never heard you sing.”

Ellie looked at Joel, expecting his support. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“The lady’s never heard ya sing, El.”

She hesitated for a moment, checking to make sure that they were being serious and that they were actually going to make her do this. But alas, the eyes in the room remained locked on her, awaiting her answer, and those dark browns refused to let up.

“...Alright, play the fuckin’ song.” she said playfully.

Dina smiled and curled into Ellie’s chest as Joel started the song up again. Normally, it would take her a minute to start. The soap bottles in her shower were enough of an audience for her. But if it would make Dina happy, especially right now, she couldn’t resist.

The words flowing out of her mouth almost seemed to be her own. She had spent so long keeping her feelings a secret that the past few days had felt like a dream, and as of the day before, she wished it was. This song was always a way for her to express what she couldn’t tell the girl leaning against her, but in reality, she knew how Ellie felt all along, and now it was just a reminder.

She thought of the promise she had made not fifteen minutes before. It was right then when she began to wonder whether or not she could keep it. The anger towards those men still boiled in her veins, and at this point, she would do anything in her power to make sure they would never come anywhere near Dina or Jackson ever again. There was only one way to do that, though.

She’d have to kill them.

Before Ellie knew it, the music had stopped, and Joel had swung his guitar over his back once again.

“Think she’s asleep,” He nodded towards Dina, voice slightly above a whisper.

She looked down at the dark-haired girl whose head rested against her chest. Sure enough, her eyes were closed and only a peaceful exhale escaped from her lips.

“I reckon you’re stayin’ here tonight?”

She nodded, pulling the blanket back over Dina and tucking it into her sides. Joel nodded at the response, flicking the lightswitch off as he let himself out.

Ellie studied the calm features of Dina below her and brushed a stray hair out of her face and behind her ear.

How could anyone hurt something so beautiful?

She pondered the question over and over again in her mind. Dina wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less anything else, unless it were already dead like those clicking motherfuckers on the other side of the gate. Her heart was too pure for someone who grew up in this kind of screwed up world. She didn’t deserve it. No one who loved like her did.

Though her mind was racing, she settled into the bed and held Dina as tight as she could without hurting her, making sure that even if death himself came to take her away, he’d have to pry her from her cold, dead arms.

Before she fell asleep, she made one final decision.

I’m gonna find, and I’m gonna kill, every last one of them.

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part two #Dillie #Ellie Williams #tlou ellie #ellie x dina #dina and ellie #ellie and dina #tlou dina #tlou #tlou2 #tlou ii #dina x ellie

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mindflayedr-blog · 5 years ago

Text

You Make It Easy - Billy Hargrove // p.1

Setting: December of 1984

➳ You struggle to not fall for the boy next door, but what you don’t know is that he already fell for you.

Whew this is my first imagine after a while, I really hope this doesn’t suck yikes!! I really fell completely in love with Billy this season so i’ll prob make hella fics about him oop- // also this will be like a mini series I guess, I’ve already written the second part so I’ll be posting it sometime tomorrow, the rest is still a work in progress. I don’t know how many chapters there will be in total **there may be some mistakes, i proof read this several times but i might’ve missed some things**

Word count: 2k oops

Warnings: cursing, some mentions violence and abuse, and it’s kinda sad

Your dad parked the moving truck in front of a new house in Hawkins, Indiana. You step out of the car and sniffed the cold Indiana air, taking in the new surroundings. The neighborhood was nice and family oriented, there were a couple of kids playing tag and some were drawing on the sidewalks. Light snow fell from the sky making the surroundings feel peaceful and calm. You looked around trying to familiarize yourself with your new neighborhood when a guy with curly dirty blond hair caught your eye. He was sitting on the porch steps of his own home which was situated next to yours. He was wearing a jean jacket with blue jeans. Underneath the jacket was a plain white shirt and a plain gold chain adorned his neck. You stared at him as he took a puff out of his cigarette. He looked ethereal, the sunlight hit him so perfectly that he looked like he was glowing. You didn’t realize how hard you were staring until he turned to look at you, making you jump and immediately turn your attention to the boxes that were needed to be put inside.

You focused your attention to the boxes in the truck, trying hard to forget how embarrassed you were. You pulled out a box that belonged to your new room, you slightly struggled at how heavy it was.

“Need help with that?” An unfamiliar voice spoke behind you. Who the hell?

You turned around and saw him, the same guy you were just staring at. Your hands trembled and your arms began to give in and drop the box you are holding, but thankfully he was there to catch it. You could feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Um… I.. I got it… th-thanks.” You stuttered out a reply as you tried to take back the box.

He laughed at your attempt at getting back the box and spoke, “Bullshit, you clearly almost dropped it. C’mon let me help you.”

“I don’t want to bother you, s-seriously. It’s… um… fine.”

He shook his head no and started to head towards your front door with the box, “Where does this go to?” He asked, stopping at the entrance of your house.

“Oh, how nice! You’ve already made a friend, Y/N! I knew you’d settle right in.” Your mom smiled at you while stepping out of the truck. “Mom please not now.” You thought to yourself.

You took a deep breath and made your way towards the curly haired boy, ignoring your mom’s comment. “That belongs in my room, here I’ll show you,” You said as you led him upstairs and into a room towards the left of the stairs. “Just put it there, thanks.”

“No problem, I’m Billy by the way and I take it that your name is Y/N.” Billy said as he gently placed the box on the carpeted floor of your room.

“Yup, that’s my name,” You stood there and gave him a small awkward smile, “Sorry for staring at you by the way. I do that a lot when I space out.” You said, giving Billy a bullshit excuse, hoping he’d believe it.

“Right, like you weren’t captivated by my beauty.” He teased giving you a sly smile to which you rolled your eyes at.

“Captivated? More like repulsed. Did you not see me scramble away?”

“Whatever you say Y/N, give it a month and you’ll fall in love with me.” Billy smirked at you jokingly, making you roll your eyes once more. You acted annoyed but those words were now imprinted onto your brain. Would it be really that easy to fall in love with him?

“With that attitude? Never. Anyway, there’s more boxes downstairs, less talking more helping.” You dismissed the topic at hand and herded him outside. Give it a month and you’ll fall in love with me. That sentence echoed in your head for the rest of the day.

That was how you met Billy Hargrove, the charming boy next door that you became fast friends with and the same charming boy who stole your heart, even though you refused to admit it. That same week that you moved in, he brought you to every place in Hawkins he knew. He took you to the record shop, to the nearby lake, to the hilltop that overlooked the town, to every little place he found beautiful. School was out until January so you two were able to hang out everyday and explore Hawkins. Hanging out everyday of course included endless conversations. You two talked about every little thing but you noticed that he never talked about his family or his family life. Billy avoided the topic of family like a plague. Whenever you would ask about his mom, his sister, or his dad he’d quickly change the topic, and you never once pressed him for an answer, until one night.

It was around 9 p.m you heard screaming coming from the Hargrove residence. You couldn’t make out the words, but it was two voices. One was the ever so familiar voice of Billy Hargrove and the other was what you guessed was his dad. You bite your nails nervously, hoping that Billy was okay. You glued yourself close to your kitchen window trying to piece together what was happening next door.

“Worthless piece of shit!” Billy’s dad screamed loud and clear, it was the first coherent phrase you heard after listening in for about 20 minutes. The scream is then followed by what it sounded like a slap and then after that a few grunts of pain and more incoherent screaming followed by total silence. By then you were worried, maybe this is why Billy never mentioned his family.

You rushed out to your front porch hoping you see your friend outside. As soon as you opened your front door, Billy was there as if he summoned by command. He staggered outside his house while rubbing his jaw, wincing through the pain. His lip was busted and a bruise was forming under his eye. As soon as he saw you standing by your front porch, he began to walk towards you. You were the only person he could think of to go to for comfort.

“Billy what happened? Are you okay?” You rushed towards him, engulfing him with a big hug. He leaned into your touch, finding peace and security in your embrace.

“Hey since you’re here can you help me clean this shit off?” He pointed at his bloody face, “I can’t have my face looking like this. It’s my best feature.” He gave you a small smile, wincing afterwards. Despite him being clearly hurt he still managed to smile at the sight of you and crack a joke. You didn’t smile however, instead you carefully caressed his soft face, trying not to break down at the sight of him. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not even an ounce.

You assisted him inside your house, you were glad your parents weren’t home because they’d definitely be asking one hundred and one questions right about now. You helped him walk to your dining room and there he sat on one of your dining chairs. You hurried to the bathroom for the first aid kit and a damp washcloth. You sat in front of him and softly rubbed away the dried blood by his mouth. You stared at his eyes and saw how tired and worn out he was, you figured this wasn’t the first time this has happened.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Billy said icily, snatching the washcloth away from you and doing the job himself.

“Like what? Give me that.” You retorted and snatched the cloth back, returning to what you were doing.

“Like you pity me, I don’t need pity.”

“Billy that’s not what this is, I care about you. I’m just… I’m just worried. I’m worried about you. Does he do this to you a lot?” You asked him, you glanced at his blue eyes briefly before opening the first aid kit to retrieve some alcohol wipes. Billy blinked at you as if he couldn’t believe that you actually care, but eventually he speaks up.

“He.. he does this… every other day, but I thought I could go a whole week without being his personal punching bag, guess I was wrong though. Turns out he doesn’t give a shit about how the new neighbors would think of him.” Billy answers, wincing as you gently cleaned up his wounded lip with an alcohol wipe.

“Can I ask why he did it? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to of course.” You said as you finished cleaning up his face, it looked better than it was before, but of course the bruises remained.

“No it’s fine, he got pissed because I forgot to pick up Max, my sister, at the arcade. She was supposed to be home an hour ago but I was with friends so I forgot.”

“Why didn’t he just do it himself? He has a damn car doesn’t he? Did he forget that he is in fact a father?”

Billy chuckled at your response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite the bruises and wounds, he still managed to look like an angel.

“Neil’s a lazy piece of shit, all he does is go to work for a few hours and come back home to either drink, sleep, or beat the shit out of me. He doesn’t give two shits about Max and I.” Billy took a deep breath and looked down, his eyes not meeting yours. He looked so vulnerable and so broken, all you wanted to do was hold him forever. “So because of that,” Billy continued, “I’m in charge of taking care of Max. It’s me and Susan actually, but mostly me. Apparently I’m the fucking father and mother now.”

You tucked a loose curl behind Billy’s ear, trying to comfort him. You didn’t know what to say, what would you even say to someone who’s pouring their heart out to you? So all you did was listen. You sat there in silence listening urging him to continue, letting you know that you’re here for him.

“It’s just complete fucking bullshit, I hate living there. I want to get away from here some day, but right now I’m stuck in this shit hole town and I’ll just have to deal with it.” Billy finished with an angry huff. He lifted his head up and looked at you, you saw that there were tears forming in his eyes that were threatening to fall. Billy tried blinking them away but failed.

“Next time he does this to you, come over right away and don’t hesitate. I don’t care how late or how early it is, I want you to come here, so you can be safe.” You said softly so only he can hear.

The tears that Billy tried to blink away finally fell from his eyes and he sobbed. You could tell that all the pent up anger and sadness took over him. He reached for you and held you tight as if any second now you’d slip away. You held him tightly in return, reassuring him that you’re here. A few tears fell from your eyes but you wiped them away quickly, trying to be strong for Billy.

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright. I’m here okay? I’m here for you, always. All the time.”

“Thank you Y/N,” Billy’s voice was muffled, his head was on the crook of your neck, “I’ve never told anyone this and now you’re here to listen to me and I just… thank you. Thank you for being here.”

That was the first time you’ve ever felt something towards Billy other than friendship. It was new and scary since this is your best and only friend and feeling this way might ruin everything, but despite that you’ve decided to suppress the feeling and stayed close friends with him. Never uttering a word about how you felt towards him and labeling your relationship as strictly platonic. What you didn��t know, however, was that Billy felt the same way too, ever since the day you moved in next door.

-----

YIkesssss i really hope that didn’t suck, im honestly lowkey nervous about this fic. I’ll post part two soon :))

#stranger things #stranger things season 3 #stranger things 3 #ST3 #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things 2 #stranger things season 2 #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfiction

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my-happy-little-bean · 4 years ago

Text

The Road Trip - Chapter 5

pairings: logicality (platonic or romantic, depending on how you view it) words: 2602 chapter warnings: arguments, alcohol consumption, crying, implied case of cheating on an s/o (mentioned briefly), debating life/death, complex moral dilemmas, talking about a parent's implied death chapter summary: in which logan is, at the end of it all, just afraid.

< previous chapter << first chapter

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

*credit to art in this chapter goes to @lemonyellowlogic ✨*

---

“Three hundred thousand dollars.”

Logan averted his glance to the floor. That would hardly be enough, he couldn’t help but think.

“Mr. Owens, I feel as though I do not need to remind you that bribery in the Clinic is highly illegal–”

“Then just hear him out!” the woman cried, clinging onto her fiancée’s arm. “He started his company from the ground up– he dropped out of school so he could pursue this dream–”

“And he’s had plenty of time to do so,” Logan cut her off. “Mr. Owens, you have led a very fruitful life. And it has been approximately three years, seven months, and twenty eight days since your mandatory appointment. You had no complaints then; why would you be unsatisfied now?”

“Because I have so much more to do!” the man cried. “I– I have to get married. I have to have a child, I have to see them grow–”

“I apologize, Mr. Owens.” Logan forced his stare back at his computer, now mentally resorting to the scripted response. “But I cannot make time for those who aren’t happy with the time they have already spent.”

Silence.

Logan cleared his throat. “Now if we are done here–”

He didn’t get to finish. The woman burst into tears, bolting out of the room.

As she left, the man glared at Logan.

“I have done nothing to deserve this,” he hissed. “How could you be so heartless ?”

A pause. Logan continued looking down at his records.

“Are you familiar with a...Samantha Willicks?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“I–”

“Because I could refresh your memory,” Logan cut him off. “See, you have partaken in an affair with Ms. Willicks for two years despite your engagement with Ms. Berks, your fiancée.”

A beat of silence.

“How did you–”

“If you are not going to spend your time with the one who gives you theirs,” Logan finished coldly, “do you really deserve more time?”

The man stared at Logan for a few moments; either perplexed or infuriated. Logan pushed up his glasses.

“If you truly believe you are worthy of more, you can make an Appeal. But I would recommend against it; might as well make the most of your time with the people you love.”

Logan could almost hear the man’s words in his dark stare.

Heartless.

The silence crept across the floor like a dull fog, only broken when the man growled,

“You’re a monster .”

And then he left in tears, leaving the door swinging open behind him. He heard the couple’s frantic footsteps grow more and more distant, until he heard nothing at all.

He sighed as he sat at his desk, completely still; looking down at Mr. Owens’ records on his clipboard.

A monster.

Logan winced at the word, but thought about the woman who had left his office.

They all say the same thing.

...But his mother would have called him a hero.

He stood up from his desk as soon as the clock read 6:00 pm. He took off his white coat and hung it over his chair, then grabbed his bag as he walked towards the door.

When he locked up and began to walk out the back, he took a small glance over his shoulder.

There was a man standing near his door with his hands curled up at his sides. Logan watched as the man held his hands up in front of him, noticing a slight tremble in them.

It was all too familiar.

A hero. He thought about what the word meant as he walked away, murmuring his farewells to a fellow colleague who passed him. He overheard her begin speaking to someone about the Renewal Program—one of many recovery groups in the area that helped those with unfortunate times—and he heard two pairs of footsteps walk away towards the entrance.

He snuck a glance behind him once more, watching the man stiffly walk beside her.

A hero.

Logan sighed as he kept walking; if only it didn’t feel like the other one.

---

The first hour or so was quiet, much to Logan’s despair.

Patton didn’t speak a word to him when the man left. All he did was walk back to the car and slipped into the driver’s seat, despite Logan’s quiet protests. After that, Logan decided that perhaps it would be best to just sit in the silence for a little while.

Patton, surprisingly enough, was the first to speak up.

“What else did you lie to me about.” His voice, however small, was cold enough to break the silence, and then some.

Logan’s heart ached at the impact. He straightened up in his seat.

“Patton–”

“None of your ‘logical approach’ bullshit, okay?” His words held a bitter edge, and the curse just sounded wrong rolling off his tongue. “Just answer me.”

A pause. Logan averted his glance to the floor, staring at his shoes.

“What I told you about my mother,” he finally said. “I told you that I never understood how she could have given up the life she chose; how she could abandon such a gift.”

Patton’s shoulders tensed up. “God, just forget I asked.”

“No, Patton, please.” He lifted his head to look at Patton, whose stare was fixed at the road ahead of them. “Just...listen to me.”

Patton fell quiet, which Logan took as a hesitant agreement.

“I used to be furious with her,” Logan explained. “Illogically so, in hindsight. I was upset that she left my father and I, and that she gave up on a gift that would have allowed her to pursue knowledge. ”

Patton’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter. Logan closed his eyes.

“But truthfully, I was just fixated on the idea that she could have figured it all out. And I was so focused on that idea that I couldn’t see how much that choice made her suffer.” Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if trying to block the sudden memory of her in his mind. “She was so smart and so full of life– life she could have spent doing good things.”

“What she did was wrong, ” Patton hissed. “All of it.”

And then, more hesitantly, he added, “What you’re doing is wrong.”

“It is not a polarized situation, Patton,” Logan said through gritted teeth, pushing his frustration down. “I...I understand that now.”

“It seems pretty black and white to me, Logan.” His voice sounded so suffocating, so cold; like it could freeze the air around him. “I thought you and I were on the same sinking boat. And I jumped with you.”

A scoff.

“Now I am figuring out– not even from you– that you are the only part of my life that I’m allowed to hate. And I let you lie to me.”

“Patton–”

“Did you even think I deserved more time?!�� Patton cut him off. “Did any of this mean anything to you? Was I just some experiment you could learn so much from?”

Logan could feel the poison drip from his words. “I–”

“Were you even my friend?!”

A pause. Logan felt as if the ceiling of the car was about to crush him.

In a smaller, more quiet voice, Patton added, “Or was that a lie too?”

Logan’s heart broke.

“Patton,” he finally said, turning to look at him. “You...you are my best friend.”

Patton said nothing.

“I made my choice because I wanted to prove my mother wrong,” Logan continued quietly. “I thought she was giving up too soon — that she was too weak to see it through. But after meeting you, I realized that she just wanted to be human .”

He sighed, trying to keep his voice levelled.

“I know now the things she was trying to run away from. She was trying to run away from people like you; people she made suffer for little to no reason. And when I met you...I didn’t want to run.”

Logan looked back down. “So to go back to your previous question...yes. I lied about having a week and I lied about not understanding my mother’s motivations. Because the reality is that I understand everything. ”

He took a deep breath.

“And I’m afraid. ”

It was quiet again for another two hours.

---

Logan ate dinner alone that night. And while he knew that the diner next to their motel didn’t look all too appealing, nor was 2 AM a very appropriate time for dinner, he at least hoped that Patton wouldn’t care.

But Patton had walked into their room without saying a word. And every step he took away from him simply reminded Logan that soon enough, Patton was just going to be gone .

And so, he ate dinner alone.

When he returned to their motel, Patton was nowhere to be found; despite it being so late. Logan sighed, throwing his key card on a nearby table and rolling into bed.

He stared at the ceiling, feeling his chest rise and fall slowly.

How he ended up here, he was never really going to know.

Similar to where all his thoughts end up, his mind drifted to the Clinic. To his colleagues, it had been mere days since he showed up at work. To him, it felt like it was an eternity ago.

He knew that he was getting closer to the limit of “sick days” a Doctor could take before...well, who-knows-what happened. He shuddered just thinking about it.

Then, he thought about his mother.

He thought about how she was crying the entire way to his grandmother’s house, and he thought about all the things she frantically told him as she left.

“You’re so good.”

“Be different.”

“ Stay alive.”

Stay alive. Logan wiped furiously at the sudden tears rolling down his cheeks.

And then, a new voice:

“Do you think you can have both a satisfying life, and a satisfying end?”

He finally sat up, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. He looked over at the time. 2:34 AM.

And Patton was still missing.

He mustered up the courage to dial his phone number, but was immediately met with his voicemail. He sighed; his phone must have been turned off.

He looked around the room, searching for anything that could indicate where Patton could have gone.

As he stood up, his eyes fell on the mini fridge tucked underneath a desk.

It was cracked slightly open.

It only took about ten minutes of wandering for Logan to find Patton.

He sat on top of a hill right behind the motel, sitting beside two bottles of beer and staring up at the starry sky. He had his knees propped up close to his chest, a notebook resting on them.

Upon moving a bit closer, he saw Patton furiously scratching lines into his notebook before taking a sip from one of the beer bottles.

He approached Patton at the top of the hill, trying not to look down to see if Patton noticed him walking up beside him.

As he did, he couldn’t help but stare at the sky, which was filled with an unimaginable amount of stars. If he squinted, he could fool himself into seeing constellations; the way he did as a child.

A few quiet moments passed before Logan eventually looked down at Patton; who, if he had noticed Logan, wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, his focus remained fixed on his notebook, scribbling a few lines before erasing them. Then, a sip of his drink. Then repeat.

“May I sit?” Logan finally asked.

Patton looked up at him. A beat of silence passed. Patton then wordlessly nodded, forcing his stare back down at the paper in front of him before they could truly make eye contact.

When Logan sat down, Patton held up an unopened bottle to him. Logan smiled softly and nodded, taking it gratefully. He took one long sip before exhaling, tilting his head back up to face the sky.

“Did you have dinner?” he asked quietly. Patton stared at him, then took another drink. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Patton–”

“I know, I know.” To his surprise, Patton giggled. Hearing noise from him sounded so foreign all of the sudden. “I’ll get a sufficient amoun’ of nutrition. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Logan echoed dully, leaning back on his hands to stare at the stars above them.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he murmured absentmindedly.

“Mhm.” Scribble, scribble, scribble. Logan couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Patton’s notebook.

“May I ask what you are writing?”

Suddenly, Patton snapped the notebook shut, holding it to his chest defensively. Logan frowned.

“I apologize. I did not mean to be so intrusive.”

“S’fine.” Patton sat the notebook beside him. “I’m writing songs.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Patton wrapped his arms around his knees. “Well, writing a son g . I haven’t thought of anything good yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Logan fixed himself into a criss-cross sitting position, drumming his fingers against his knee. “I’m sure you will think of something soon. You are a brilliant musician, after all.”

“...Mhm.”

They sat in silence for a little more until Logan couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry, Patton.”

Patton’s shoulders tensed up immediately.

“I know I have been saying many things that could justify what I have done,” he continued, “but in the end...what I did was unjustifiable.”

Patton scoffed, but judging by the way he was tapping on the glass of the bottle, Logan assumed his words at least made an impact. He sighed.

“This whole trip, you have shared with me your fears and trepidations towards the life you lived, and everything that may come after. And Patton, all you have proven to me is that there will never be enough time in the world worthy of your life.”

Patton’s breath hitched. Logan turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of tears rolling down Patton’s cheeks, as well as a tremble that ran through his entire body. Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I understand that our paths will never meet again after this,” Logan finally said. “But before this all ends, I want you to know that I truly valued the time I got to spend with you. You...you showed me that there is a lot more to life than what it is offered to me. And I will never forget that.”

Silence. It lasted so long that Logan felt like he spent a minute too long talking to a wall.

Eventually, Logan swallowed his pride and sat in the silence, taking a drink every now and then. The bitter taste kept him awake and hopeful.

The stars, surprisingly enough, stood still in their place; even if it felt like hours passed them by. They shone brightly, ever so present in the sky. Logan couldn’t help but wonder, despite his firm belief that death was the last thing humans experienced, if Patton would someday find his home between stars similar to the ones he found himself under tonight. One could only hope.

“I forgive you.”

Patton’s words froze the air around them. Logan hesitantly looked over at Patton to see that his head was tilted upwards, towards the sky. He noticed the tears still rolling down his cheeks.

“Patton, are you–”

“It was kind of messed up,” Patton blurted out. “You...you know that, right?”

Logan winced. “I do.”

“Then I forgive you.” This time, it came out as a choked laugh. “I don’t think I could not forgive you.”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“You showed me a lot too,” he explained, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I have spent all my life wishing that I could just...not know anything – to the point where I resented people who were just fine with knowing everything.”

He sighed, his lip grazing the top of his beer bottle.

“But you...you showed me how knowing doesn’t have to hurt. And you helped me know my worth,” Patton whispered, turning his head to face Logan. “I could have had any amount of time and I still would’ve thought that I didn’t do enough. But just listening to what you told me...I think I can die feeling completely satisfied knowing that someone thought otherwise.”

Patton moved closer to Logan, resting his head on his shoulder.

“To be honest, you could have been anyone with any amount of time,” Patton finally said. “I will always be thankful that I met you .”

For a brief moment, Logan found himself speechless. He slowly set his hand in the grass.

“Patton, I…” He sighed, looking at Patton. “You’re simply remarkable,” he said instead.

There was a twinkle in Patton’s eyes when he spoke. He gently placed his hand in the patch of grass beside Logan’s. “You are too.”

Logan smiled at Patton, a rush of relief spreading throughout his entire being when Patton did the same.

“Could I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Patton averted his glance to the ground.

“That man back at the canyon,” he finally said. “What was he talking about?”

Logan paused, hesitance creeping back in. He could feel the whole story on the tip of his tongue, but knew that he risked compromising Patton’s trust once more if he confessed.

But Patton’s wide eyes held a special kind of reassurance that couldn’t be ignored. Logan averted his glance to the ground.

“Early in my career, I was put in charge of a...special kind of appointment,” Logan said, choosing his words carefully. “My patient was Virgil Casey; seven years old, and son of Mr. Janus Casey — who you have unfortunately met.”

“ Seven?” Patton breathed out.

“He was extremely ill,” Logan explained remorsefully. “Eventually, he was forced to take the Clinic test early to see if there was anything peculiar going on.”

“And?”

Logan closed his eyes, as if he could painfully remember what it felt like to say the words out loud.

“They gave him a week.”

“Holy crap …” Patton nervously took a drink as Logan solemnly nodded.

“Mr. Casey wanted me to go ahead and make Virgil a Doctor,” he continued quietly. “Of course, no one has tried to administrate the Procedure on someone that young — it would have been unethical science to even make an attempt.”

Logan absentmindedly spun the neck of his bottle in circles.

“Beyond that...it just seemed wrong,” he said. “Sure, testing the Procedure on Virgil could have paved the way to new research on the subject of immortality; if he had survived, then who is to say a baby couldn’t?”

He could feel Patton tug at the grass between his fingers and sighed.

“But...well, I was young. And I swore that I’d go into this job with some morals,” he said. “I knew I wasn’t any God. It wasn’t up to me to decide that.”

Patton stayed quiet.

“Mr. Casey, as evident by our encounter with him, was furious,” Logan said with a slight chuckle. “Which...confused me, in all honesty. Or perhaps, ‘surprised’ would be the correct verb in this case.”

“It did?”

“It’s just that he...he never followed up on the matter. He made no Appeal, he didn’t go to another Doctor. And Virgil...well, there were reports that he died quietly on the day he was expected to.”

Logan shook his head, staring up at the stars and hoped.

“I thought that I was giving both of them a second chance by sparing Virgil of this kind of life,” Logan murmured. “I thought sacrificing knowledge would be worth keeping this man with his son– not some vessel of who he used to be. It was something I knew this child deserved; to spend his final moments authentically with someone who loves him.”

A deep breath.

“So when I found out I was wrong...I vowed never to make that same mistake.”

“Oh my God,” Patton whispered. “That’s...that’s so awful. ”

Logan nodded. “But as mentioned earlier, that must have changed given our interaction today. Perhaps with time, Mr. Casey accepted what happened and became infuriated. I am not sure. But there is not much of a happy ending regardless, I’m afraid.”

(The word echoed in his head again. Afraid. )

“Hi Afraid,” Patton suddenly blurted out. “I’m Patton.”

A pause.

Logan opened his eyes to look at Patton and, to his own surprise, laughed. He wasn’t sure if they were both too intoxicated to make much sense; or if Patton, in his inebriated state, suddenly understood him so much more clearly.

“Yes, it would appear so that I am.” He lowered his head to rest lightly on Patton’s, which was now softly tucked between his head and his shoulder. “I suppose I haven’t been doing a good job concealing it, huh?”

“You just say it a lot,” Patton said lightly. He paused, and Logan could feel him scrunch up for a bit before asking, “What are you afraid of?”

Logan inhaled deeply. The question had never felt so daunting.

“I’m afraid of dying,” he finally admitted. “I know I am a Doctor and I can never die. But it’s the only phenomenon I don’t know. And similar to my mother, I threw my life away so I could maybe figure it out, but I couldn’t.”

He stared up at the sky above them.

“It’s a very human thing to live in fear,” Logan hummed. “And I have been so busy trying to figure out how to eradicate that fear that I’m afraid I lost my chance at...at life. ”

Logan laughed quietly, though it was now stained with a choked sob.

“You can’t take death out of humanity; it’s part of being alive”, Patton said, lifting his head to look at Logan as he spoke. “None of this would have ever happened without it.”

Patton then giggled quietly. Logan frowned. For a split second, it almost felt like he was laughing at him ; at how he cried for mourning the life he killed.

But Patton simply sat up and raised his glass to Logan.

“So, to death!”

A pause.

Logan broke into more tearful laughter. He clinked his beer bottle against Patton’s and took a sip.

The two sat back, falling quiet for what seemed like hours as they stared at the endless amount of stars; which were slowly fading out as the late night became an early day.

“You know,” Patton said quietly as the navy blue sky began to warm up, “I don’t think your mum was running away from anything.”

“Yeah?”

“I think she was just taking a trip,” Patton murmured, finally reaching over to intertwine his finger’s with Logan’s, “and she took her humanity back with her.”

Logan’s breath hitched at how warm the thought was.

Logan then squeezed Patton’s hand softly, and hoped a little more.

“Hey Logan?”

“Mhm?”

“You said humans can’t see all the colours of a sunset, right?”

“You are correct.”

“Does that mean that when we die, we’ll be able to see everything we’ve been missing out on?”

“...I suppose we’ll just have to wait and find out.”

---

next chapter >

#TS Storytime 2020 Submission #gabbie writes things #the road trip #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #logan/patton #human AU

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onlycags · 4 years ago

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Spank Me | Çağlar Söyüncü

This post was *cringe* inspired by Fifty Shades, but, unlike he-who-shall-not-be-named-abusive-asshat-Christian-Grey, our baby actually knows what aftercare is and isn’t a dick.

Word Count: 2,032 Rating: NC-17 Description: I think the title says it all ;)

Enjoy!

- - -

It started out innocently enough. You had put on Fifty Shades of Grey because you were bored and wanted a laugh. It was pure coincidence that Çağlar had shown up at your flat, looking for something to do. You invited him in, already two glasses of wine deep, giggling as you poured him his own.

The two of you sat on the couch, your legs across his powerful thighs. You giggled at the idiocy in almost every scene, looking at the drinking game on your phone to confirm it fit the arbitrary game’s criteria before taking a swig. You were far from being drunk but you were definitely making your way towards tipsy.

You rolled your eyes at the scene on the screen. Christian was about to spank Ana for a reason you couldn’t remember. All you could think about was how wrong the scene was.

“No no NO!” You yelled at your TV, paying no mind to Çağlar who had begun to laugh at your antics. “That’s not how consensual BDSM works, you fucker!”

“What do you mean, [Y/N]?” Çağlar asked, setting his wine glass down on the end table.

You huffed in annoyance, stalling for time as you wordlessly handed him your wineglass to set on the table. What you were about to admit wasn’t something that you went around telling anyone, but the alcohol and how comfortable you felt around Çağlar helped the words spill out of your mouth. “I mean,” you started, gesturing towards the TV, “that that isn’t how consensual BDSM works! Both parties have to enter into it with all expectations on the table and a safe word, and an understanding of hard and soft limits. Being a submissive is nothing like what Ana makes it out to be and any Dom who acts like Christian is not a Dom - they’re an abusive asshole that takes advantage of people who know next-to-nothing about BDSM.”

Çağlar turned his attention from you to the television, where Ana was being pulled over Christian’s lap for a punishment spanking. “What do you know about BDSM?” He asked, both excited for and dreading your response.

You shrugged, attempting to remain as nonchalant and as unaffected as possible, but inside you were starting to get turned on just explaining this. “It’s my kink.”

You quietly braced yourself for his reaction - most people got weird about kinks - but he surprised you by placing a hand on your knee. “Which part?” He asked and you could have sworn you heard a hint of jealousy in his voice at the prospect of you engaging in BDSM with someone who wasn’t him.

“All of it. Mostly spanking, though.” You gestured to the screen just as Christian started to spank Ana. “I haven’t found anyone who could handle it - all the guys I trusted enough to do it either think I’m made of glass or just don’t have the confidence for it.”

You held your breath as Çağlar sat silently next to you, processing everything you had told him. You were fairly open about yourself, but the one thing you had never ventured into with one of the guys was the topic of sex. As James Maddison’s friend from childhood, you had become friends with most of the boys, but Çağlar was the one you were closest to outside of Madders. He was also the one you were most attracted to, but you would rather die than tell that to anyone.

When he spoke next, his accent was thicker than usual and there was a heat in his gaze that you felt down to your core. “Would you like a spanking, [Y/N]?”

“N-now?” You stuttered, unable to believe that this was actually happening.

“It doesn’t have to be now, but-”

“Yes,” you interrupted, your voice taking on a breathy quality as your breathing increased.

He reached out his hand and you placed yours in his. With a sharp tug, he pulled you over his lap. You gasped at being so exposed, and he hadn’t even taken down your sweatpants.

A part of you desperately hoped the rumours were true. James, Ben and a bunch of the other Leicester City players were always talking about how Çağlar liked inflicting pain on other people, and you couldn’t wait to find out. Ever since you had met him, you had wanted to find out, and you couldn’t believe it was happening now.

The sharp sting of Çağlar’s hand on your ass brought you back to reality. “Harder,” you moaned, barely feeling the first one.

His response was to spank your other ass cheek, causing you to whimper.

“Another, please, Sir,” you said, breathless, surprising yourself at how quickly the moniker slipped out.

Slap!

Another gasp. You could feel how wet you were, and you couldn’t wait for Çağlar to take down you sweatpants.

You counted out each slap until you reached ten. Once you reached ten, he stopped. You were breathing heavily, and you could feel his growing erection beside you. His hand rested on your lower back, causing you to break out in goosebumps at the contact.

Slowly, his hand moved down, his fingers curling under the waistband of your sweatpants. You braced yourself on the couch, lifting your hips so your sweatpants slid down to your ankles.

“What do we have here?” He muttered in his thick accent, brushing his thumb over the wet spot on your panties. Your cheeks burned hot, the humiliation only turning you on further. You briefly wondered when his English had improved but you lost all train of thought when he slapped your ass again.

Once again, you counted to ten, growing wetter with each slap. His thumb returned between your legs, putting pressure on your clit and making you moan. “Çağlar, please,” you begged, wiggling your hips. Your panties came down shortly after, but he didn’t start spanking you right away. He slipped a finger into your wet heat, and you whimpered. A second finger followed, and you cried out, his name on your lips.

He thrust his fingers rhythmically in and out, watching as you came apart from his touch. Just as you were about to reach orgasm, he slid his fingers out and stuck them in his mouth. “You taste so good, [Y/N],” he whispered, his accent sending shivers down your spine.

Before you could react, he was spanking you again. You clutched at the couch, trying to grasp onto something - anything - but the thick couch material didn’t allow for you to grab onto it. “Çağlar!” You screamed as the last slap landed on your burning ass.

He helped you up, and you blushed as your eyes met his. Instinctively, you reached back to rub your ass, but Çağlar pulled you into his lap, the same hand that caused you pain now rubbing soothing circles on your back.

After a few moments, he tugged off your sweatpants and panties, letting them land softly on the ground. You pulled your shirt over your head, letting it fall on top of the rest of your discarded clothes.

Çağlar laid you back slowly, his hands spreading your thighs. You whimpered again, the cool air hitting your exposed pussy. “Let me make you feel good,” he whispered, licking his lips as he buried his face between your legs.

You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair, your hips bucking wildly as he sucked on your clit. His moans of pleasure vibrated on your sensitive skin, and you found yourself screaming his name as you rode his face.

***

Over the next few weeks, the two of you spent any free time you had with each other. He became the first person you texted after a long day at work, needing relief.

Sure enough, he was over within the hour, bending you over a surface, spanking you until you cried, needing the emotional and physical release. Each time, he took care of you afterward, never asking for anything in return, but there were times where you sank to your knees, the only aftercare you needed being his cock in your mouth.

The most memorable session happened after a devastating 3-0 loss to Chelsea. You had arrived home after the match to find a text one your phone reading, “I want you in nothing but my jersey. No panties.”

When your doorbell buzzed, you could feel your wetness dripping down your thigh as you opened the door, Çağlar on the other side dressed in his matchday suit. Wordlessly, he backed you up against the wall, his hand slipping between your legs. He smirked as you let out a groan. “So wet for me, babe, and I haven’t even done anything to you.”

You were panting, barely able to form words. “Spank me, Çağlar. Please.”

He grabbed you by the wrist, flinging you against the back of the couch. You gasped as his calloused hands spread your ass cheeks. He stepped away, but not before swiping his finger along the inside of your thigh, collecting your arousal and sucking on his finger. You started to lift yourself off the couch, but he stopped you with a sharp slap on each asscheck. “Stay.” He ordered, and you could barely hear the sounds of his belt slipping out of his pants over your panting.

Up until now, he had only used his hands to spank you; the belt was new. He tested it out, lightly slapping it against your thighs. When he lashed it across your ass, you gasped. “Harder, please!”

He didn’t listen, continuing the motion with the same pace and severity that was driving you mad. You wanted whatever pain he was willing to inflict upon you, but you were unprepared for this. “Çağlar!” You moaned, desperate for him to hit you harder.

He stopped, placing the belt next to your body. Placing his hands on your hips, he lifted you off the couch and turned you to face him. The tortured look on his face hurt you more than any spanking he had ever administered. “Oh, Çağlar,” you whispered, bringing a hand to his face, dragging him down for a kiss. Wetness brushed across your cheeks as you kissed him, and it took you a moment to realize that he was crying.

His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed. You brought your other hand up to wipe his cheeks, your heart aching for him. His arms wound around your lower back and he pulled you against him. When he released you, you threaded your fingers through his and led him to your bedroom.

“Lay down,” you ordered, pulling his suit jacket from his torso. He did as you asked, and you climbed on top of him, straddling his powerful body that had worked so hard today. One by one, you undid each button, placing a kiss on each patch of skin you exposed. When you were finished, he sat up, abs rippling as you pulled the material over his shoulders and arms. You gasped at the dark bruises that were already starting to form on his ribs, evidence of his heavy collision with Tammy Abraham on the pitch today. You ran your hands over them, your touch featherlight. His grunt of pain had you leaning down to press a kiss to his bruised flesh.

With his belt out of the way, you undid the button and zipper on his pants, sliding them down his sturdy thighs, relishing the way the muscles bunched and stretched. His cock sprang free - your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but smirk knowing he had gone commando just for you. Moving down his body, you pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, licking off the drops of precum that begun to form. Reaching into your nightstand, you grabbed a condom and rolled it over his cock before mounting him.

You rode him slowly, careful not to place your hands on his bruises. When you climaxed together, you leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll use the belt on me.”

He huffed out a laugh as he kissed your temple. “Guess we’ll find out in the morning, Darling.”

#cags writing #cags originals

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 13

The Sweetheart Tree

Warnings: fluff (so much fluff!), angst, smut

Word Count: ~8200

You’ve been at Clemens Point with the gang for a few weeks now. Dutch has gotten quite involved with the two most prominent families in Rhodes, the Grays and the Braithwaites. You’ve learned, via information brought by Arthur, that the sheriff Lee Gray is a drunkard and quite soft-minded. Easy enough to fool. The Braithwaites, as reported by Hosea, are a much tougher sell. Their matriarch, Catherine, is an older woman with multiple sons. According to Hosea, back during the war, they were heavily involved with the Confederate troops, and the ending of the war with the Union win hit them hard, turning them to sell illegal amounts of moonshine in order to keep up their name. The Grays had already taken many efforts in order to shut down their alcohol business, but with little impact on the Braithwaites.

Arthur returns in the afternoon, closely followed by a heavily-sweating Dutch. They had left earlier that day to go with Sheriff Gray on a job in order to better earn the Grays’ trust. You see Arthur hop off of Artemis and Dutch walk up to him, speaking words and patting him on the shoulder. You can’t hear anything they say to one another, being over with the other girls doing laundry. You see Dutch walk away from Arthur, a proud smile on his face. Arthur looks after him curiously, then he spots you. His face splits into a massive grin and he walks quickly over to you. You put down your sewing tools and meet him halfway. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Ah, I missed ya, darlin’,” he says.

“Arthur, you only saw me this morning. You’re acting like we ain’t seen each other in days.”

“What? So I can’t miss my girl for even a few hours?” he says playfully.

You lean back from him and grin. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I missed you, too.”

Sean struts back, huffing. “You two!” he snides jokingly. “Always wrappin’ ‘round each otter! If it gets any hotter ‘tween the two of you, we’ll soon have ‘noder Jack runnin’ round!”

He walks away, chuckling, but it’s enough to turn your face red. Of course, no one else in the camp knows about you being infertile, and you certainly hope none of them know about what Arthur did to you in the woods a few days ago.

Arthur drops his arms, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Damn it, Sean,” he says.

“He knows how to ruin a moment, that’s for sure,” you smile.

Lenny strolls past you. You can tell he’s just come off of guard duty. He pats Arthur’s shoulder briefly.

“Hey Arthur, when you get a chance, I need to talk to ya about somethin’.” You can tell by the grin on his face it’s something he’s proud and excited about.

“Shoar,” Arthur says, his hands going to his gun belt. “What is it, kid?”

Lenny looks around, almost as though he’s nervous about anyone overhearing. He looks at you, then shrugs his shoulders. He beckons for you and Arthur to follow him, taking you to the edge of the lake. He turns to you, the glint in his eye sharper than it was before.

“I was talkin’ to some of the colored folk in Rhodes,” he says hurriedly. “They said there’s a gang of fools in the swamps east of here who seem to think the war never ended.”

“The Civil War?” you ask. You hardly know much about the Civil War yourself, being from Blackwater and coming around long after the war was won.

“Yeah,” he says. “Apparently it’s still ragin’ in these fools’ minds thirty years later. But word has it these fellers are also weapons dealers. Sounded like they might be sittin’ on a decent pile of cash.”

Arthur looked at him optimistically, his hand running over the scruff on his face. “With nothin’ but a bunch of crazies guarding it, huh?” he says. He nods his head. “Well, sounds like it might be worth takin’ a look.”

Lenny grins wide and hurries over to the horses. Arthur turns to you.

“Can I come?” you ask, hopeful.

“I don’t know, darlin’,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Probably gonna be dangerous. Might be gettin’ shot at.”

“All the more reason for me to come,” you say. You’re determined not to be left behind while Arthur tries to get himself killed again. “You already know I can handle a gun. I can hold myself during a gun fight, I’ve already been in a few.”

He sighs then nods. “A’right, fine. But you have to promise to do everythin’ I say, no arguin’, ya got it?”

You nod your head once, feeling proud. He leads you over to the horses, then hands you a carbine repeater, instructing you to put it into your saddle.

“I know all ya got is that shotgun,” he explains as you mount Rannoch. “That only works well in close range. Most likely, we’ll be shootin’ from a distance.”

You nudge your calves into Rannoch, urging him to follow Lenny’s horse. He calls back to you and Arthur. “Fellers in town said they’re holed up in a big ol’ mansion called Shady Belle.”

You follow the boys out of the trees and onto the main road. During the ride, you hear Lenny and Arthur talking about how differently people judge others in the South, particularly towards colored people. It’s something you’ve thought little about yourself. During your childhood, Blackwater had its fair share of colored people, mostly Mexicans and Native Americans, sometimes Asian workers from the railroad being built out west would come by. African Americans, however, were few and far between. You have noticed since arriving in Lemoyne that there are quite a bit more of them, not that it makes much difference to you.

After several moments of cantering down the road, the scenery begins to change slightly from the hot, dry orange dirts of Rhodes to thick, dark mud. The trees grow mossy, the air becomes thicker. Lenny leads you both down a heavily overgrown road. Far ahead in the distance, you see some sort of building.

“We should hide the horses here,” he says, heading a few yards off the trail and hopping off. You and Arthur follow his lead. “You got a scoped rifle, Arthur?” he asks.

Arthur pulls the sniper rifle he had used during the job you had done with him and John to steal the sheep in Valentine. You grab the carbine he had given you. On either side of the trail sits a crumbling stone wall. It had obviously been part of a grand estate a long time ago. Near it lies a slightly crooked sign saying “Shady Belle”.

You and Arthur hide behind the wall on one side of the path, Lenny behind the other. Arthur looks through the scope on his gun, pointing it ahead of him. You stand behind him and peak around him, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Ahead you can see a large mansion sitting on a large plot of land, a broken and empty fountain in front of it. Thirty or forty years ago, this house must have been a grand and extraordinary place, home to a wealthy family. Now ivy crawls the dirt-spattered walls and columns, most of the windows have broken panes. You make out near the brown river a slightly crumbled gazebo near a large tree. Between the fountain in front of the house and the wall acting as your cover, there’s several barracks made of sandbags. Had this place once been a battlefield during the war?

On one side of the house, near an old shack, sit several tents. Men walk around them, going around the piles of crates. You see a large carriage, two draft horses already hooked up to it. Several men stand around it, piling boxes into it. Arthur starts to point out areas of the most interest, including a gatling gun on the upper porch of the house and several boxes of dynamite near the front door. He and Lenny come up with a plan for him to shoot the dynamite.

Arthur begins counting down from five. You take your spot close to him, making sure the carbine in your hands is loaded. He reaches one and he fires his gun, which is followed by a massive explosion. You hear several men start to yell, the sound of them shooting back. Lenny dashes out from his spot and goes to the sandbags, yelling at them. You’re about to join him when Arthur pushes you back.

“Hold on, there’s a guy on the gatling!” he says.

You can hear the gatling gun fire out multiple rounds quickly. Arthur aims and fires, the gatling gun goes silent. He swings the scoped rifle onto his shoulder, pulling off his Springfield rifle. “C’mon,” he says.

You follow him quickly out into the open. You dart behind a barrack and then look up over it, pointing your gun. You fire it at several men, most of them going down. You and your companions fight the Raiders for several minutes, occasionally moving closer to the house as more of them fall.

The fighting ends as quickly as it began. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, looking around at all the dead men.

“Let’s look around,” Lenny says. “Gotta have their guns or cash stashed around somewhere.”

You and Arthur begin searching the camp. You peak into the last tent, finding nothing. You’re beginning to wonder if the weapons might be inside the house itself when Arthur calls you and Lenny over. He stands in the carriage that the Raiders had been loading. He opens a box and pulls out a handsome rifle. He inspects it and then hands it to you.

“Here,” he says. “Why don’t you keep that one?”

You take it from him and look over the bolt action rifle. You aim it quickly, making sure the sights on it is accurate, then swing it over your shoulder. Lenny and Arthur sit down in the front, you sit on the box behind Arthur. He flicks the reins, guiding the horses away from the crumbling mansion.

Arthur guides the horses out of the thick trees and onto the main trail. Suddenly three riders show up.

“Hey, what’re those fellers doin’ with our wagon?” one of them says. He points his gun at Arthur, ordering him to stop. Arthur pulls the horses to a halt, you shift your hands over your new rifle, preparing for another fight.

“We just had some business dealings with your partners there,” Arthur says cheekily.

“No colored man be stupid enough to go near our place!” another one shouts. “Kill ‘em!”

“What about the girl?” the last one asks.

“Kill the men, keep the girl,” the first one says. Arthur whips out his rifle and shoots two of the men quickly, Lenny takes down the third. They had been so quick you’ve only begun to stand up. The men fall off their horses, dead. Arthur flicks the reins again, carrying on. He reaches back and pats your shoulder as you sit down, making sure you’re alright.

“Guess we out of the woods now, so to speak,” Lenny says, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.

“You did good, kid,” Arthur says.

“I know Sean’s been bringin’ in a lot lately,” Lenny says. “I just wanted to have something to show.”

“Sean’s a loud mouth and a braggart,” Arthur says flatly. “Don’t worry about what he does.”

“I like him,” Lenny says.

“Well, I do too, against my better judgment. But just you worry about you, a’right? Me and Dutch, and everyone else who counts, we notice. We know what you do for this gang. Keep it up and you’re gonna start seeing things change for you.”

Arthur guides the wagon back to camp, pulling it to a stop near the hitching post. As Lenny stands up, Arthur stops him, offering his hand. “I always enjoy riding’ with you, kid,” he smiles.

Lenny thanks him and hops off the wagon. You get up and start pushing the box of rifles to the edge with some difficulty. Lenny sees you struggling and comes up.

“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” he says, approaching the back. “Might as well leave ‘em there, be easier to sell. I’ll take care of ‘em.”

You shrug your shoulders and hop out of the wagon. “You did good,” Lenny says, patting your shoulder.

“You, too. Y’know how to fight real good, Lenny,” you say. He offers you a wide grin.

You spot Arthur standing near the draft horses, patting a large dun. He gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to Pearson’s fire, scooping out some stew and offering it to you. When you both have your dinner, you go and sit on the banks of the lake, watching the sun set into the firey water. When your stew is gone, you remain sitting there with Arthur, his hand wrapped around yours.

A few days have gone by since the raid on Shady Belle. You lie in Arthur’s cot, the blanket draped over you. Someone shakes you awake. You crack open your eyes; it’s still nearly dark. Arthur hovers over you.

“Darlin’, you awake?” he asks.

“I am now,” you groan. You turn over, wanting to go back to sleep. He pats your shoulder again.

“Will you come with me, sweetheart?” he says. You look at him, furrowing your brows. “Come see the sunrise, darlin’. They’re somethin’ else here.”

With some complaining, you swing your legs up and start putting on your boots. Arthur smiles widely the entire time.

“Glad to see you’re so awake already,” you grumble at him, standing up.

“We’ll get ya some coffee, how’s that?” he says, taking your hand. He walks you through the camp, stopping at Pearson’s fire to pour you a cup. He hands it to you and leads you on. He takes you to the eastern edge of camp, overlooking a cove. The sun hasn’t yet risen, but the horizon above the trees on the opposite shore is turning from blue to pink.

You yawn heavily, drinking your coffee quickly. You turn Arthur to face you so you can bury your face into his chest. “Wake me when it comes up,” you mumble into his shirt. You feel and hear him laugh as he wraps his arms around you. After a few moments, he pats your back gently.

“Look, darlin’.”

You open your eyes and see the sun rising, the sky turning various shades of orange, and red. A few wispy clouds spatter the sky, their forms burning to gold. It really is a beautiful sight.

“Okay, you’re forgiven for getting me up so early,” you say. His chest rumbles again as he chuckles.

After a while, he takes your hand and starts taking you back into camp. Bill, Lenny and Karen stand around an empty wagon.

“Morgan!” Bill yells to him.

Arthur looks at you. “I’ll catch up with ya in a minute, darlin’.”

You nod and let go of his hand, going into camp alone. You head over to your shared tent, strapping on your gunbelt and grabbing your hat. Arthur walks quickly over to you, holding a folded black coat in his arms.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Ah, Karen, Bill and Lenny wanna hit up the bank in Valentine. Say it’s unfinished business.”

“Can’t they take John or Charles?” you plead. You’ve been hoping to go on a hunting trip with Arthur.

“I wish, but they say they want me there. When I get back, you and I can go.”

He trades his green shotgun coat for the old, faded black duster, positioning it over his shoulders. You see Karen walk through camp in a fancy magenta dress. Arthur kisses you quickly before heading out.

“Be careful!” you call to him. He waves at you, hopping onto his horse and running through the trees after the others.

You spend the next couple of hours doing chores, but you’re so pent up you decide to head out on your own for a bit. You mount Rannoch and head out of camp, surprised that no one tries to stop you. You guess they’re all too busy waiting for Arthur and the others to take too much notice of you.

When you reach the main trail, you almost turn to go into Rhodes, but then you change your mind. This state is too muggy and warm for your taste. You crave the sight of mountains and thick pine forests again. You head north towards the Heartlands.

Within a relatively short time, you spot in the distance Emerald Ranch. You head towards it, needing to stop at the Fence to sell a few things. You hitch Rannoch and walk over to Seamus, the man who runs the discrete operations. You trade a necklace, two bracelets and a couple of rings with him, coming out $30 dollars richer. You thank him and are just about to head out when you hear two men on the other side of the road discussing a wagon.

“Supposed to be here later today!” one of the men says excitedly.

“Didn’t you order that only three weeks ago?” the other says.

“Sure, but the catalog promised speedy delivery! Paid premium for it, too.”

“What was it again? A pistol?”

“Yeah! Gold double-action revolver! Been wantin’ one since I was a boy.”

“How’d you know it’s gonna be here today? What if the wagon’s late?”

The man speaking about the revolver pulls a paper out of his back pocket. “Got a letter from the stage company. Said they have a delivery from Annesburg, then they’re comin’ to Emerald Ranch. This company don’t mess around neither. They get things done quick.”

You head off towards Rannoch, thinking quickly. You dash off down towards camp, hoping you can find someone fast enough to do this job with. You’ve never robbed a wagon or a stage before; you don’t know the first thing about it. When you get to camp, you see Artemis, Arthur’s giant warhorse.

You hitch Rannoch next to her and jog into camp, looking for him. He approaches you from Dutch’s tent, looking sweaty but untouched.

“There ya are!” he says.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

“Fine, just fine. Had to shoot our way out of Valentine again.”

You put your hands on your hips, getting ready to shout at him again. He puts his hands up. “Don’t worry, sweetheart! Bill, Lenny and Karen were with me the whole time! I was never alone.”

“Well, good. Now, if you’re not too tired, I have something for you.”

He grabs your hand, walking with you towards the horses while you explain the wagon you’d heard about. When you finish, he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, what do you think?” you ask. “Delivery wagons often have lots of goods. Could be profitable.”

“Sounds like it might be worth the effort,” he says. “‘Sides, I been meaning to teach ya how to rob wagons and stages for a while. Just didn’t want to do a bank stage to be your first. But delivery wagons are easier. Less guarded.”

Strauss suddenly walks over, looking agitated.

“Herr Morgan,” he says quickly.

“Herr Strauss?”

“I need a favor of you involving a debt.”

Arthur starts shaking his head. “I told ya, Strauss. I ain’t doin’ that no more!”

“Please, Herr Morgan, it’s involving that family Micah vent after.”

Arthur glared at him. “What? Micah end up stealin’ half your money?”

“No, no. Turns out he beat the lender to death, but never retrieved the money. So now, naturally, the debt is on his wife.”

Arthur shakes his head again. “No, I ain’t doin’ yer dirty work no more, Strauss. Ask any of the other fellers here. Or have Micah do it again.”

“And have him kill the whole family?” Strauss says, looking shocked. “No, Herr Morgan. Dead debtors don’t have a good habit of paying. Besides, none of the others have your… vigor.”

“Strauss, I ain’t doin’ this anymore! How many times I gotta say it?!”

“Just this last one, please? I’ll give you 10% more.”

Arthur sighs heavily, brushing his hand over his chin.

“Fine. But this is the last one, Strauss. From now on, if ya start lendin’ money out, someone else can beat it out of ‘em.”

Strauss sniffed loudly. “If that’s what you have decided, Herr Morgan, then so be it. Thank you again.”

Strauss turns to leave without even giving you a glance.

“I thought he was a snake when I first met him,” you say. “Now I know he’s a snake.”

“Yeah, ain’t exactly shoar why Dutch picked him up.”

He hops on Artemis as you mount Rannoch. The two of you gallop up into the Heartlands and past Emerald Ranch. You’re not too familiar with what’s east of Emerald Ranch, so Arthur takes the lead. He takes you northeast, stopping on a small slope looking over a T-intersection in the road. In the distance, you can hear the roaring of the Kamassa River.

“Wagon will probably stop through here,” Arthur says, putting a black bandana over his face. You realize you don’t have anything like that, and you’re just about to ask if he has a spare when he hands you a green one. You tie it quickly around your head, hiding most of your face. You tip your hat slightly to shade it better.

“You got that new rifle I gave ya?” he asked.

You pull out your bolt action, pointing the barrel towards the sky. He nods approvingly, grabbing his Springfield.

You both wait patiently for nearly a quarter of an hour. You’re starting to worry that maybe you missed it when you hear the sound of several horses coming your way from the direction of the river.

“Get ready, sweetheart,” Arthur instructs. “Just follow my lead, and don’t use names! If you need to address me, call me Mr. M.”

You agree and take a deep breath. Coming around the bend in the trail, you see a wagon driven by four large horses. On the stage is a driver and one other man beside him, holding a rifle.

When they get closer, Arthur kicks Artemis into action. You make Rannoch follow her, holding on tight to your rifle.

Arthur shouts, pointing his Springfield at the driver. “Stop the damn coach!”

You follow his lead and point your rifle at the man accompanying the driver. The driver pulls the stage to a stop and they both put their hands up.

“We got nothing important in here, mister!” the driver yells. “We’re just a delivery wagon!”

“Get off the damn wagon!” Arthur shouts. The two obey him and hop off, standing beside the trail. Arthur dismounts Artemis and approaches the wagon.

“Keep an eye on them, miss,” he says to you. You aim your gun at the two men, watching them carefully.

Just as Arthur is about to hop into the back of the wagon, you see the driver’s companion point his rifle at his back. You shoot your bolt action, the bullet striking the rifle and knocking it from his hand. The two men scream and bolt off into the trees.

Arthur turns and watches them run. He tips his hat up slightly and puts his hands on his hips. “That was pathetic,” he says, pulling off his bandana. You do the same.

“I think you mean easy,” you say, hopping off Rannoch.

You climb into the wagon after Arthur and start going through different boxes and chests. He pulls out a gold double-action revolver with a white handle. You see the barrel and trigger of the gun have been delicately engraved, a doe carved into the white handle.

“That’s a fine pistol,” he says. He hands it to you. “You should have more than just yer sawed-off.”

You take it and admire the gun, then smile. You’re sure this is the same gun those two fools in Emerald Ranch were talking about.

“We can get ya an offhand holster next time we’re in town,” Arthur goes on as he searches through more crates. You place the pistol into your satchel and search with him. By the time you’re finished searching, you both come up with several items of jewelry, some liquor and cans of food, horse supplies, and even a case of gold leaf dishes. You haul your ill-gotten gains onto the horses and dash away from the scene before anyone can find you.

“Should we head to Emerald Ranch and sell these?” you ask.

“No. Let’s give it a few days. Pretty soon people will hear the delivery wagon’s been robbed, folks will be lookin’ for anyone selling these things.”

You nod your head, figuring Arthur knows best about this sort of thing. He turns to you, holding his loot to you.

“Darlin’, I gotta take care of that thing for Strauss. Will you take this back to camp?”

“You want me to come with you?”

He looks at you, his face has grown dark. “No, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to see me like that. I’ll meet ya at camp.”

You nod sadly, taking his loot. “Arthur, promise me this’ll be the last one.”

“I promise.”

He kicks Artemis into a canter, heading west towards Valentine. You watch him for a moment, feeling like your heart is about to break for him. You can tell he hates the work; beating and scaring people for a few bucks.

You arrive back at camp and donate several pieces of jewelry, some liquor and cans of food to the camp. Dutch watches you and nods approvingly when you finish. You wish you could think of something to give Arthur to lift his spirits. You’re sure he’s going to be miserable when he returns. You would be, after all, were you in his shoes.

You sit on your shared cot and pull out your journal, running your fingers fondly over the stamped leather. You open up to a blank page and do your best to draw an image of Copper, his dog. You spend a long time on it, trying to get the shapes and shading just right. After a while, you tear the page out, wishing it was better and that you had Arthur’s skill. You fold it neatly and put it on his pillow for him to find later. You walk over to the campfire and sit down, joining Javier and Sean in a song.

After nearly an hour, Arthur returns, hitching Artemis next to Rannoch. You watch him walk over to his tent, but then he disappears from your view. If you had been there, you would’ve seen him open the drawing and stare at it for several moments, a gentle smile creep over his face. You would’ve also seen him take the drawing and pack it into a small box you had never seen before, one that held his most valuable possessions, including his mother’s ring.

He plops down on the log next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you into a hug.

“Thank you for the drawin’, darlin’,” he says, kissing your temple.

You’re a little surprised at how bold he’s being. He’s rarely this affectionate with you in front of the others, especially when Sean’s around. You can feel yourself blushing.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

Uncle sits down on the chair by the fire and starts singing, Javier strums the tune in his guitar and Sean joins in. After a line or two, Arthur starts up as well. Once again, you don’t know the words, so you just listen.

They finish their song with a bout of laughter, Sean carries on the longest. When he stops, he turns to you. “Now why don’t ya ever join in, Ms. Y/L/N? I don’t think I’ve ever heard ya even hum a tune before!”

You blush, taken a bit by surprise. “I don’t know any of these songs.”

“What?” he says loudly. “That’s ridiculous. I come from across the pond in Ireland, and I’ve heard them songs! Me da…”

“Not with the da again!” Arthur groans, his arm sliding down so his hand settles on your hip.

“Fine! Fine, I’m just sayin’ how come ya never heard t’ese songs before?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Where I come from, my family wasn’t very musical.”

That’s a lie. Your mother used to sing all the time when she was working. You used to sing, too, when you were really happy. You haven’t sung since your grandmother died. Since joining the gang, you’ve found yourself humming more often, but never singing. Besides, the last person you want to sing in front of is Sean MacGuire.

“Oh, come on!” he says, holding his arms up and out. “I bet ya know a few songs!”

“Well, go on, then,” Uncle says, taking a swig from his beer bottle. You blush harder as Charles sits down, pulling out his harmonica.

“Seriously,” you say almost pleading. “You don’t want to hear me sing. My cousin heard me humming once and said she was surprised all the animals in a ten-mile radius weren’t dead.”

“Yeah, well, yer cousin was a real piece o’ work,” Arthur says. “Sounds like she needed a good kick in the rear, ya ask me. Now come on. I bet ya have a nice voice.”

You put your face in your hands, terrified. What you had said about your cousin mocking you was true. You had been humming one time while trying to teach her how to garden. She had demandingly asked you to stop, saying your voice was the most hideous thing she’d ever heard. Ever since then, you’d lost all confidence in your singing abilities.

“Tell us,” Sean says. “Name a song y’know and I bet Charles or Javier knows da tune! They’ll start you off just fine.”

You bite your lip again. The pressure from the others is growing, and you know they won’t let up until you sing, even if you don’t want to. You remember a song your grandmother taught you when you were young. It’s short, but you always liked it. You look over at Charles and Javier, doubting either of them will know it.

“Either of you know the Sweetheart Tree?” you ask tentatively.

Charles shakes his head, but Javier smiles. “Ah, I think I heard that one being played by a street beggar playing for money! Does it go like this?” he plays a few lines on his guitar.

You nod your head. “That’s the one!”

“Well, go on then! Prove your sour ol’ cousin wrong!” Sean yells.

You take a deep breath and stare at the grass, flickering yellow and white with the reflections of the fire. You hesitatingly begin.

They say there’s a tree in the forest

A tree that will give you a sign

Come along with me

To the Sweetheart Tree

Come and carve your name next to mine

Your voice begins to grow in strength as you go on, caught up in the tune of Javier’s guitar and the memories of your grandmother, when you were young, happy and innocent. You’re surprised you remember it so easily as you move to the last bit.

They say if you kiss the right sweetheart

The one you’ve been waiting for

Big blossoms of white will burst into sight

And your love will be true evermore

You finish, the last note carrying on a bit. Javier does a fancy strum on his guitar before letting it go silent. The men around the fire sit silent for a few seconds before Sean’s face splits into a wide grin.

“Where’s your cousin live, Y/N?” he says.

“Why?” you ask.

“‘Cause I’d like to give her a good kick in the pants meself!”

“If ya think yer voice is bad,” Arthur chuckles. “Ya got impossibly high standards, sweetheart.”

You blush as Uncle jumps in. “I once heard this lovely maiden sing in a show. Sung some silly song about how great Saint Denis was. Think her name was Robin… something. Think she was Polish. Anyways, her voice was good and real nice, but everyone could tell she had training. I don’t think I ever heard someone untrained sing that well.”

“Oh my God,” you say, putting your face into your hands again. You definitely regret singing in front of them now. The praise is almost worse than the pressure. You hear Charles laugh briefly before he starts playing a tune on his harmonica. You’re glad he’s playing, the others are starting to hum along with him. After a few moments, Arthur gently squeezes your hip.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he whispers. “Come with me.”

He takes your hand and leads you off towards the water of the lake. You think he’s going to start talking to you when you reach the shore. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, burying your face into his chest. You feel his cheek rest on your head. You don’t mind this, not at all. He smells familiar; comforting. You fold your arms around his waist.

“This is nice,” you mumble. “But what’s it for?”

“Just because I can and I want to, a’right?” he says quietly. After a moment, he adds in. “I’d love to hear ya sing more.”

“You’re sweet, Arthur, but you’re a bad liar.”

He takes your shoulders and pulls you away for a moment. “Ain’t lyin’ to ya, love. I ain’t never lied to ya. I don’t think you realize how beautiful you are and how much I appreciate ya.”

You blush and look down, biting your lip. You want to believe him so bad, this man who has had a profound effect on your life and you love so deeply, but you can’t shake the nagging voice in the back of your head. The one that keeps telling you that you’re impossible to love.

“Give it time, Arthur,” you mutter. “Eventually, you’re gonna get tired of me. I’m used to it, though, so don’t worry about hurting me.”

His finger comes up under your chin, pushing your face up gently so he can stare into your eyes.

“I ain’t never gonna get tired of ya,” he says sadly. “I wish ya could see how wonderful ya are. Everyday I’m with ya, I love ya more and more.”

He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand settling on your back, his other one behind your neck. He pulls away and whispers in your ear. “I’m gonna tell ya everyday how beautiful you are until you finally believe it, then I’m gonna keep on tellin’ ya. I love you, Y/N.”

You feel your eyes sting with tears. You press your forehead into his, looping your arms around his neck. He kisses your forehead and then pulls your head into the crook of his neck, his arms nearly crushing you with how tight he holds you as you listen to the steady beating of his heart.

You stare off into the water, watching the reflections of the moon break apart and shatter on its surface. You can still hear the others from the fire talking, the sound of Javier’s guitar mingling among their voices. Somewhere in the trees, a lone owl hoots. You could stay like this forever.

The next morning, Arthur wakes you up earlier than usual. He greets you with a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says as you take it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Mornin’, Arthur. What you getting me up so early for?”

He smiles and sits down next to you. “Just thought we should go out on a huntin’ trip. Just you and me. Felt like we ain’t done that since we left Horseshoe Overlook.”

You sip your drink, the heat waking you up. “Sounds good. Where you thinkin’ of going?”

He sits a moment and thinks. “Well, why don’t you decide? We could go somewhere ya ain’t been before.”

You pause, remembering your dream from last night. You can remember seeing a large valley with purple flowers, rimmed by thick pine forests and misty mountains cloaked in snow. Ever since Arthur had taken you to Big Valley, you’ve been dreaming of it more often. You suggest going there again.

“I know we went a few weeks ago, but…” you pause. “It was so beautiful. I wouldn’t mind going there again. To be honest, I’ve missed the forests of West Elizabeth.”

He takes your hand and smiles. “That’s a’right. We can go there. Well, get ready and let’s go.”

You quickly finish your coffee and get up to start packing up some supplies. Just as you and Arthur are picking up cans of food from Pearson’s wagon, Hosea walks towards him, smoking his pipe. He greets you fondly before turning to Arthur.

“I have a job for you, Arthur,” he says.

“What is it, Hosea?” he asks.

“We’re going to sell that moonshine you got from the Greys back to where it came from.”

“And where’s that exactly?”

“The Braithwaites.”

Arthur laughs. “You always had a knack for huckling people, old man! I’d love to do this with ya, but I already promised the next couple of days to Y/N here.”

Hosea nods with a wide smile. “I understand. Well, unfortunately I think you’re the only man suited to help me with this. Dutch has got John on some other job. I’ll wait for ya to come back.”

He pats Arthur on the shoulder and walks away, coughing slightly. Arthur chuckles.

“That man with his schemes.”

“If anyone can pull off something like that,” you say,” It’s Hosea.”

You both finish packing up your provisions and mount your horses before riding into Rhodes. Arthur leads you to the train station and buys two tickets to a place called Wallace Station, which he says isn’t too far from Big Valley.

You only have to wait a short while for the train to arrive at the station. Arthur boards it behind you and you take a seat next to a window.

“I’ve never ridden a train,” you admit.

“Seriously?” Arthur asks, almost disbelieving. You nod. “Well, they’re certainly a lot quicker and more comfortable than ridin’ on a horse.”

He drapes an arm over your shoulder as the train begins to move. You’re amazed by how quickly the land slides past you. You watch for a while as the outside world changes from the orange and bright greens of Lemoyne to the soft greens and blues of New Hanover. The swaying of the train is beginning to make you feel tired. You turn and rest your head on Arthur’s shoulder, falling asleep against him.

After a while, he wakes you up, whispering that you’ve arrived. You open your eyes and look outside, spotting thick pines and willow bushes. You almost leap up, desperate to get into familiar territory again. Arthur laughs as he follows you outside.

You step out onto the gravel of the train tracks, then spot Rannoch coming towards you. He neighs happily and you dash up to him, petting his nose fondly.

Arthur mounts Artemis. “Well, let’s go. Big Valley is just over that rise there.”

You do as he tells you, patting Rannoch on the neck, and follow him. You trot through the trees, breathing in the intoxicating scent of pines, sage and earth. How you’ve missed it!

You break out of the trees and step into the sunlight, drinking in the view of Big Valley with the little stream winding its way through the grass. You look at Arthur, who’s smiling at you.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing,” he says. “You just look happy.”

“I am. This is wonderful, Arthur.”

The next few hours, you both wander the valley and the surrounding forest hunting game and finding herbs. You even find a chest, buried beneath the surface of the soil, with an old arrowhead inside. You pocket it.

As evening begins to fall, a dark storm begins to roll over the valley, threatening lightning and buckets of rain. You look up at the black sky just as Arthur approaches you, throwing a coyote pelt over Artemis.

“You wanna head into Strawberry? Get a hotel room?” he asks.

You look at him. “You sure? It’s not like this is the first storm we’ve slept in a storm.”

“I know,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Well, you decide.”

You look up again. The sky really doesn’t look friendly and the wind’s picking up, the temperature dropping horribly fast.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go to Strawberry.”

You canter alongside Arthur, heading into the rustic town settled around the river. Arthur leads you over to the saloon and buys you dinner, ignoring your protests with a smirk. When you’re done, he leads you over to the hotel and buys a room and a bath. You look at him curiously.

“Just gonna take one before bed,” he explains.

You walk up the stairs with Arthur, your eyes raking over the beautiful architecture. Arthur takes your hand and kisses it before heading off to the washroom.

You head into your shared room. There’s a single bed, but it’s fairly large. A nice change from sharing the single cot. A few lanterns light the cozy room. You look out the window and see the rain has started to come down in icy sheets. You sit down on the bed, staring out the window.

While Arthur’s in the bath, you find yourself imagining being in there with him, which takes you back to that day in the trees when he had touched you. You find your face growing warm at the memory, along with other body parts. You suddenly feel like you want to take things further, even though you’ve really no idea how to do it. The only time you’ve ever done it was with your husband, and he’d forced himself onto and into you every time. You remind yourself that Arthur would certainly be different.

Arthur walks into the room, his hair damp, bringing the smell of soap and water with him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says.

You say nothing, biting your lip instead. You decide to just show him what you want to do instead since your voice doesn’t seem to want to work. You walk up and kiss him deeply, your hand going over the back of his neck. He hums before pulling away.

“What was that for?” he asks quietly.

“I want…” you start to say, trying to figure out how to tell him. “I want you, Arthur.” Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing down his stomach and then finding the bulge of his pants. He takes in a sudden breath when you squeeze him gently.

“Ya shoar?” he asks gently. You nod and kiss him again.

“Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like, honey. I want ya to enjoy this.”

“I’m with you,” you mutter against his lips. “I think I’m going to enjoy this just fine.”

He suddenly starts walking you backwards towards the bed. You feel his hands start unbuttoning your shirt, gently pulling it off you before moving down to your pants. You help him, stripping off your boots until you stand in front of him wearing nothing but your undergarments.

Your hands move to him again, pulling off his coat, vest and ripping the buttons of his shirt to expose the red union suit beneath it. Within moments, that’s all he’s wearing. He approaches you and kisses you deeply. He reaches to you and lifts up your chemise, taking it off your body. He breaks the kiss to look down at your naked chest. You blush as he stares.

“Beautiful,” he mutters as he kisses you again. He starts kissing down your jaw, to your neck, your collarbone, making his way down until his lips find your nipple, making you suck in a deep breath. He guides you down onto the bed as he kisses and licks your sensitive tip. His hand finds your free breast, massaging it with his fingers. You groan when he gently pinches your nipple with his teeth, your hands tangling into his hair.

After a moment, his free hand moves down your stomach, leaving goose bumps in his wake. He pulls down your bloomers, making you blush again. You lie completely naked under him. He stops kissing you and looks at your body.

“Like I said, beautiful,” he smiles.

“I can’t wait to see how handsome you are,” you moan; you're breathing heavy already.

“I don’t know if I would use that word to describe me, but I’ll humor ya.”

He’s just about to start unbuttoning his union suit when you sit up and grab his hands. “Let me show you how handsome I think you are,” you whisper. He lowers his hands and stands up straight. You start opening his union suit, kissing every new inch of exposed skin. By the time you get to his lower half, his head’s tipped back as he groans. You undo the last few buttons, allowing his length to spring out. You can’t help but stare at it. It’s longer and thicker than your husband’s was, with a large single vein running down it. You take it in your hand and squeeze, causing him to growl. You feel it grow harder, so you start pumping it until it’s throbbing.

Arthur suddenly grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you down on the bed. A wild look has come in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before. You feel a bit worried for a moment, but then you start to relax when he starts kissing your neck again. His hands run down your body, over your hips and then down to your thighs. His hand reaches into your slit, finding you wet.

“That’s about right,” he moans into your ear.

His hands move to your thighs, gently pulling them apart. He hovers over you, planting one of his hands beside your shoulders. With the other, he guides his cock to brush against your entrance, teasing you.

“Arthur,” you moan. “Please.”

“Just wanted to make shoar yer ready, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear before kissing just below your ear. He suddenly sinks his length into you all the way to the hilt, filling you and making you gasp. You put your hands on his back, trying to hold onto him. He stays still for a moment, sitting inside of you before he finally pulls back and then slams into you. You start raking your nails across his back, which he doesn’t seem to mind. He winds his hand into your hair, his lips finding yours again as he thrusts himself into you.

He leans up slightly, grabbing one of your knees and pulling it up, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he pumps into you.

“Mm, Arthur,” you moan.

“I love those sounds you make,” he growls. His hands squeeze your hips, causing you to buck up into him. You plant your hands onto his chest, running your hands through the hair there.

His right hand suddenly leaves your hip, sliding down to your folds where he finds your core. He starts rubbing your clit, sending jolts all the way down to your toes, causing them to curl. He chuckles as you groan loudly, your hands sliding down to his hips and squeezing. He starts moving his fingers faster, bucking into you more wildly. Something starts growing in your chest, moving down into your ribs and then stopping in your stomach.

“Arthur,” you growl. “Please, more!”

He chuckles again, his deep laugh pushing you further. “As you wish, darlin’.”

He presses his hand harder into you, pumping his length deeper into you. That warm feeling in your stomach travels down between your legs, exploding and setting your nerves on fire. You gasp and yell out, your hair plastered against your neck as your feet curl against his back.

“That’s my girl!” Arthur growls. He rides out your waves, pumping himself harder into you. He leans back down and kisses your neck again, his bucking becoming more wild and less rhythmic. He groans loudly as you feel him throb inside you hard several times, his seed spilling into you.

You both lie there as his length begins to grow soft inside of you, his body relaxing on you, gasping for breath. After a moment, he gently pulls himself out of you and rolls over onto his back. You close your legs, feeling colder without his body on top of you. You roll over and curl into his side; his arm draping over you as you lay your head onto his chest.

“Mm, Arthur,” you say quietly as your hand tangles into his hair. “That was great.”

He kisses your forehead. “Glad I could be of service, ma’am.”

You lie against him, feeling suddenly exhausted but satisfied. He pulls the blanket over you both as the rain hammers on the roof. His hand settles across your back again, drawing light circles into your skin, sending you into a deep sleep.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader smut #nsft #Van Der Linde Gang #r* games #rockstar games #i'm awkward #second chances #please forgive my horrible nsft scene!

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