#I just saw someone say that people only like creek because they beat each other up like lmaooo what kind of creek are you watching | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil.

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund.

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe!

He knew where she would be.

The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of.

It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day.

It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits.

It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation.

Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God.

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity.

Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights.

To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness.

And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them.

And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone.

"Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress.

"I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

"Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

"I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

"You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

"I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him.

But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.

"If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves.

"Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him.

"I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet.

The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers.

"Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

"I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should.

Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

"Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?"

"Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know.

Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured.

His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of.

After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand.

"Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station.

"Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip.

They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished.

Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel.

*****

With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York.

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils.

What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine.

When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her.

They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her.

*****

"You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

"There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue.

Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

"They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

"What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone.

Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper.

"You slaughter when it suits you."

Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

But it was all in vain.

He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you."

"But not you."

"No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God.

There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound.

"I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself.

The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement.

A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks.

Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong.

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind.

The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested.

As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive.

"You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them.

She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded.

"Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding.

"Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip.

"Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him.

"Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal.

"Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze.

She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her.

His nightmare coming to pass.

He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings.

"I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again.

"Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly.

Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her.

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

"Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do.

At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him.

Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered.

"You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin.

Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew.

"I said leave, thrall."

As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away.

The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her?

"Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good.

"Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

"She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

"No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

"You love her."

"How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.

"Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

"I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering.

"Aren't we all."

He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.

*****

The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts.

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains.

Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament.

Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips.

All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets.

Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'.

He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone.

Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment.

"Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also.

Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

"Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently.

Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking.

Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby.

He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile.

"He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory.

The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him.

Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize.

Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

"You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled.

His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe.

Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that.

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

171 notes · View notes

starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Eight

I don’t know what to say other than I like this one. Rendog enjoyers come get your free angst!

Scott filled the pages of his sketchbook gradually at first. He sat at his window and drew what he saw, focusing on putting shapes on the paper. Many times he was unhappy with the finished product, almost ripping out and throwing away his limited space.

He had to learn to be okay with it. The next time it would be a bit better, and a bit better, until the tree he’d been slaving over didn’t look half bad.

Soon his interests turned to drawing his friends. Their faces would pop up on his pages, drowned in eraser smudges at first. Then it became easy. Like second nature, he could memorize Grian’s knowing grin, Jimmy’s downturned eyes, Martyn’s slightly crooked nose.

He drew the way he saw Ren’s piercing yellow eyes that night, the way they were shadowed by his brow.

It felt better. To have a place where his memories could stay exactly the way he saw them. Scott even pinned some up on the wall of his room.

Soon his supply of paper started dwindling, Martyn told him if he needed more drawing paper to come back and ask him for some. So he did, after Jimmy went to bed and the world was quiet under the snow.

Scott made a trip to the Renchanting base, entering through the tunnel hidden under the mountain. It took him right to the storage area. Which was dark and deserted. Only a clock ticked on the wall, everyone else must have been in the sleeping quarters or back at their bases to fend off the Phantoms.

He took a torch from the “stuff chest” and started making rounds, looking at each storage container. Food, Armor, ores, wood, stone, and redstone. Until there was a wall of chests with people’s names on them.

Everyone in the Red Army had a chest, from left to right there was Ren, Martyn, Etho, Skiz, Impulse, Tango, Joel, and then Scott.

The last chest on the right side, Scott’s name was carved on top. It hadn’t been there before. He placed his hand on the lock, wondering if he should even bother opening it. Someone had cared enough to dedicate a space for him to put things. Under the roof of Dogwarts no less.

His torch flickered and Scott decided he’d spent too long lurking around, so he flipped the lock up and quietly opened the chest. Slowly so it wouldn’t creek.

Inside there was a single stack of drawing paper. Hand-sewn like the one Martyn had given him.

Scott placed the torch down and retrieved the paper. He knew it must have been Martyn. A smile found its way onto his face, and he let it stay there. This time, when nobody was looking.

Blowing out the torch and closing the chest, Scott gathered the sketchbook and decided to just leave through the front. It was almost midnight anyways.

Up the stairs and to the double doors of the enchanting room. The book on the table rose from its position and opened towards him as he walked past. Scott still had his hand on the doorknob when he opened it and stepped out into the frigid night.

Of course he didn’t expect to see anything, so when he did see something he froze in place.

In the spot that Martyn would typically occupy, on the very top of the walls sat Ren. His grey cape was bundled around himself to keep out the cold and his pointed ears were pressed low on his head. He was facing away from Scott.

Huddled on the perch, Ren’s shoulders were shaking. Silently, he cried.

Scott stood in the doorway motionless. He couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. Ren wasn’t one to cry. He was calculating and smart, rarely loosing his temper to even the worst of setbacks. A humorous man in charge of an Army of vagabonds, he never cried. He never expressed so much as a single weakness, he couldn’t afford that.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, that the Red King would save his sorrow for when nobody should be looking. Under the loneliest arm of the Milky Way, coldly gazing down on him. The weight of every star in the sky on his shoulders.

It made him look small.

Scott backed away from the door and ran back to the tunnel he came from, the kind of running you do when you are convinced your worst nightmare is snapping at your heels; and maybe for Scott it was.

He sprinted home without looking back. Trying to shove the image of Ren out the back of his mind.

That night he crept quietly back into bed, doing his best not to disturb Jimmy. Who stirred momentarily before simply turning over.

Scott stared at the arm of the Milky Way through the window until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Days pressed by, Scott slithered too and from the walls of Dogwarts under the noses of his allies and between Spy Ring meetings. The first page of his new sketchbook lay empty, because whenever his pencil hovered above that damn page all he could see was a man huddled up under a galaxy of stars that would never return his wishes.

So when he was called out on night watch to the Renchanting base, Scott snuck out with his empty sketchbook held close to his chest. He arrived to a sleeping base, aware that his shift would be over in an hour and he would get to go home when the next guard showed up.

He yawned and stared out the window, at the stars above the wall. A pencil came to his hand and he started drawing what he saw. The shape of the wall against the glowing sky. He drew it, but it wasn’t right. The image in his mind came back to the front.

A weeping man holding a million stars on his shaking shoulders, the end of his frayed cape flaring out when the breeze kicked up. Tiny compared to the infinite sky. Scott’s fingers and palm turned black with graphite as he crafted the cosmos onto that paper.

His scribbling and smudging consumed all his thoughts as he focused on making the scene perfect, the pencil dulled and threatened to snap under the pressure.

“Major,” a stern voice came from right behind him.

Scott seized up in his chair, a feeling of terror so pure exploded in his chest that his vision left him for a few seconds. He gasped and turned around with his jaw on the floor.

Behind him was Ren. Clad in his winter jacket, a hand on the back of Scott’s chair. He stared directly into the other’s eyes from behind the dark lenses of his aviators. All the color had gone from his face.

Hoping the Red King hadn’t seen what he was drawing, Scott moved his hand to close the book.

It was too late. Ren had been watching him draw for long enough to know.

“You saw me?” Ren asked, but it was phrased more like a fact. It was.

Scott’s hesitation was enough of an answer. He stared up into Ren’s glasses, reminded of a familiar time. This time was different though, and this time Scott wished he could see behind the lenses.

He nodded and tore his eyes away, it felt intrusive to be staring.

“Ren,” Scott said to the floor, but was dismissed.

“No. Just go home. Now,” the other man ordered with a wavering voice.

Scott didn’t nod, he didn’t look at Ren. He gathered the sketchbook and slammed it shut within five seconds.

He didn’t say goodbye as he fled the walls. Scott ran from Ren, and this time he felt bad about it.

Scott didn’t return to Dogwarts for a week after that. Nobody called him to the night shift, nobody asked him to run any supplies. Maybe he was grateful for that, in the sense that he wouldn’t have to look Ren in the eyes again.

Until one night he couldn’t sleep. The clouds cast a dark blanket over the sky. Scott huffed and crawled out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He pulled his boots on and took his coat off the hanger.

A walk is what he told himself he was going on, but really he knew where he was going. He didn’t know why, but for some reason Scott had a feeling he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

This time instead of entering Dogwarts through the underground he rounded the front, cresting the hill right in front of Big B’s house. Scott scanned the top of the wall and saw what he was looking for. He shoved his hands in his pockets and entered Dogwarts through the front door.

Scott climbed the ladder and balanced himself as he walked over to Ren, who was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the wall. His jacket was pulled tightly around him. Scott didn’t greet him when he sat down, Ren had seen him coming a mile away.

Ren didn’t look at him, he breathed in heavily, then sighed out a burst of vapor into the cold air.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Scott started the conversation this time.

“Wouldn’t matter if I could. I’m on night watch,” Ren said after a beat of silence.

Scott nodded, turning his head to the dark sky, “it’d be nicer with some stars, hm?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ren trailed off. He stared at his shoes.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’ll just-“ Scott made to get up and leave but Ren interrupted him.

“No, wait, you can stay,” Ren pulled on the sleeve of Scott’s elbow.

Scott nodded and pulled his knees closer to his chest. A pocket of clouds had moved, creating a window that let the moon gaze upon the Earth.

“Do you stargaze a lot?” Ren asked, this time he looked at Scott.

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“I try,” Scott replied, “there’s this huge book I found uh, In a village library a while ago. It has everything you can possibly see from down here in it,” he mused.

“Have you ever read one?” Scott asked.

“Uh, an astronomy book?” Ren’s eyes flicked to the left in thought, “I mean I’ve seen them. I haven’t read them. You like astronomy?” he asked.

Scott nodded, then pointed north, into the cloud cover, “you can’t see it now, but Ursa Major would be right over there,” he said.

Ren looked over like he was trying to imagine it, “you like Ursa Major?”

“Easiest to remember,” Scott said plainly.

“I’ll bet. S’ like a namesake,” Ren rested his chin on his palm, “I wish I had a constellation with my name,” his ear twitched on his head.

Scott’s metaphorical ears perked up, “Oh well, there’s one kind of like that,” he said. Ren’s actual ears perked up.

“It’s called Canis Major. It means Great Dog, or Big Dog,” Scott pointed south, “it will always be easy to see on a clear day. One of its stars is called Sirius,” he explained.

Ren nodded, “I’m familiar. Brightest in the sky, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” Scott replied.

“Canis Major huh?” Ren repeated. Scott nodded.

“Canis Major, and,” he looked over at Scott, “Scott Major,” Ren nudged the other on the shoulder.

“Right,” Scott said, and suddenly the sky didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Not when you have a friend to share it with.

#listen. hear me out...#the constellation thing was clever okay!!#also Canis Major rises in the winter. I call that poetic #there’s nothing too deep about Scott being Ursa Major other than his name and him being star-born #kingslayer au #3rdlife #3rd life smp #3rdlife smp #rendog #scott smajor #mcyt #mcytblr #cas types

41 notes · View notes

writers-blogck · 4 years

Text

Ex's and Bo's ( Bokuto Koutarou x Reader )

Warning(s): Probably the most in-depth kiss scene I have ever written? Not really nsfw in any way, maybe a little making out????? Also, expect some spam in the coming days. I had been super busy and unable to actually post my haitober stuff so, here comes the flood! Title: Ex's and Bo's Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 2,506

Life sucked.

Even the weather outside was agreeing with you as rain poured down, soaking anything that dared to be out. You were laying on your bed with as many blankets wrapped around you as possible as if the soft fabric could absorb all of your bad feelings.

How long had you wasted when you were dating your ex-boyfriend? You knew he wasn't good for you, you knew that from the start. But, what were you supposed to do when he was the first person to really show you any attention? He liked you in a way that was more than friends. When you had gone so long, watching everyone else get together while you were stuck on the sidelines, you couldn't believe that someone liked you. It was easy to ignore the red flags when you were just so excited that someone liked you.

Even though you were the one that broke up with him, it still hurt. It hurt because you felt stupid for ever agreeing to be in a relationship with him. It hurt because even though he was never good for you, you still thought he cared about you in some way. Yet, he had decided to go behind your back and flirt with some other girls. He thought you wouldn't figure it out. He must have thought you were stupid and you were starting to wonder if he was right?

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Stop being sad because your best friends are here!" Bokuto yelled as he walked into your room, trailed behind by Akaashi. If this was the first time they came to visit, you would be worried that your parents would get annoyed by the yelling but they had come to accept it now. It was impossible to have Bokuto over and expect to keep a quiet house. "We are going to take that frown and turn it upside!"

You forgot that you had texted either one of them. It started with a simple text to Bokuto, a single meme picture that hinted at how you felt. After fifteen minutes, Bokuto had already pulled the entire truth from you and invited himself and Akaashi over to take care of you.

"Bokuto, calm down." Akaashi slapped his friend's shoulder to pull him down from his energetic state. He had been crazy when he picked Akaashi up, ranting about how he would totally beat your ex up and how they had to make you feel better. He didn't say anything along the lines of a plan for making you feel better but he was as confident as he was on the court. You had helped him through his emo times and so it was his job to do the same thing for you.

The loud third year flopped down on your bed, arms wrapping around your waist to playfully tickle your sides. He knew you were ticklish and he was using it against you! It was hard to keep a frown on your face as you struggled not to burst out laughing. With his own loud laughter, Bokuto rolled over to pull you ontop of him with your back pressing against his chest.

"Come on, give us a smile! I'm not gonna stop until you smile for me!" He shouted, keeping you trapped like a turtle on its back. Somehow you were able to squirm out of his hold and quickly hid behind Akaashi, using him as a human shield. His face was as stoic as ever, shaking his head slightly at his friend's antics.

"We meant to go to the store before coming here but Bokuto couldn't wait." Akaashi sighed, glancing over his shoulder to look at you, "I was planning on bringing him here so you can babysit him while I go back out and get some stuff for us to eat. Maybe watching a toddler will help you get your thoughts off of your ex."

"I am not a toddler!" Bokuto sat up, arms hanging loosely with his hands in his lap.

"Do you want snacks or not?"

"....Yes please."

It was funny watching the two best friends communicate with each other as you rubbed your tear stained cheeks. It was easy to forget what you were crying about when you had the two of them around. This wouldn't be the first time they got you through a hard time. When you had sprained your ankle during your own volleyball practice, Bokuto (and Akaashi, when were they ever really apart?) was there in no time with your favorite drink and gave you piggyback rides to and from school for a week.

Akaashi gave you a questioning look, waiting until you nodded to leave your room. Nobody knew how much Bokuto could be more than this setter. He wasn't going to leave you alone with him if it was going to be too much for you. They were here to make you feel better, he didn't want to stress you out or make things worse. His friend may not always think things through but he did.

Golden eyes followed your form as you sat down beside Bokuto, a small huff escaping your lips. Silence had fallen over the room once Akaashi shut the door and you were reminded of why they had come over. The chaos of their intial apperence was fading and the pleasant distraction from a few moments ago was gone. You sighed, staring at your own lap in thought. Bokuto looked like a lost puppy, unsure of what he should do. He didn't like this feeling, he never liked seeing you this way. He felt helpless.

You moved to lay on your back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Were you sad? It was hard to tell...Everything was going to be fine, this was just one small relationship but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"It sucks..." Your voice was soft, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah, I know." You could feel the bed dip as Bokuto took the spot next to you, laying on his back and taking up the rest of the space on your small bed. You didn't mind the proximity, his warmth was nice. Even without saying anything, the simple touches that were being shared between the two of you was comforting. The brushing of arms, the hints of sides pressed against each other. You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that in silence but after what felt like an eternity, you heard the creeking of the bed and a presence hovering over you. Cue you opening your eyes and almost fall off your bed when you see Bokuto's signature grin.

While the lower half of his body was still on his side of the bed, he was now holding his upperhalf above you with those strong muscles of his. Wait...What? You would be lying if you said that you hadn't snuck peeks of the ace during his practices. To you, Bokuto was never an option because he was just so more. The two of you were so close that the idea of doing anything more than playful flirting was nonexistent. He was just...Bokuto.

As he looked down at you with such caring eyes, you thought that maybe you were wrong. It made your stomach flip from the proximity between the two of you. This had never happened before. The two of you had laid on each other in the past, whether it was you laying with your head on his chest or Bokuto flopped on his stomach, laying over your legs. You had done that without blinking an eye but here he was, not even touching you in any way but still making you feel this flustered.

"You know this has nothing to do with you, right? You didn't do anything wrong." Bokuto spoke in a level voice, sounding more serious that he ever had. It was rare you saw this side of him. It was rare for anyone to see this side of him.

"You are one of the best people I know. It isn't right that this happened to you and I swear, 'Kaashi and I will do whatever we need to until you are back to being the same amazing person we know."

"I just, I feel so stupid Bo. I don't want to be sad over this jerk but I can't help it. It hurts...This is shitty. It isn't fair that he decided to lead me on. When...When I was breaking up with him, he said that he never cared. He just thought I was pretty and wanted to fool around. Why do people have to lie? It isn't nice..." Tears were streaming down your face now, blurring your vision until all you could see were the splashes of color of Bokuto's eyes.

Bokuto moved all of his weight onto his one forearm so he could cup your face with his now free hand. His thumb brushed over a stray tear, frowning. He didn't know what to do, you were too good of a person to be hurt like this. You should be treasured like the precious person that you were. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to say. He never was good with his words so he decided to act instead.

He kissed you.

It was a quick peck and nothing more. As you stared up at him, you were greeted with wide eyes mirroring your own confusion. You didn't know why he did it and he didn't know why either. Three seconds passed, three heartbeats passed, and then you pulled the boy back down to capture his lips once again. A spark shot through you, ignatiting a fire in your stomach that you didn't know you have.

Small gasps were exchanged in the quick moments the two of you pulled away. His hand ran down from your cheek to gently caress at your neck, causing a shiver to run through you. Bokuto was very outgoing with all of his actions but here he was, slowly dancing his lips along your own with gentle contemplation. The flush of your cheeks changed from being due to crying to something else, something that even your ex had never made you feel. Perhaps deep down you knew that you weren't meant to be with him.

As one of Bokuto's hands was placed right next to your head, his free hand slowly snuck under your loose shirt to ghost over your skin warm. His thumb traced over your top rib, just hinting where he could touch if he only moved a few inches higher. His rough and calloused palm from spiking ran over your smooth stomach, causing your breath to hitch and shivers to run up your spine. This was not how you thought today was going to go, but you weren't going to complain.

"Bo..." You whined, head tilting to the side as his lips attacked the soft skin of your neck. His teeth were nipping with just enough pressure for you to feel it, tongue soothing the area just as quickly. Bokuto was like a man dying of thirst and you were the oasis shimmering before him.

His kisses started at your jaw with nothing more than butterfly kisses but he slowly began to suck your delicate skin the further he went down. Simple kisses turned into ones with the intent on leaving purple marks that would remind you of that night. It wasn't until he reached just below your collarbone that his teeth nipped your skin enough for a small sting to be left but Bokuto didn't give you any time to focus on that feeling before he was kissing your skin again.

When had Bokuto learned how to do something like this? For all you knew, the boy hadn't dated anyone before. He never mentioned any late-night meetings with anyone. He had told you and Akaashi the first time he had kissed a girl (A girl had kissed him to convince some creep that they were dating. They were not). The owl was so excited, just going on and on how soft girls' lips were. He wasn't even talking about that girl specifically. He just went on a rant the next day at school about how amazing girls were. It was cute.

"I always thought that guy was terrible for you," He gasped out in between kisses, golden eyes staring up at you with such an intensity that only Bokuto could have, "Every time you complained about him, I always wanted to say how I would be so much better for you, but 'Kaashi always said that I was being overprotective."

A laugh escaped your swollen lips, the butterflies in your stomach being released. No longer were you feeling too shocked about what was going on. There was no way to keep yourself from getting flustered by the boy's actions but now you could enjoy it. You didn't have to feel guilty that you had just broken up with your boyfriend and that this would just mean you were sleazy. The nagging voice of your ex was slowly disappearing and Bokuto's voice was taking its place.

"But I was totally right, right?" His head pulled back, putting most of his weight onto his hand pushed against the bed so he was hovering over you once again. The gentle caresses evolved into Bokuto gripping your side as if afraid that if he let go, you would fade away like a ghost.

"Right." Your hands that had been gripping at the boy's shirt moved to wrap around his neck to pull him back down for a kiss. Your confidence was growing and that only egged Bokuto on to go further. Every action started with hesitation but as soon as you gave any sign of the go-ahead, the boy would go at it with everything he had. People couldn't say that Bokuto didn't try his best in everything that he cared about, that's for sure.

But all good things can't last forever and Akaashi could only take so long getting the snacks.

"I'm coming in so stop making out or whatever." Akaashi pounded on the door, causing Bokuto to jump like he was more of a cat than an owl. You shot up to fix your shirt as Bokuto pushed himself away. He may be an amazing volleyball player but he wasn't always the best at remembering his surroundings as a loud thump resounded in the room. Akaashi walked into the room to see you, still on your bed with red cheeks and heavy breaths, and Bokuto laying on his back on the ground, his foot being the only part still on the bed. Akaashi only sighed, walking in with the goodies he had gotten from the store.

You couldn't help but wonder what could have happened if the dark-haired boy hadn't interrupted. The thoughts of your ex were all but forgotten and replaced with the excitement of the future that awaited you with Bokuto.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haitober #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu! imagines #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu scenarios #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #akaashi headcanons

210 notes · View notes

soapoperabub · 3 years

Text

Sneaky Business - part 3

( Draco Malfoy x Reader )

heres part 2 :)

A/N: Phew, this was a rollercoaster to write. Also, I’ve added everyone who asked to be in the taglist, if you want to be added please tell me :) And lmao this series is incredibly long, I promise the next one is going to be the last. I will definitely be writing more in the future though!

Warnings: Draco being annoying :)

Word Count: 1k

“Oh my god, for the last time, Draco! We’re going to interview the people first!” I almost screamed, tugging on his arm – but he didn’t budge. His feet glued itself onto the floor where he was standing.

“One by one? No! Do you realise how long it’s going to take?” He forcefully budged his arm a tad bit closer to him, which caused me to take a step closer.

“It won’t take as long if we split up. I’ll ask Hermione for help.”

“Look, if we retrace our steps from that night, we might find a clue.” He debated, raising his eyebrows.

“I doubt there are gonna be any.” I still believed that Draco was the starter of these rumors, I figured if we ask the people where they had heard the rumors from until I get closer to the start, I might catch him and confirm my thoughts.

“You’re just being ridiculous. How would you know when you haven’t even searched yet??” Finally, snatching his arm off my grip, he stared at me.

I cleared my throat, taking a step back after realising how close we were.

“Fine, but we’re still asking people after this.” Not giving a chance for him to state his opinion, I walked past him, hitting my shoulder with his, hearing him sigh behind me.

»»————-　　————-««

“What did I tell you?” Crossing my arms, I raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed, running his right hand through his blonde hair in frustration, his hair finding it’s way back into the same position as it was before he messed it up.

“Alright, we’re continuing with my plan now.” Turning on my heel to leave, I felt a gentle grip on my wrist. I turned to see a tired Draco looking back at me.

“Can we rest a while?”

Looking down at his hand on my wrist and back at him, I thought a little rest won’t hurt.

The sun was starting to set but neither of us said a word. We didn’t really know how to act now – Should we act like our previous selves before I pointed my finger at him? Or should we continue intimidating each other like we did in front of a crowd? For the first time in a while, it was awkward - for the first time in a while, I wanted to leave his presence.

“I’m sorry for treating you like that in public.” I gave him a quick glance before looking back at the orange-ish red sky. “Are you gonna stop though?” He remained silent, causing me to sigh. “I should’ve known, honestly. It’s my fault for liking you.”

I didn’t notice what I said until I saw Draco’s head shoot my way from the corner of my eyes. Did I really just blurt that out? After all this time? At a time like this? God, I felt like running away even more.

“What?” Draco being at my left, I turned my head to the right, ruffling my hair in frustration. Figuring out what excuse to give, I finally turned back around and opened my mouth to say something but he beat me to it.

“I thought I was the only one.” For a moment, I felt as if I was hearing things. “You play with my emotions in ways I can’t even explain. Without even realising, the things you do affect me. The second I see you struggling, my mood becomes dreary, but the second I see that heavenly smile of yours, my day brightens up. It hurts, it hurts so bad to see you in this state… but—" His eyes fought back tears as he hesitated his next words.

“But… the rumors,” Unforeseen, he grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to face him. I could see desperation and hurt in his eyes, which I’ve never seen so clearly before. He always looked like a lost and hurt child but right at this moment, it showed so clearly, my heart sank for him.

“Y/N, I really can’t keep it from you any longer. It’s killing me. I’m so so sorry,” Shutting his eyes as tightly as he could, a tear rolling down his left cheek as he let out a deep sigh in such way that he had to search the words he’s been looking for from deep within his heart. “The rumors, I’m—”

“Y/N!” I turned to the direction of the voice to see Hermione, out of breath with her hands on her knees. “Hermione?”

“Y/N, Oh thank heavens.” She sighed, pulling me in for a quick hug before pushing away. “I thought Harper flushed your uniform down the toilet again.”

“You get your uniform flushed?” I looked at Draco, who wiped his previously wet eyes, scratching the back of my neck.

“Yeah, all because of someone.” Hermione eyed him while he looked away, unsettled.

“Draco, what were you gonna say?” Annoyed Hermione came right at that moment, I hoped he’d still want to tell me. “Oh, it’s nothing.” He forced a smile, Hermione still eyeing him.

Giving Hermione a miffed look, she looked back at me confused.

»»————-　　————-««

Draco and I decided to call it a day and start the search again tomorrow. However, my thoughts were still lingering at the look of his eyes earlier. What was he going to say? I was on my way to his dorm. It wasn’t far from mine. Quite close, really. Being the impatient person I am, I just couldn’t wait another day. The thought of his desperate-looking eyes kept me awake. Hopefully he’s not asleep yet.

I stood outside their dorm, with my ear placed on their door to make sure I wouldn’t be interrupting, but I heard silence. Are they already asleep? Hesitating, I slid the door open slightly, just so I could peep my eyes through the creek.

“Crabbe. I need you to listen to me, you can’t tell Y/N. She’s going to ask everyone tomorrow. Whatever you do, don’t tell her it was me.”

here's part 4 -the final part ;)

taglist: @softlyqoos @malfoy-styles-wife @thatguppienamedbae @daltonacademia @gloryekaterina

82 notes · View notes

shleepys · 3 years

Text

AYYYY I hope you all were safe over the holidays and continue to stay safe over these next few months! Right now my state is dealing with record high covid numbers and a bunch of snow, might be different for you guys but hey, even though we're kicking off the start of a new year we still have to be aware of what's been going on and continue to push through it. But yeah!

We can finally reveal for the @harringroveholidayexchange, so I hope you enjoy what I made for the amazing @catharrington! I don't know how everyone else is formatting theirs if they did fic and art but I'm going to put both here! 💕

- - - - -

Overlooked

prompt! - I’ve always loved the differences in the two boys while growing up, I imagine Steve having huge Christmas parties with champagne flutes and the works and Billy being invited and happy to spend time with Steve, he really is!, it’s just a lot he isn’t used to. All up to author interpretations: make as fluffy or angsty as you want ;)

summary! - Steve forgets they were supposed to hang out elsewhere while his parents threw their annual Christmas party and agrees to stay.

Luckily, Billy doesn’t mind!

The only problem is, they don’t get to hang out... and Billy starts to feel overlooked.

- - - - -

Billy couldn’t be more out of place.

Parties were his thing, don’t get that wrong. He could get drunk, smoke, fuck, do whatever and if Steve was with him, only then it was infinitely better.

But this wasn’t a party. Not the party he knew. It felt more like a corporate gathering or a birthday for someone he didn’t know and he only ended up on the list because his boyfriend’s involved. Which wouldn’t be a problem if everyone around him wasn’t two to three times his age and he actually got to hang out with said boyfriend.

But it’s fine. It’s been fine so far.

Crystal champagne flutes and ugly holiday sweaters just aren’t necessarily Billy’s forte. He can’t fathom how much Steve’s parents spent on this party alone and can only bet that it cost more than the monthly payment for the house on Cherry Road. Not that he has much resentment towards what Steve’s parents do with their money but it just seems… unnecessary.

He takes a sip from his flute, rustling the jacket resting on his lap before leaning further into the sofa to try and wait this out despite already being here for what seems like hours. Billy gradually looks up again and stares into the other room where he can see Steve and his parents.

He can’t see their faces, but he can see Steve’s. Their backs are turned to him - Steve’s off to the side - they’re merely silhouettes so he can’t tell if his parents are just being gregarious or snobby. Then again, neither of them really talk about their parents so Billy has no clue.

Billy watches as a couple leaves, the discomfort continues to overrule Steve’s face as suddenly another appears and the cycle starts over again for what seems about the hundredth time. He huffs, kicking the shagged carpet beneath him before lowly cursing himself out. Should he have reminded him what they were going to do tonight? Or would Steve have rather stayed here?

He can’t tell whether or not Steve’s just over some of the pretentious attitudes and comments he’s overheard in the past hour or that he’s trying to break the chain and get over to him so they can do something together. He could always get drunk and wait for Steve to get done, he knows where the brunette keeps a bottle of scotch that he stole from his dad’s liquor cabinet in the office.

He blinks, lips sucked in to form a seal as he thinks. “Should I go home?” Billy whispers, soft and hurt. There’s not really a point in staying and maybe he can see if Jonathan has anything new to smoke. Deep, contemplative breath.

Billy stands up and discards his glass on the side table next to him before throwing on his coat and grabbing his scarf. Everything from then to going outside flashed by like a blur, nothing of importance really stricken in his mind other than colored sweaters and the sheen of champagne glasses hitting his eye. His breath is almost heavy as he opens the door and a wave of ice rushes over him. It bites at his nose, almost makes him want to itch it but he ventures out regardless. Billy slowly closes it behind him.

Billy sighed softly, eyes falling to the ground. It’s been snowing all day. Coming and going with the wind and dusting every road, house, and tree with freckles of white. Granted, everything was coated before it got too dark and hopefully, the roads weren’t iced over for any of the poor drunks inside. Steam rolled from his mouth as he exhaled before taking a deep breath. Billy threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder and looked out where his car should be, a somber smile passing his lips but twisting into a frown. Steve told him he could park where his family parks.

His feet felt like they were superglued to the deck, that, or like boulders had been tied to the ends of them. Billy bit his bottom lip and fidgeted with his coat pockets, sort of kicked the snow from under him.

He swallowed hastily, a lump bouncing in his throat as he looked out again. Couldn’t pinpoint the emotion to anything else but a pang of burning guilt. Maybe he should have just gone up to him, shouldn’t have made a big deal out of feeling left out, taken him away from his parents so they could go upstairs or leave.

Someone jerked open the sliding doors. Light poured from the inside, Billy twisted around to identify the backlit figure expecting a drunk only to find a breathless, seemingly worried Steve. Billy wanted to furrow his brows and walk off into the snow where he knew damn well Steve wouldn’t go into with house shoes on, but for some reason, he stayed put. Watches as Steve shuts the door behind him and rubs at his arm.

“What are you doing out here?”

Billy doesn’t respond.

Steve seems to catch on, and their eyes lock.

There have been times when Billy goes outside during a party to catch his breath, maybe sneak around back to talk to Steve about one thing or another, maybe drunkenly make out and hope no one was watching or Tommy had their back. But they hadn’t been to a party for a long while, not since September. And, Billy doesn’t just bring his car keys with him to ‘catch his breath’.

Billy broke contact with a sharp ‘huh’. “Did you forget about me?"

“What? No! Why would you think that?” Steve shuddered, pulling his hands into his sleeves.

Billy looked back up with dagger-like eyes, “Because it seems an awfully lot like you did.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

He could bite back, the very opportunity hanging in front of his nose. But he didn’t. Instead, a familiar quiver caught his lip. Lingering feelings creeping up and forcing his hand to itch at his pocket. Billy shook his head, eyes falling to the ground.

Steve frowned, aware of the events to follow. He’s known the other long enough to recognize the outline of Marlboros in any pocket. Deep down wishes there was some other habit Billy bid in, but that’s a matter of discussion that needs to be saved for later.

Eventually, the pack came out. Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Billy, his lighter flaring until the end emitted a pale red before shakily tucking it away. He shook his head again slow and somber like.

“I’m sorry.” Billy started, hands moving along with his words. “And it’s not that I don’t want to be here. You’re just,” he sighed, “busy.”

Steve’s lips sealed tightly at the comment. He saw the discomfort present in the other’s sentences, could feel guilt churn in the pit of his stomach. Thing is Steve wasn’t the slightest bit spiteful, he was pissed at himself for not taking action to check up on the other. Not considering bringing another friend with them in case something like this happened. He’s upset because they were supposed to do something together tonight besides this but he forgot and agreed to be here. Steve watched him take a drag, self-spite running through his veins.

The corners of Steve’s eyes pinched, his throat tightening as he spoke, “No, I’m sorry! This sucks, this whole thing has sucked. I stressed myself out over decorating for the party and was so excited to hang out! I didn’t mean to agree but I forgot! And mom and dad keep introducing me to people. I- I wanted to spend time with you! I didn’t want to be here!” Steve took a step forward before shaky inhale. “This is my fault, this shouldn’t have happened.”

The next few seconds were the two boys staring at one another, each waiting on the other to say something. Billy was at a loss. Steve had a million thoughts streaming through his mind, hoping that the blonde wouldn’t just turn away and leave.

Eventually, Billy glanced at the door, peering through to check if the blinds were shut as a faint smile appeared. Billy’s lips pressed against Steve’s before he could protest, his hand meeting to cup the brunette’s jaw and brush over the apple of his cheek with his calloused thumb and cigarette in the other. Steve’s tears wetted his cheeks, he didn’t mind it all that much. The shock melted into comfort as Steve cherished the kiss, pouted when Billy slowly pulled away from him. The slight tinge of champagne lingering on the other’s lips, the heat of their bodies giving them a little warmth.

Billy craned his head - albeit Steve was taller - until their foreheads met.

“Don’t apologize. I get it.” Billy whispered. Steve gave a small, dismissive ‘huff’.

“My boyfriend should come before a stupid party. I should have told them otherwise.”

Billy shook his head. “The party’s nice. You beat yourself up too much over this kind of stuff, I forget things too. Remember the creek?”

Steve giggled, lips twisting into a smile. “In July when you were supposed to meet me there and didn’t show up? And I stayed there all night?”

Billy frowned as he thought into it, the bitter call at one in the morning that turned into a week of not talking to one another. It ended nicely though - if ‘nice’ was drunk car sex in the middle of the woods. There wasn’t much of an apology there but hey, they’re still trying to work on things and figure out how exactly relationships work because they aren’t exactly a sixty-year-old couple with forty years of experience behind the boy’s backs.

“I still owe you for that. Sorry.” His eyes fell to the deck as he pulled his head away, bumping his cigarette against his finger and watching the ash fall.

After Steve noticed the shift he got quiet, frowned, and eyes followed Billy’s to the wooden boards below. “Don’t apologize,” Steve echoed with a light smile. Gently Steve grabbed Billy’s scarf and drew him in for a slower, deeper kiss.

People forget things, that’s human nature. And sometimes they can be a bit dumb about it too. But this was going to be the boy’s first Christmas, granted it wasn’t exactly Christmas yet, but it was important to them both. Spending time with a significant other on a holiday was amazing even if they can’t shout it out to everyone they know.

These moments always have a sort of energy to them. When the boys share a wordless amalgamation of self-deprecating thoughts after ‘messing something up’ and those little habits come out to bite to express those thoughts oh so clearly. It’s a ball of weird energy that shines in self-hate that the two have been working to eliminate and hey, they’ve gotten pretty far! But, it’s still there. Smiling in the corner of the boy’s minds. Ready to strike at any moment. It’s just a lot smaller now.

Because again, don’t have the forty years and that’s perfectly valid even if the two don’t seem to realize it.

Billy leaned into the sweet kiss before Steve drew back. Billy chuckled and wrapped his arms around the other as he tucked his face into Steve’s neck. Steve shook again, this time cuddling up to the other and ravishing in the heat and short breaths coming out of them both.

“I wanna go inside,” Steve mumbled, rubbing at the other’s back.

Billy laughed and slowly pulled away to look at Steve. “Too cold?”

“I’m in a sweater and sweatpants,” Steve pulled on his scarf again and toyed with the frayed ends. The grin Billy responded with brimmed with bliss, his hand roaming up and held the other’s with a firm hold,

“I’ll meet you inside.”

Steve had ventured back into the party while Billy snuffed his cigarette into the deck, eventually, the two found one another next to the food Steve’s parents had catered instead of cooking this year. Only thing that wasn’t in foil baking trays was the Christmas cookies that Billy had been dying to try ever since Steve brought them up at the beginning of December. Drinks clattered in group cheers from the surrounding areas, the smooth music now bearable. He never expected that a party this foreign to him would turn out for the better. Never thought he would feel… like a part of it? The crystal flutes, richies, and overall appeal still don’t rock with him, but with Steve, he has someone there for him. And that’s all Billy could ever ask for.

Thankfully, he didn’t feel like he was going to projectile vomit champagne anymore… the nausea sort of faded after Steve kissed him outside. Billy turned to Steve, noting the rosy shade still dancing on the apples of his cheeks from outside.

“Your sweater isn’t that ugly,” Billy emphasized, chewing on an ornament-shaped cookie.

Steve shook his head with an amused sigh, sweeping the crumbs from his shirt. “This isn’t that kind of party, if it was I would’ve had you help me make one.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t think Karen from Fiance got the memo.” Billy pointed into the crowd at the woman in question. Her sweater took the cake for one of the ugliest, tensile hangs from her torso, lights strung all over, buttons on the brink of falling off. “You think she beats her kids over the head with a bible?” Steve rolled his eyes. Billy smirked at the little glare he’d received. “You should have pulled out your grandmother’s cat vests.”

Steve gagged, eyes wide and ridden with disgust. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me throw up. I never want to see those again.” Billy snorts and Steve shoves him with a laugh, “It’s not funny!”

“But you’re laughing!” Billy remarks and lightly bumps him back returning the bubbling laughter.

A woman seems to overhear their laughs and spins around with the biggest and brightest grin Billy’s ever seen. It kind of startled him. Doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t care to know until he recognizes the cat vest and how familiar those brown, round doe eyes are. She runs up to them, curls bouncing on her shoulders as she approaches with a drink in hand. Mrs. Harrington gasped, grabbing onto Steve’s sweater with eyes darting between both boys, “Is this Billy?”

Steve smirks and rolls his eyes again. “Hi, Mom. I’m back Mom.” She lightly wacks him in the arm. “Yes! This is Billy.”

Her eyes lit up, dazzled with happiness as she stuck her attention on the blonde as he snuck another cookie in his mouth. “Steve talks about you all the time!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Steve’s eyebrows knit together as he tried to defend himself but deep down knew there was no hope, especially after Billy gave him that smug but appreciative little look as his mom went on her story-telling rampage.

Billy laughs, almost in disbelief, “Really?”

“He talks about all of his friends, really. But, oh! When it comes to you he goes on and on and on, he really thinks you’re something.” Billy watched as the tips of Steve’s ears tinted themselves red and smirked. An interesting conversation for later. “I’m so upset that I haven’t been able to meet you until now! You two are always out or asleep by the time I get home.”

Billy’s brows quirked in an expression of sarcasm. “Well, thank you for not waking me up at two in the morning to introduce yourself.”

Mrs. Harrington chuckled, shaking her head before putting her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to go get another drink. Oh, and Billy!” She paused and made eye contact, “If you want to come over for Christmas, you’re more than welcome too! Just tell Steve so I know.”

Billy’s brows flew upwards, blush rising and Steve picking it up instantly. She waved goodbye before walking around them and going off on her journey into another room. The boys stared again, each waiting on the other to say something until the brunette spoke up.

"She likes you," Steve muttered, ears still red as ever.

"You talk about me to her? I think that's cute."

He huffed. Had to stop himself from leaning against the other to hide his face. "Mom likes knowing what friends are up to."

Billy loosely smiled, slowly bumping into Steve with his hip before getting a light bump back. “You look a lot like her.” Steve shook his head.

“Not as much as my dad,” Steve turned to see if he was there and frowned when he didn’t see the other but slowly faded into a smile. “I don’t know where he is, he would have loved to meet you.”

The boys got quiet again.

Billy cleared his throat, his head tilted down as if to duck away to hide his blush and the movement didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. “About coming over for Christmas-”

“I want you to.” He softly tugged on his jacket to get his attention. Eventually, Billy made eye contact, grinned with a chuckle following behind. Christmas with Steve? His caring boyfriend, twenty million cookies, a few possible presents, and… some loving parents?

Billy couldn’t be happier.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #st #strangerthings #harringroveart #fic #art #harringroveholidayexchange #happy holidays #happy new year!

58 notes · View notes

reversecreek · 3 years

Photo

MEET THE NPCS...

BOBBY YANG, “BIG BOB” .

1. how old are they and what do they look like?

thirty-four. implausibly tall. the day magda first saw a sketch of slenderman she thought of him. when her aunt shelly pulled up the dirt road to abernathy creek magda remembers seeing him through a dusty back window with his head bowed to avoid getting tree leaves in his eyes, joint between his lips, dungarees dirty and half unbuckled. one side of his hair is buzzed with no apparent style intention and he has a weed leaf tattooed behind his left ear. an elephant on his thigh. a name on his ankle he often wears a plaster over. once it soaked through and fell off in the creek and, newly glossy in the sun, nine year old magda reached to give it a blunt and shameless prod. big bob never explained who the name belonged to, he only reached to thumb at the minari growing by the water bed and talk about the fact it was a "versatile little sucker”.

2. if applicable, where and when did they meet your muse?

big bob introduced himself as such and magda raised her eyebrow in disbelief, the soul of a disgruntled pensioner in a seven yr old’s body. magda didn’t rly talk to anyone when she first arrived in her new home, verging on mute. she was angry at the move, angry that her dad hadn’t called her when she got there, angry that she didn’t know her mother’s voice to imagine it telling her everything was okay. the world made her so angry she didn’t want to acknowledge it. she sat outside in silence for a long time letting a ladybug crawl over her hand, and big bob didn’t ask anything of her, he only schlepped closer and presented her with a buttercup. she looked at it like it’d spat in her face but took it nonetheless. it was strange having an actual bed, if you could call a bare mattress that, used to sleeping on the sofa in shelly’s old trailer, and the springs nipped at her like a dog demanding treats, so she wandered outside in one of shelly’s big tie dye shirts like a nightdress, searching for the moon. big bob was standing out there already in the overgrown grass, stark naked, chin lifted to gawk at the moon himself. magda didn’t disturb him. this is when she first discovered his habit of naked sleepwalking. abernathy creek felt like a bird house overrun with all kinds of eccentric, squawking parakeets. it was a lot for a seven yr old to take in. this was a strange reality she’d never signed up for, swallowed by the commune to overheat inside it’s belly.

3. what kind of a presence do they have in your muse’s life? do they have a positive or negative relationship?

bob’s definitely a character. three times now he’s slipped hallucinogens into magda’s tea without her knowing under the impression that this is just harmless fun and he’s actually helping her by pushing her little boat to bob along the ocean of enlightenment, once at as young as 16. every time she realises he’s like “y’just got bobbeddddd!” and magda’s like here we go ig. told her the raw earth has healing properties to explain why he’d dug up the grass just to rub his hands in the soil and lay there like a panting, overheated dog. he’s an important component to abernathy creek and oversees a lot of the agriculture there. rigged up the irrigation system himself using copper pipes that magda suspects were stolen. the beat up camper van that’s usually parked up behind abernathy and hidden under leafy branches appeared when he did, apparently, although he insists it belongs to everyone. he leads the crusades to drive it up to the mountains and take a group of abernathy creek residents shroom picking. he’s in charge of drying them for selling, too. jack of all trades, really. magda claims not to care for him (or anyone) but she still walked out onto the grass, took his hand and lead him inside whenever she found him sleepwalking at night in her teens. once a group of kids were daring each other to get closer when he was out there and magda threw a stone so hard at one of their shin’s it split it open and made them scatter. but again, magda “does not care about him”. the jury is not convinced.

4. are they revered in irving? do they have bad blood with anyone?

honestly everyone in irving probably thinks he’s a rly strange guy and i won’t fk around. he kind of is. wears many necklaces around his neck n one is just a pouch that has a prehistoric mosquito encased in a little piece of amber inside. sometimes magda wonders if he likes to play up to his reputation by putting it on a little bit. once she saw him suddenly jerking his head like a pecking chicken and saying “g’warn GET” to scare a random middle aged hiker into galloping in the opposite direction in the trees near abernathy. has a masterful knowledge of bird songs and can imitate them all impeccably. sometimes does this instead of replying with words. never cares about the holes in his shoes where his toes poke out. always seems to be turning a rusty coin between his fingers like it helps him think. he makes moonshine that will knock u off ur feet tho which is always a good time if ur lucky enough to try it. he has a very rich n warm voice like a log fire or a gooey chocolate brownie. even with all of his oddities he sounds kind. he’s very unconventional n doesn’t abide by rules of society a lot but he’s quite funny n a good time. makes engaging smalltalk if u treat him with respect. weird but admittedly a tiny bit wonderful.

OTIS WOLFE.

1. how old are they and what do they look like?

forty-six but he looks older. the skin beneath his eyes is subtly purpled like it’s been dyed by a lick of beetroot juice. he has a very charismatic walk which doesn’t sound like it makes sense but it does to look at him. he walks everywhere buoyantly and with purpose. very high energy in his good days. lives everything in large quantities, good and bad. always used to wear a tan leather bomber jacket when magda was growing up but he forgot it w her one visit n it’s the only time she’s known him to call up two days after leaving to ask if she’d seen it. magda lied and said she hadn’t. she still has it to this day. sleeps in it on her bad days. otis has a smile so big it shines like live wires are sparking in his mouth. magda’s fingertips prickle like she’s an hour recovering from shoving a fork into a plug socket whenever she sees it. she used to think that’s what excitement felt like. that used to be true.

2. what kind of a presence do they have in your muse’s life? do they have a positive or negative relationship?

it’s very complicated. magda knows her dad isn’t a good person but she knows he isn’t a bad person either. sometimes it’s more frustrating to see things in grey because you just want something solid to take shape that u can actually put ur finger on. she finds herself perpetually stood at a fork in the road between believing in him still and deciding he’s no good. sometimes she’ll start walking in one direction only to realise it loops back on itself and she’s right back where she started. otis has given her a lot of fun “adventures”. taught her how to juggle. they stayed in a hotel on someone else’s credit card once and racked up a gargantuan tab ordering every form of room service and renting godzilla and the matrix on pay per view when she was 11. sometimes he’d use her in gimmicks where she had to lie and pretend she had a health condition so they could get a few bucks off charitable strangers on a street corner and under the veil of youth magda found playing up these roles funny because who would ever believe that? wasn’t everyone in the world so stupid except them? it was nice being part of his team. his “little wolfie”. but then a lot of things weren’t nice either. he’s left her stranded on the side of the road with nowhere to go on more than one occasion. he’s passed out in motel corridors and she’s had to lug him into a bed. he’s forgotten almost every birthday apart from one where he sent a card with five dollars inside and handwriting so squiggly she could tell he was drunk when he wrote it. he doesn’t know she likes to sing because he’s only ever listened when he’s fallen asleep. otis is all of magda’s heart and that’s why sometimes she likes to forget that it’s beating.

3. are they revered in irving? do they have bad blood with anyone?

he’s very flighty n rarely in irving any more tbh but was more when magda was younger n his visits were a little less sporadic. probably owes a bunch of people money for some reason or another. smashed up fannie’s recently when he turned up drunk and got ahead of himself on a giddy n frenzied rampage in the name of “fun” n “just having a laugh”. magda’s aunt shelly really doesn’t get on with her brother n thinks he’s a complete deadbeat waste of space n resents him a lot for the impact he’s had on magda. magda remembers being little and peeking through a crack in shelly’s trailer door when he turned up drunk one time to collect her for a visit n shelly wouldn’t let him in. something along the lines of “you don’t give a rat’s ass about that little girl” and “she worships you, y’know that? most of the time, you don’t even remember her name”. magda crept back onto the sofa and pretended to be asleep by the time she came inside.

4. if your muse is no longer in contact with them, how did the relationship end? did your muse get closure over this?

magda slowly stopped trying to keep in contact over the years. it got embarrassing trying so hard when she didn’t get much back. like pushing a boulder all the way up a hill only to watch it roll back down again. it’s probably contributed a lot towards magda’s inability to really try with people like she should, especially when her heart’s involved. she doesn’t want to be humiliated again. magda hasn’t spoken to her dad in person in almost a year. they had a phone call about seven months back but it turned out to be a butt dial and he hung up because he was in the middle of a conversation at some bar about the moon landing conspiracy. magda’s playlist that i have for her is called “a rodeo clown in a revolving door” which is basically the role otis serves in magda’s life. always in and out. never constant. gone more than he’s there, especially lately. idk if magda will ever get closure over that. she certainly hasn’t now. pouts my fuckable lips to the side w a hand on hip and triple f’s prominent.

#irvingtask002 #magda | muse #drugs tw #alcoholism tw #i said i was gna do hunter too but i simply just dnt have the energy i wont lie. so big bob n otis are all i have to present...... holds ban #omg. bang.#mayb i do more editions of this task for magda in future bc #i have hunter n shelly tht i wna write up....

18 notes · View notes

project-rosewood-476 · 3 years

Text

The Long Way Home

Yet another side fic for ERHIT.

I'm so sorry all I know how to do is angst.

SUMMARY: Tabby and her mom drive home the long way around after a day out. Tabby tries to have a heart-to-heart with her mom but it doesn't go as planned. Leaving Tabby more alone than she could ever imagine

The way home seemed much longer to Tabby than what she remembered—passing through trees that all looked the same with few houses in between. They were driving through the town of Applewood Creek. After this, they would be entering the town of Maplehood Creek and then...home.

Tabby scoffed at that notion. Home? Home is where your real family is. The people who loved and cared and taught and accepted you for you. The people she lives with don't do that, and they're just going back to where they live. The closest thing she had to a home and family was with her friends. But now, she doesn't even have that anymore.

She rested her head on the cool glass window with her knees pulled up to her chest, facing away from her mother, who was driving the car. The miserable child had a dull look in her once wide eyes filled with hope. The only things that brought her brief solace were the rustling of the bags of groceries in the back and the low rumble of the engine that lulled her to the long-awaited sleep.

The older woman at the wheel kept casting pitying glances at her child mixed with concern that only a mother has. She looked to be in her early 30s and looked like a much older version of Tabby. Only she was slightly on the big side and had worse bags under her eyes than Tabby does from working long hours. She wore a lime green tee shirt and ripped faded light blue jeans from years of wear and tear. She had her red-brown hair that was littered with gray strands from stress. Same wide eyes that Tabby does, only hers was green.

Her mother often liked to bring Tabby along for grocery shopping since her "loving boyfriend" repeatedly refused to let Tabby out of the house. So to attempt to make up for the lack of...everything, she tries to take her out for errands, and they go out to eat and talk. It was their weird form of bonding during her mom's limited days off and away from the house, where Tabby was slightly more relaxed. She knew that Tabby hated going home, so they took the most extended way possible back. It was the least she could do.

But that's not enough.

Tabby could feel her mother's periodic gazes on her. She knew something was wrong with Tabby. Tabby grew irritated of her mother's pity constantly on her.

"If you have something to say to me, say it," said Tabby bluntly through closed eyes.

Her mother sighed. She knew she would have this confrontation sooner or later.

"It's just that...Are you okay? I haven't seen you happy in a while. You used to smile so much and had that lightning in your eyes. I'm just worried for you," she stated slowly and awkwardly.

Tabby snorted," You haven't seen me at all in a while."

She turned to face her mother.

"And for your information, no, I'm not okay. I haven't been okay in a long, long time. Why are you asking now?"

She sighed at Tabby's bitter attitude towards her.

"Look, I know I'm not there much. I just thought that for right now, while I'm here, I could help you with what I can."

"Well, for starters, you can find someone else who is more willing to play the part of the parent who doesn't make the 12-year-old do all of the work. What? Do you think he does any of the work? No, I do the cooking, cleaning, and taking care of Adam,"

Her mother went quiet for a minute. She knew who she was referring to.

"I know that your father can be a...difficult person to live with, but he does love you. You know. He... doesn't know how to show it. He's never had a daughter before, so he doesn't know what to do. He has high expectations of you, and that's why he's so hard on you. He sees himself as a failure, and he doesn't want you to end up like him," she explained while beating around the bush.

"Love me?! LOVE ME?! HE DID THIS TO ME! HE DID ALL OF THIS TO ME!" Tabby yelled as she showed as much of the multicolored bruises and scars that she could.

" I promise you it's not just from fights at school. Now I don't know much about love, but I know you don't beat your loved ones nor don't do anything to protect them."

"It will be over with soon. Things will get better. Tomorrow is a new day-," she started.

Those phrases made Tabby snap.

"WHEN WILL IT END?! HUH?! WHAT?! YOU THINK THAT THE MOMENT I TURN 18, YOU THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO UP AND LEAVE?! DO YOU THINK THAT HE WOULD LET ME GO THAT EASILY?! IF HE'LL HAVE HIS WAY, HE'LL KEEP ME LOCKED UP IN THE APARTMENT UNTIL HE DIES! TOMORROW IS NOT A NEW DAY; IT'S THE SAME BULLSHIT DAY IN AND DAY OUT! THINGS AREN'T GETTING BETTER; IT'S GETTING WORSE! YALL ARGUE ALL THE TIME, ADAM IS STARTING TO ACT OUT NOW, AND I HAVE NO FRIENDS LEFT! I'M AT MY WITS END HERE! I CAN'T KEEP ACTING LIKE YOUR HUSBAND, HIS WIFE, ADAM'S MOTHER, STUDENT, SOLDIER, SISTER, DAUGHTER, LIVED IN CINDERELLA, LEADER, AND FRIEND! I NEED HELP!"

She was breathing heavily at her outburst, with her eyes flaming with hatred but slowly softened when she saw her mother cower and flinch a little at her yelling. Tabby realized that she was almost afraid of her and what she's capable of. Tabby knew exactly what given the events that happened towards the end of August. But the thought of her mother being afraid of her and loving her less? It was enough to make Tabby cry. She doesn't want to be seen as a monster.

Her mother sat up straight a little bit and sighed, annoyed and tiredly.

"I'm trying here. I'm trying to be a good mother. I'm sorry I'm not there often. I have to be the one to provide and put food on the table! Most of our arguments involve you; I'm trying to fight for your freedom! But I also have to do what's best for your brother, too!" she explained exasperatedly.

"Then try harder!" Tabby snapped back

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME TABBY?!," she yelled.

"EITHER MAKE HIM TAKE RESPONSIBILITY AND DO HIS FUCKING JOB AS A PARENT OR DROP-KICK HIS ASS TO THE CURB. OR HAVE SOME BACKBONE AND STAND UP FOR YOURSELF AND YOUR KIDS!" yelled Tabby in disbelief that her mom would ask a stupid question like that.

"YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHY WE CAN'T DO THAT!"

They both looked at each other for a moment before sighing in defeat and saying the answer at the same time.

"Adam"

Even though the abuse wasn't good for Adam to be around, it was still stability, even if it was a nasty form of stability. Tabby would rather have Adam around what he's used to instead of getting rid of his dad, which isn't fair to him and having her mom bring in another man who could be just as worse as her stepdad. She was willing to do anything to keep Adam on a good path and provide some stability for him. So he doesn't end up like her. They both don't have the luxury to be selfish.

"You're so selfish; you know that? And you should at least hold some gratitude towards your dad. He saved you and us, and he made us better. We have a better lifestyle now," she scolded her.

Tabby fucking lost it.

"I'M SELFISH?! I'M SELFISH?! I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE, ADAM, HIM, AND YOU! I ALSO MANAGE AND TAKE CARE OF THE WELL-BEING OF MY FRIENDS WHILE I HAD THEM! I KEPT THEM ALIVE! AND I ALSO HELP OUT THE OTHER KIDS AT ROSEWOOD WHEN I CAN AFFORD IT! I AM NEGLECTING MYSELF SAVE FOR MY GRADES TO MEET MY RESPONSIBILITIES THAT YOU BOTH REFUSE TO TAKE! BUT SURE, CALL ME SELFISH BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO GET BEAT FOR EVERY LITTLE THING I DO, AND I WANT MORE FREEDOM INSTEAD OF BEING TREATED AS A SLAVE IN THE APARTMENT AND WANTING WHAT'S BEST FOR ADAM! YOU'RE THE SELFISH ONE! YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING TO STAND UP FOR YOUR KIDS. I HAVE TO DO THAT FOR ADAM AND MYSELF! THERE IS SO MUCH MORE THAT GOES ON AT HOME, BUT YOU EITHER IGNORE IT OR YOU'RE NEVER HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO BUSY HIDING AT WORK FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN LIKE THE BITCH ASS COWARD THAT YOU ARE-," Tabby felt as a sharp crack against her cheek. She looked at her mom with disbelief that she hit her.

The woman was crying as they pulled into the driveway and parked.

"Tabby, I'm- I'm sorry...I-I just wanted you to stop…."

Tabby began to unbuckle and opened the car door hurriedly.

"No. Great talk, mom. I can always count on you for anything now, can I?" Tabby said sarcastically as she slammed the car door and opened the other one, and slamming it before carrying the groceries up the stairs. The older woman just cried at the steering wheel.

Tabby entered the apartment. Her stepdad got out of his chair to see what was up. He just stopped in his tracks to analyze Tabby. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she had a red blotch on her cheek. He could feel the anger radiating off of her; He just raised an eyebrow at her expecting an explanation. Tabby paid him no mind and began to busy herself with putting away the food. She didn't owe him an answer. Not yet anyway.

Tabby's mother came through the door a few minutes later. She looked distraught, and her eyes were red and puffy as well. She hugged her boyfriend for comfort, and he led her into their room to talk about what happened. That's just great. Tabby sighed. Already she knew that this was going to be a long night with more fights and beatings while she struggles to explain why she acted out the way she did. And then they would both demand an apology from her which she'll have no choice but to give if she wants to go to bed at a reasonable time. Nothing ever changes. Her mother yet again chose him and Adam over her, and she was left to fend for herself.

That left Tabby more alone than ever before.

#every rose has its thorn #erhit au #tabby #tabbyanderson #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #original character #original work #angst #mommy issues

10 notes · View notes

kkeidawrites · 4 years

Text

Betrayed

It had been a month or two since Dracula’s reign of terror castrated half the country. It had been within those months that she had last seen Alucard, her cheeks grew warm at the thought of the long-haired man and thought how it would be nice to see him again.

After her stay with Alucard at the castle for a couple of weeks, Esmé received a message from her former nanny to come see her father immediately and she knew that it his illness was getting worse.

Esmé didn’t want to leave Alucard, god knows she didn’t but, the golden haired man knew how much her father meant to her and made the decision to let her go. No matter how much his heart was breaking. Esmé wanted him to come with her but, Alucard refused, claiming that this should be something she should do alone. To get closure.

Her final day at the castle was a tough one, Alucard had escorted her to Gresit and saw her off at the port, where Esmé broke down in tears begging him to come with her. Alucard again refused and the two shared a kiss as a parting gift, promising to return as soon as she could.

She watched from the boat, to wave goodbye to him sobbing in anguish as Alucard did the same, he too releasing tears.

Once she had arrived in Jova, Esmé couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and Sypha and most importantly Alucard but, she knew that she had to see him and to be with him in his final moments.

During this grotesque war his illness had become even worse and Esmé wanted to be with him until the very end. Her father, Aidan, was a man with muscles upon muscles, she would often picture him to be a gladiator and had the most luxurious silky hair, seeing him so sick in his final days made Esmé’s heart shatter.

It looked like he had lost his muscles when she was away at school and he couldn’t keep standing long enough to fall over. The illness targeted his strength first, then his once dark brown skin became pale, and finally his eyesight was taken as well.

In the end, Aiden told his daughter that she shouldn’t stay in Jova to live, but to find a place where she thought would make her feel at home. Esmé could only think of one place that her heart laid and it was with Alucard at his castle. After burying her father, Esmé grieved his death and clutched his notebook where he wrote his final memoirs.

Her father made her promise that she would find a life outside of Jova and that’s what she was going to do. She had fulfilled one promise not it was time to fulfill another. She prayed she wasn’t too late.

And with that thought, she made the arrangements to go and find the infamous castle to visit the son of Dracul. From each town she passed through, the whispers of the castle being located in Wallachia and that’s where she was headed. She was warned by the people to stay away, some criticizing that she may be a witch, that was apart of Dracula’s court. Esmé rolled her eyes at the idea, she knew her possessing powers made her different but, to go as far as saying she was a witch was ridiculous.

Arriving in the town of Wallachia, or rather what was left of it, the smell of rotting flesh immediately entered her nose. Groaning, she put a hand over her nose to block the smell and continued her trek through the town. Everywhere her eyes looked, dead bodies littered the streets, young, old, animals, you name it. The idea that the people here were suffering so horribly after the war made Esmé’s heart sink. She couldn’t imagine what was going through people’s minds as their towns were ransacked and destroyed by creatures of the night. How the children, who at one time had parents but, they were killed n front of them must be thinking. Wrapping her cloak closer around her body, she was finally out of the small town and was now walking through the deep woods that led to the magnificent castle.

Esmé marveled at the scenery as she walked, there was a small river flowing down the creek with bushes with different berries. Taking a few blueberries off the bush, she popped some in her waiting mouth and proceeded her trek through the forest. Finally arriving at a clearing, the smell of rotting flesh invaded her nose again. Putting a hand over her nose, Esmé looked around for the location of the smell and her eyes landed on two wooden stakes that protruded from the ground. Her eyes followed the length of the poles and she saw two people, one male, one female, both wearing nightgowns and impaled on the wooden stakes. Esmé gasped at the sight and almost fell back on her bottom.

Her heart was beating against her chest as she stared at the two dead people, they looked like they have been here a while and Esmé didn’t know whether to run or look for Alucard. Whoever had done this had a grudge, these two were properly clothed but, the way they were killed unsettled Esmé. Finding the strength to get back on her feet, Esmé quickly rushed inside the castle, she was surprised to see that the doors were unlocked and realized how dark it was in the castle.

“Alucard?!” She called, her voice echoes and it sent an unsettling chill down her back.

Heading over to the double stairwell, Esmé saw how damaged the castle looked, the paintings on the walls were all ripped, the decorative vases were smashed, and there was fresh blood on the ground and stairwell. Esmé knew that Alucard could handle himself but, he was not invincible, the idea that he could be seriously hurt made Esmé worried. What if he really is hurt? Rushing up the steps, the familiar route to his room was engraved in her mind. The sharp turns and long hallways guided her through the large interior. Stopping in front of a wooden door, Esmé took a deep breath, this was his bedroom. The only time that she was here was the last time they had seen one another. And the first and last time they had made love. Shaking her head, this was not the time to reminisce she needed to find out what had happened here.

Raising a fist to knock, she heard the creak of the front doors open and Esmé had just turned her head when she felt the air shift, something rush her and a tight grip around her neck. The grip squeezed as Esmé tried to breathe and clawed at what she supposed was a hand.

“You are not welcomed here, human.” the dark voice spoke.

The door to the bedroom swiftly opened and closed behind her and Esmé found herself pressed against the wall. Her eyes were tightly closed ever since her assailant had her in their grasp. Raising a hand, she charged up the little energy she had and blasted the person away from her. Their body flew into the dresser a few feet away from her and Esmé began to cough to regain some of her breath. After her breathing was together, Esmé raised her glowing fists, ready for the next attack.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks.

The person got up from the destroyed dresser, the wooden planks falling off of their shoulders. Pale skin was the first thing she saw and golden locs framing the person’s shoulders. Her eyes widened in shock and she powered down her fists to stare at the tall man.

“A-Alucard...what...” she looked him over and saw the clear distraught on his features. His white shirt was opened and wrinkled, his hair looked rough and unkempt and his eyes...his golden eyes that she came to love were void of any other emotion than anger were present.

Esmé didn’t come close to him in fear that he would try and hurt her again. He clearly was not in the right mind and Esmé feared he did not know who she was right now.

“You came here to betray me too? Just like them?” he asked as he began to stalk towards her. Esmé knew how to subdue Alucard but, how could she bring herself to hurt the man she loved? Her hands were held up by her head in a way to show that she would not harm him but, Alucard could care less. Another human was in his home. Someone else was here to kill him again, just like the last two. They had buttered him down with their sob story, had him teach them how to take down a vampire and even...he couldn’t bring himself to go on because just, that thought made him grow angrier than he already was.

“Didn’t you see the example outside? What happens when humans enter Dracula’s castle? MY castle?!” he pointed to himself as he said this and Esmé jumped at the booming of his voice.

“Alucard, please, just listen-”

“NO!” he roared, suddenly phasing in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. He was literally holding her by the shoulders, her feet swayed from the sudden lift from the ground. The strength of his grip was beginning to hurt her and Esmé grunted from the pain.

“I won’t listen to anymore human lies! No more!” he yelled at her. Esmé felt his nails begin to penetrate through her clothes and she wiggled to be free of his grasp.

“Don’t you worry,” he said darkly. His head came by her right ear to continue to speak so sinister in her ear.

“I will take good care of you just like I did the last two.” He promised as Esmé looked in his glowing golden irises.

“Please...don’t do this...” she whimpered. Alucard set her down on her feet, immediately grabbing both her wrists and using his powers to open the door. Immediately pulling her out of his bedroom, Alucard pretty much dragged Esmé down the hallway.

She tried to pull her wrists out of his tremendous grip but, Alucard would just yank her closer to his person so that she would stop. The quick turns and different doors they took were unfamiliar to Esmé, and every time they entered a different room the atmosphere would grow colder.

“Where...Where are we going?” she hesitantly asked. All she received was silence. This scared her, wherever he was taking her, he was making sure that no one would hear her or even know that she existed.

“You stay here.” He suddenly threw her in a cell, where she fell on her right shoulder. Pain shot through her, and Esmé hissed in pain. The sound of the cell door closing behind her made the woman look up at him.

“I will deal with you later.” he spoke as he locked the cell door then phased away.

“Alucard, wait!” Esmé called to him but, grunted when she felt pain in her shoulder. She rushed to the cell door, but, it made her bounce off due to the cell being spelled. Esmé used the little power she had and tried to blow down the cell but, it ricochets off and almost hit her. She tries three more times and the same results happen again and again. Esmé slumped down onto the cold ground and began to weep, what had caused Alucard so much turmoil to turn into a heartless man.

He couldn’t even recognize her with all the anger he was brewing. And Esmé feared that she has finally lost him.

End of Part 1

Hey everyone! I know it’s been a while since I’ve last been up here writing but, I have thought about what would happen if Esmé went to find Alucard after season 3 ended, I have really thought about writing this and honestly the idea that I had to remember how season 3 ended really made me upset the first time I watched it and I had to stop a couple of times to get myself together. But, anyway, expect to see the next chapter on Tumblr soon I just thought I would give you guys a taste of the continued story between Esmé and Alucard.

And guys please start using the black!reader x anime tag in your stories when you write! It really does show that there are more black writers and authors out there who needs to be seen and appreciated as well. Thanks for everything you guys, like, reblog and share with your friends! And Happy Blacktober! And make sure to check out my other stories that I have written on my masterlist!

1// 2// 3// 4// 5// 6// 7// 8// 9// 10//

#castlevania x reader #castlevania!alucard x reader #black!reader #alucard #betrayed pt. 1 #adrian tepes x reader #Castlevania #my writing #fanfiction #adrian tepes #alucard x reader #betrayed

63 notes · View notes

wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Left for Dead (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,803

Warnings: mentions to bombs and mission stuff, mentions to past torture

A/N: a lil two parter! I'm def a shorter writer so I split up reader’s first mission as opposed to posting like a 5k one shot (unless y'all dig that better for the future???) I’m gonna queue the second part to post on Friday idk what time but otherwise we all know id forget... so. enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It was finally time for your first mission. The night before, F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted you with the fact that there would be a briefing this morning at 8 A.M. You’d figured the superheroes weren’t the type to sleep in.

As much as you’d been enjoying the return of your clothes, you figured it’d be safest to keep the black-on-black outfit for these briefings and anything else you’d be involved in. Attention is not necessarily something you’d want to draw on yourself right now.

You finally find the room you’re supposed to be in and find about eighty other agents. A wave of anxiety rushes through you and you feel your stomach churn. You want to look around and find someone you recognize but Sam is the only one you see; you don’t know anybody. You’re scared to talk to new people, to have small talk, you’re scared of what they’ll say to you, if they’ll remember your face from the news.

You see near the front a blonde head of hair - Sharon. You haven’t spoken to her, but she’d be the safest bet, except there’s no empty seat on either side of her. She’s conversing with a woman with ginger hair to her left and a large body with short brown hair occupies the seat to her right - Bucky!

You notice there’s an empty seat next to him and quickly make your way over before your luck diminishes and someone takes it.

Bucky registers somebody take a seat next to him, which surprises him because most of the agents are still a little scared of him after spending seven weeks training with him. He certainly doesn’t treat them like shit, but he doesn’t baby them, either. He almost doesn’t notice it’s you when he glances up; he forgot you’ve changed your look a bit.

The tattoo on your next is covered with makeup, the angry face too much of an identifying feature. He knows you hate it and were planning on getting it covered anyway. You’ve removed all of your piercings and all of the tiny holes remain empty along your ears. You’ve managed to keep the tiny stud in your nose, though. Your hair is a jet black color now and it shines in the light. How has your hair survived that many dye jobs? Stupid rules for this job; no brightly colored hair or large body modifications, excluding tattoos. Draws too much attention.

He can sense your anxiety next to him; your heart is beating a mile a minute and you’re super tense. He wants to say something, do something to make you feel a bit better, put you at ease, but he can’t think of anything before Sam calls the attention of the room.

“Morning, everyone. NCIS has requested our help with finding a bomb on a Navy ship and figuring out the identity of the woman who told them about said bomb,”

Images flash up behind him projecting pictures of said woman, looking scared with a bloodied bandage on her forehead. She has a fluffy pixie-cut style dark hair and pale skin, or perhaps her skin is pale in comparison to the caked blood matted on her head. Her eyes are a bright green with minimal wrinkles adorning the outer corners. She couldn’t be older than thirty-five.

“A citizen driving by saw her wandering about the street next to a forest and when he approached her she claimed she was buried alive and couldn’t provide any information about herself; not her name, age, where she came from, or who buried her. All she kept repeating was something about a bomb on a Navy ship that was going to kill a lot of people.” Sam continues.

“I’ll be sending some of you out to Rock Creek Park to scope out the scene and some of you to Georgetown University Hospital to talk to Jane Doe. You’re dismissed but await further instruction and be prepared to ship out.” Sam finishes and everyone begins to stand, engaging in small conversations as they exit the room.

You begin to stand and follow suit but a metal hand reaches out in front of you to encourage you to take your seat once more. You throw a confused look over at Bucky, but he’s not looking at you. You glance over to Sharon, who’s staring down at her phone, and to Sam who is flicking through the file in his hands. The four of you, you notice, are the only ones still in their seats, and you quickly make the connection that you’re supposed to wait until the rest of the agents leave after a briefing.

Maybe they’re gonna haze you, newbie. You roll your eyes at that little voice as the door shut and hear it lock audibly.

The three of them glance up and stare at you expectantly. You glance between all three of them before you give up on figuring out what exactly they’re waiting for.

“Are you guys gonna haze me?”

Sharon smirks and Bucky full on chuckles at your question as Sam clarifies, “Do you see anything?”

“Oh! Oh, right, right. Uhm… It kind of doesn't work like - um, I’ll try. I’ll try and concentrate.” You excuse, and close your eyes to force yourself into that mindset.

Most of your visions happen unexpectedly and randomly, otherwise you need to put yourself in a kind of entranced state of concentration in order to, essentially, force a vision. Forcing it is usually what causes you to get the most emotional and frazzled, but nothing you can’t handle.

You feel your face heat up at the shyness your abilities are presenting right now; “Um, can we turn the lights off?” You ask quietly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Sam speaks up.

The lights dim and you try to slow your breathing.

She’s covered in leaves and wet from humidity, the stickiness feeling unbearable on her skin. Her skin? Whose skin is that?

“It-It’s a shallow grave, and - and there’s leaves, um -” All you see and feel is pure confusion. You don’t know anything. “Why is it so shallow? They bury people six feet because - because that’s the depth where animals can’t smell dead, rotting flesh - except - except polar bears because they -” Your rambling is cut short at the sound of Bucky’s soft voice and his warm hand engulfing your shaking, clammy one.

“Sweetheart, try and focus on the Navy ship she was talking about, the bomb on the Navy ship.” He tries to get you back on track.

“Right, right, sorry,” You take a deep, shaky breath in and let out with force to calm yourself a bit.

It’s all quick white flashes, so fast and so bright that can’t see the images in between. All you get are feelings of fear and guilt -

“Do you know if she set the bomb?” A deep voice interrupts.

“Sam,” A feminine one scolds.

“What? There’s only one person that seems to know about this bomb and we’re not going to consider her a suspect?”

“She doesn’t even know who she is,”

“But -”

“She didn’t set the bomb!” You exclaim, everything becoming incredibly overwhelming all at once.

“How do you know?” Bucky asks, his calm demeanor influencing your own as you rub your face to somewhat pull yourself together.

“I - I - I just do! I don’t know! I - I keep seeing bomben hersteller, what - what is that?” You ask.

“That’s bomb fabricator in German.” Bucky translates.

“Okay, let’s stop for a second.” Sharon says, “This is a lot of new information, we should wait and see what evidence and samples come back from the crime scene and see what we can get out of her when the agents interview her at the hospital, maybe her condition’s changed and she remembers something, yeah?” You quickly realize that Sharon is the piece of mind between the dynamic of her and Sam while he strategizes the plans. They work extremely well together.

“Okay, okay. Agent, you did very well. Good job.” Sam praises before leaving to exit the conference room, you assume to go give the agents their orders. Sharon sends you a sweet smile before following Sam out.

You look back at Bucky and he’s already looking at you, smile on his face. “You did really good.” He tells you.

“Thanks.” You respond, feeling a lot calmer.

The two of you are sitting awfully close to each other, you notice, bodies turned to face each other in the rolling chairs you sit in. Bucky’s leaning closer towards you than you are him, his forearm pushing on the armrest and you find yourself pulling your eyes away from his and they travel around his face.

Bucky has beautifully long eyelashes and tiny sunspots and freckles that decorate his skin; skin that’s had over a hundred years of wear. He’s kept his hair short but has been growing out his beard, not to an uncomfortable burly length, but enough to leave quite the dark shadow. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and your eyes flash down there.

You don’t even remember the last time you kissed someone, let alone someone you actually wanted to kiss, not a kiss that was forced upon you. Is he actually about to fucking kiss me right now?

Panic quickly rises through your body and you clear your throat and look away, “Uh, now what?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t go out on missions or anything, so do I, uh, just wait to be summoned, I guess?” Summoned? Why are you so awkward?

“Pretty much, yeah. I’ll, uh, be sticking around, too. Sometimes for ongoing missions I stick around in one of the spare rooms until the case is over.” He softly tells you, unmoving from how close he’s sitting next to you and voice still low and smooth, not looking away from you. Can he tell how nervous and awkwardly attracted to him you feel right now?

“What about Alpine?” You whisper back.

“What?” His eyes are the ones drifting down to your lips, now. Soft looking lips that look like they could kiss him silly and unconscious.

“Alpine?”

“Oh, uh, she stays with my, uh, my neighbor. This little old lady next door to me.” Great, now I’m thinking about my old lady neighbor. You’re biting that lip now and he thinks he might start drooling when you stand suddenly.

“I, uh, just remembered. I have to… clean! I have to clean up, so. I’ll see you.” You push out before finally exiting the room and making your way down the hallway.

You release a frustrated, “Fuck…” as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Meanwhile, Bucky lets out his own groan of frustration in the conference room, hands pushed against his eyes rubbing harshly, “Fuck…”

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes one shot #Bucky Barnes fan fiction #marvel #marvel fan fiction

91 notes · View notes

slashermom · 4 years

Note

I love the childhood friend HC's big-time! Amazing! Perfect! Maybe you could do one for Bo too? Possibly with someone he met during his foster kid years(who wasn't a foster kid themselves)and they eventually find Ambrose with the hope of finding something?

Bo was born with a chip on his shoulder and stiff upper lip which only intensified as he got older and eventually went into the system.

He wasn’t there to make friends and made it clear he didn’t need anyone to take care of him.

His ‘me against the world’ attitude made it very difficult for him to keep a foster home for any period of time.

But on his third or fourth go-around, he found himself in a neglectful but nice enough home.

The folks there didn’t really care about what Bo did or where Bo went, which was like hitting a pot of gold for the young boy.

Which is how you two ended up meeting.

You lived across the street and you two would often see each other as you were going about your day.

You saw Bo frequently and you didn’t think you had seen him smile once. Always had his hands in pockets and a 1000 yard stare.

Maybe he wants a friend? That must be it! He’s just lonely. You had never seen him hang around with any of the other kids in the neighborhood either. If he did, it was to start a fight or chase some poor girl around.

You ended up being very wrong. He, in fact, did not want a friend.

When you tried to approach him he told you to: ‘Fuck off and let him smoke a cigarette in peace.’

What an asshole.

But you weren’t gonna quit that easy.

Maybe you could win his friendship? Come to think about it, he often had a bent cigarette hanging out of his mouth; and your folks often left cartons of cigarettes laying around and wouldn’t miss one or two.

So you waited for the right moment when your folks were out and about and snagged some cigarettes off the coffee table. You waited till you saw Bo descend the front steps of his house before exiting your own.

You quickly caught up with the ball of anger that is Bo Sinclair and tried your best to match the long strides. He did his best to ignore you as you dug into your front pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes and held it out to him.

He stopped walking and turned to you with furrowed eyebrows.

Were you trying to bribe him into doing something sketchy? Maybe you had a little crush? No, that can’t be right. You were definitely trying to poison him somehow. Bo was genuinely convinced you might’ve somehow rigged the tobacco filled stick to blow up in his face once he brought a flame to it.

But you just shrugged your shoulders and said you just wanted to do something nice.

Something nice, huh?

Nice things were few and far between and Bo decided to take it in stride, even if he was apprehensive.

You took his grumble as a sign of appreciation and only mild annoyance and began to follow him around.

At first, Bo was irritated with you hanging around him. Just because you gave him some cigarettes and he didn’t give you hell immediately didn’t mean you were friends.

But soon enough, he came to accept your presence. You evolved from an annoyance to a part of his routine.

He would wait outside your house with the most disinterested look but secretly he was excited to see what you had in mind for the day.

You quickly realized that Bo liked to look for trouble. He hated sitting still. So you began to try and steer him away from the groups of older boys that needed an ass-kicking or the nice Pontiac that was begging to be taken for a joy ride.

You knew Bo did that stuff for attention, so you just devoted your free time to distracting him.

Bringing him down to the creek or racing him on bikes through the town. Letting him rant about anything that was bothering him and laughing at the way he described the people that bothered him. (Bo gets very creative when it comes to name-calling.)

You even once brought him over for dinner and he was so well behaved that your family thought he was the best thing since sliced bread.

Always saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, calling your folks ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir’.

You were happy he was behaving, but it was almost infuriating how fast he could flip the switch from asshole to angel.

You: You're such a kiss ass!

Bo: Only when a meal is involved.

He often talked about his home town Ambrose in his more docile moments.

Not really the people or his family, although he did mention a couple of brothers every now and again.

But more about every nook and cranny. All the places that made him happy or had a good memory attached.

He would vocalize his fantasies about what he would do when he got back. A look of longing with sparks of rage flashing in those blue eyes you had grown familiar with and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

You wondered if that’s where he got the scars on his wrists. You hadn’t noticed them at first, but as you got closer you often caught yourself staring at them. You knew he would never outright tell you what happened.

Your money was on his birth parents.

“You could come with me, y’know? I’ll show you around and maybe you can help me clean up that shithole.”

He only made side eye contact. He didn’t want you to know he actually cared.

“I’d like that a lot, Bo.”

Not long after that discussion, Bo lost his temper on his foster family and found himself getting ready to be placed back into the system for god knows how long this time.

There was no formal goodbye between you two before the Sinclair boy was off to terrorize another foster home.

You were angry at Bo for a long time. Thinking he didn’t even care enough about you to at least see you before he left. It wouldn’t surprise you. But you believed Bo was better than that.

You learned he wasn’t given the option to say goodbye. The system workers already knew Bo’s temperament and were way past giving him any leeway.

But boy, did he fight to stay.

Everything in his whole life had been decided for him and taken from him. Then when he finally gets something good - something that’s his - that’s taken too.

It would be a little more than a decade before you set off to find your childhood friend. Wondering if Bo Sinclair had found his way back home, you decided to try and find his home town.

But that proved to be little more than a challenge. You had seen the signs talking about the House of Wax Bo had described a few times but not like they gave clear directions.

You ended up stopping at a diner to see if any of the staff knew about where you could find this town but nobody really had a clue. Fortunately enough for you, a scruffy looking man leaning against the counter overheard.

“You talkin’ about Ambrose? I could take you there.”

You conversed with the man for a bit, telling him he didn’t have to go out of his way to take you there. He promised he didn’t mind at all and you let the man escort you. He did give you some weird vibes but he seemed harmless enough and you needed to find this town.

He made small talk while you drove down the dirt road. You admitted you were looking for an old friend of yours by the name of Bo Sinclair. The man piped up at the mention of the name and gave you a toothy smile.

“Bo havin’ friends? Now that’s something you don’t see every day! Especially pretty ones.”

You laughed and nodded. The way he talked about Bo with such familiarity, you wondered how they knew each other.

He brought you through the washed-out road and into what you assumed was Ambrose.

It was just as Bo described it. From the service station to the apartments.

Your chest got tighter as he drove deeper into the town before stopping in front of what looked like a movie theater where a man was on top of a rickety-looking latter.

The driver hopped out of his truck before hollering up at the man who was adjusting the sign.

“Bo! You got a visitor!”

You were quick to hop out of the vehicle and get closer to him. Eyeing the boy you used to know so well as he descended the shaking latter.

On the final step down, he removed a cap from his head and wiped the sweat from his hairline, getting ready to ask his brother what he was going on about before his eyes met you.

A beat passed as you both took in each other. You admired the strong young man he turned into with a smile and he was just as much in awe of who you turned out to be.

“You still need help cleaning up this shithole?”

Bo was quick to wrap his arms around your midsection and pull you up into him. He thought about you more than he cared to admit over the years. Wishing he still had you around to be his accomplice to all his shenanigans. He even missed your playful punches and slaps.

As he breathed in your perfume/cologne and felt your chest vibrate with laughter he began to think you returning to him was the universe’s way of saying sorry for screwing him over for the past couple of decades.

You were the first to pull away and take a small step back to get another look at him before perking up and reaching for your back pocket.

“I got you something.”

He raised his brows just like he would when he was a boy and watched as you pulled a package of favorite cigarettes out.

Even after all these years, you were still the same, and Bo was more than thankful for that.

#how yall doing today?#feeling funky?#feeling fresh?#bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005

470 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Note

I present u with a challenge: write a geralt x reader one-shot based on Black Moon Lovers' "A White Demon Love Song".

A/N: I accept your challenge. And I’m sorry, did you say angst? Also this is like the only time I will write Geralt being a personal heater. If you’ve read my shit before, you know I love the idea of Geralt being an ice cube and clinging to heat the same way a reptile does :) And I didn’t use the entire song because this thing got so far away from me sorry not sorry this is what I’ve been working on for the last three days

Warnings: pure angst, no happy ending :)

Word Count: 3.9k

Note: I’m not trying to shit on Yennefer. I love her with all my heart. She’s just a bitch by nature and that’s okay so am I

***

Your heart raced furiously within your chest. Your eyes were open, glued to the ceiling. Your fingers clenched the linens beneath you in some sort of feeble attempt to pull yourself from the nightmare plaguing your dreams.

It was the same nightmare you’d had over and over again, off and on for weeks now. You always dreamed of the White Wolf. It started out happily. You both were content, sitting side by side at a table. Beneath the table, his hand would rest upon your knee. He’d be whispering something in your ear, something you couldn’t remember when you woke up. But you remembered the very real feeling of happiness, pure, unadulterated happiness.

It was just after you would giggle at something he said when things went downhill. A woman you could never see the face of sat down on the other side of him, taking his attention away from you. Then his hand would leave you and he’d turn his back on you.

You’d wake up in a cold sweat, your stomach churning like you were ready to vomit. Rejection was something you were used to, but with him, it was foreign and excruciating.

The nightmare had long since become a reality.

You’d known Geralt of Rivia and his travel companion, Jaskier, for six months before the mage came into the picture. You’d saved Geralt’s life on a hunt and when the fighting was over, you found yourself staring into heavenly golden eyes. He offered to pay for a meal at the tavern he was staying at. Jaskier was quick to suggest that you join them. He secretly wanted someone to be able to watch over Geralt’s back should he need it.

It had been just a short three months since Yennefer came into the picture, since Geralt wished that she be forever tied to him. You weren’t certain of the details but you didn’t want to know either.

White demon love song down the hallWhite demon shadow on the road

Two Months Later

Even while you slept, you couldn’t stop thinking of the witcher. He was everywhere. In every reflective surface you passed, in every tired smile you saw. Hell, sometimes you’d hear his voice. It seemed like you always found something that reminded you of him.

Snow falling from the sky made you think of how his pale white skin was cold to the touch. But just like a snowflake, when you’d touch his arm or his shoulder with a soft hand, he’d melt. Though he wouldn’t allow anyone else to know it, he was a sucker for gentle gestures.

Anytime you’d pass someone with a cloak shielding their face from the outside world, you thought of the same way Geralt wore the hood to his cloak. He often used it to cover his head. His hair was a tell-tale sign of who he was, what he was. If he didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself, he’d just wear his hood.

“Y/N, are you even listening?”

You turned your head to Jaskier, raising your brows.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

You’d been too busy watching the door, awaiting for the witcher himself to show. You sat at a table towards the back of the inn’s tavern with the bard. Geralt had gone to put Roach in a boarding stable and said he’d be back briefly. Surely that meant any time soon.

Jaskier sighed gently as he watched you look back to the door. Every time it opened, he could see the brief flicker of excitement cross your features. You always lit up whenever Geralt was around.

Deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to come join you and Jaskier. There was a brothel you’d passed coming in to town. His relationship with Yennefer was-at best-undefined, but it was there. They felt for each other and at any chance, they’d reconvene and fuck until they’d had their fill of each other. But lately, Geralt had been visiting brothels between his visits with the violet eyed mage. He was an insatiable man. Whether it be because of the need he had to be with Yennefer, or just because that’s who he was, he often used wenches and whores from brothels to pass the time.

“You and I both know he isn’t coming, Y/N.” Jaskier spoke softly. His words, though not meant to be hurtful, stung.

You dropped your gaze to your hands, your fingers tightening around your mug of ale. Your chest squeezed and you felt sick. You nodded your head, pressing your lips together in a tight line. You sniffled and took a shaky deep breath.

“Love, I hate to see you like this.”

“I’m fine, Jask.” You lifted your head, forcing a smile on to your lips. “Just thought…. I just thought it’d be nice for us to hang out. You know, like we used to. Just the three of us.”

You shrugged your shoulders softly, dropping your gaze back to your drink.

“Guess he doesn’t have time for us anymore.”

Jaskier moved out of his seat and slid into the seat next to you. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and he pulled you in for a hug.

“That isn’t true, Y/N, and you know it. He’s just…. he’s adjusting to having Yennefer around.”

“It’s been three months, Jaskier.”

“I can assure you, he doesn’t get attached to people easily.”

“Oh, I know.” You muttered under your breath. The ache in your chest hurt, but at least you felt something, right?

Back up your mind, there is a callHe isn’t coming after allLove this time

One Week Later

It was a chilling night spent between villages. You all had decided to settle down and make a camp just before the sun disappeared behind the trees. As the sun disappeared, a bitter cold took its place.

You sat around the campfire Geralt had built. He sat across the fire from you with Yennefer by his side, as always. Jaskier was just a few feet off to your left. You rubbed your hands along your forearms, your eyes studying the flames while your ears listened to Geralt tell a story to Yennefer. It was of one of his first Selkiemore hunts.

You weren’t really taking in any of what he was saying. You were listening to the sound of his husky, low voice. His voice was the first thing you fell in love with. He had a way of making everything that fell from his lips intoxicating. The deep hum from within his chest when he grunted was something you never wanted to forget.

You remembered feeling it for the first time. It was during a bitter snow storm that plowed through the village you had stopped in. Jaskier made his usual rounds at the tavern down the street from the inn. You and Geralt retired to a room and settled into bed. The fire in the hearth did little to keep you warm and Geralt noticed this. You were shivering in the bed next to him beneath your own set of blankets.

Without saying a word, he moved closer to you and wrapped one arm around your waist to pull you into his chest. Younstiffened up at first, unsure of what he was doing. But as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, you melted against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked you quietly.

“Yes. Thank you.” You smiled to yourself. “You’re nice and warm.”

He hummed softly, the vibration carrying through the shirt you wore. It was oddly comforting to feel it, to know he was so close to you, protecting you from the cold.

You used to share a room with him before Yennefer arrived in his life like a hurricane personified. Jaskier often had company of his own, so you and Geralt became accustomed to sharing a room.

She likes the way he singsWhite demon love song’s in her dreams

Two Weeks Later

You walked with Jaskier through the corridor of the inn. He laughed at something you said, a joke made about the rude old man running the place. As you both turned down the last hall that would take you to the rooms you’d be staying in for the night, you came to a stop.

Just down at the other end of the hallway, Yennefer and Geralt were embraced in a passionate kiss. He had one arm wrapped around her and the opposite hand holding her cheek.

You chest tightened unbearably. You couldn’t stand to watch them.

Your arm slipped from the bard’s and you turned, fleeing the inn. You ran and ran, unable to stop your legs. They took you as far away from Geralt as they could.

It was nightfall before he found you. You were sitting on a large rock next to a creek, your legs folded beneath you as you stared at the running water.

Surely what he felt for Yennefer wasn’t true. He made a wish. Their connection was through a magic tie. It was fake, a knockoff for love at best.

You knew the feelings you held for him were honest. You cared about him, hated seeing him hurt when Yennefer did something like spit mean and hurtful things during an argument–which they frequently had. You hated seeing the way his eyes would glaze over with a hardness when villagers said anything regarding him being a monster. It made you furious. Why couldn’t they treat him like the hero he was?

But he felt nothing for you.

White demon, where’s your selfish kiss?White demon sorrow will arrange

When he found you sitting on that rock, he could smell the salty tinge of your tears in the air. He could hear the way your heart beat in your chest, steadily and quicker than usual.

“Y/N?”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced the tears away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry–,”

“No.” You cut him off sternly, shaking your head. “I-I don’t want to hear it, Geralt. I just-I don’t.”

He stopped a few yards away from you.

“It’s getting late. You should come back with me.”

Anger grew within you like gasoline being added to a fire. You stood to your feet and stepped away from the rock.

“I know you feel something for me, Geralt. There was a connection, a strong connection between us before she came along-,”

“Don’t bring Yennefer into this.” He warned.

“She is the reason I can’t stand to be around anymore, Geralt!” You shouted at him. “You are so blinded by magic, by a spell that made you fall in love with her-,”

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” His voice, usually warm and kind, was hard and stern. He was growing agitated with you.

Your fingers curled into fists by your sides and tears of anger pooled in your eyes.

“I want you to admit that you feel something for me.” You spoke through clenched teeth in an attempt to hold back the tears. “I know I’m not the only one-,”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N? How the fuck am I suppose to know if I feel anything for you?” He growled, taking a step closer to you. “I know that I care for you. I would never wish harm to come to you. I-I enjoy having you by my side, but how am I suppose to know if those feelings run as deep as you think?”

“Kiss me.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. You paused for a moment to gauge his reaction but he said nothing. “Kiss me, and you will have your answer.”

He was close enough that one more step put him toe to toe with you.

Your heart raced so loudly in your chest, you were sure anyone within a ten miler radius could hear its frantic and wild beating within your ribs. Your stomach twisted with butterflies as he placed one of his hands, massive and calloused, upon your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling and you unintentionally leaned into him.

His lips pressed to yours with such a softness that you could feel yourself melting into him. Your hand came up to hold his bicep and then the other went to his shoulder.

There was an underlying bitter taste to the kiss. This would either make or break your relationship with Geralt. This was your defining moment.

You were confused when he pulled away, your brows drawing together. When you opened his eyes, you saw the look in his amber eyes of disappointment.

He wanted to feel something for you, but it wasn’t there.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” You quietly asked, hope tainting your weak voice. You squeezed his arm to encourage him. The wrinkle between his brows that came when he was unhappy with something told you all you need to know. You just needed to hear him say it. “Tell me you felt it. Please.”

He softly shook his head.

“No.” The gentle word was uttered quietly. He retracted his hands from you and took a few steps away, almost like he couldn’t stand to be close to you anymore.

It was funny how one word, one small word, could crush you.

“I still want you by my side, Y/N.”

His words took too long to process. You were trying to focus on not vomiting or crying out. You wanted desperately to beg him to forget about Yennefer. You wanted things to go back to the way they were, when he didn’t choose her over you.

You blinked and nodded, biting your bottom lip.

“Okay.” You agreed in a hoarse whisper. You couldn’t just leave him be. Often times, locals were more willing to talk to you than the brooding Witcher. You were useful to him.

“It’s late.” He glanced around, needing to look at something other than your heartbroken eyes. “I’ll walk you back to the inn.”

You shook your head, still biting your bottom lip as you struggled to contain yourself. The dam within you was flooding and you were drowning, unable to save yourself and without anyone to save you.

“I-I want to walk-to walk back alone.”

He watched you for a few moments but you couldn’t look at him. Your eyes were fixated on the ground beneath his boots. He turned and headed back in the direction of the village.

You waited for a while, wanting him to be out of earshot when you broke down.

Your hand came up to your lips, brushing gently over where he’d kissed you. A mournful cry fell from tour lips. It was gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.

Your knees buckled and you collapsed to your knees. One hand covered your mouth while the other held your upper half up. Your nails curled into the dirt, fingers fisting around tufts of green grace.

Let’s not forget about the fearBlack invitation to this place that cannot change

Two Days Later

You sat alone at a table in the corner of the tavern. Your hands were loosely wrapped around the mug of ale you’d been nursing for the better half of an hour.

You could hear the boisterous crowd of patrons enjoying the night drinking, sharing stories, and laughing, but it was all muffled. It was as if you were miles away and could only hear the little noise.

Your eyes focused on hour cup of ale while your thoughts ran wild.

It had been just a short two days since you and Geralt kissed, and you hadn’t spoken to him since. You wondered if he was staying away because of how foolish you’d acted, how you let your emotions get the best of you. You should’ve just shut up and forced everything down like you always did.

Jaskier approached your table, taking note of the way your fingers slowly constricted around your drink. Your eyes were empty, void of any emotion. But there was a glossy tint to them, one that had been there for a few days now. It was like you were constantly on the verge of breaking down into tears.

“Hi, love.” The bard greeted you gently, turning the chair next to you around so he could face you. You looked at him very briefly, offering him a forced smile. “I’m worried about you. So is Geralt.”

“No he isn’t.” Your voice was hoarse and quiet. Your gaze flickered over to where he stood at the counter with Yennefer. His head was turned to face her, giving you a perfect view of the gentle smile on his lips as he looked down at her. “He has her.”

Jaskier followed your gaze.

“But he still needs you.”

You stood from your seat and finished off the rest of your drink.

“I’m leaving, Jaskier.” You sighed out gently.

“I’ll go with you.” He pushed himself out of his chair.

“No, Jaskier. I mean I’m leaving leaving.”

He furrowed his brows as he gazed at you.

“Like forever?” He murmured gently. “Love, you can’t do that.”

“Sure I can.” You nodded your head, trying to sound as excited as you were upset. “I’ve stayed far longer than I should’ve. I never meant to stay this long.”

“But you did, Y/N!” Jaskier followed you as you left the building and stepped out into the rain. It was coming down softly, slowly. There was almost a melodic tune to it. “You stayed! And because of what? Because-,”

“Because I thought I’d gain something from staying.” You snapped, turning to face him.

“You gained me, love.” He smiled but it wasn’t real. He was hurt from what you said. You were never harsh to him.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Jaskier.” You put your hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “I treasure your friendship, Jask, more than I could ever tell you.” You moved in to hug him, feeling the overwhelming need to be embraced by someone, anyone really.

He hugged you tight, afraid to let the woman he viewed as a sister go. He wasn’t prepared for you to leave.

“I can assure you that none of us want you to leave.”

In his arms, your facade crumbled and the tears left your eyes. You fisted his shirt, burying your face in his chest.

“It isn’t fair.” You cried quietly.

“I know, love.” He hushed you gently, brushing his hand over your back.

While strangely holy, come for a rainWhite demon, widen your heart’s scopeWhite demon, who let your friends go?

One Month Later

Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline coursed through your veins the same way the rapids in a river moved.

You’d just finished slaying the werewolf after Geralt nearly killed himself. The beast left deep wound on the witcher’s chest, ones that were bleeding heavily. Why hadn’t he worn his armor?

He was on his knees when you reached him, his head hanging and eyes closed.

“Geralt!” You called his name, kneeling down in front of him. You tentatively reached out to move the shredded cloth of his shirt. He inhaled sharply and lifted his head. You retracted your hand, looking up at him. Amber eyes were focused on you.

“Why do you have to be so damned stupid?” You thought out loud, pulling off the cloak you wore to use the material to stop the bleeding. The blood could always be washed out later.

He said nothing to you.

Knowing you couldn’t do much until you were at the inn, you stood to your feet.

“Come on. We should be getting back.” You turned to walk away from him.

He could hear the anger in your voice. You were upset with him.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered out. You turned back to him.

“Don’t apologize to me. You chose to come out here without your gods damned armor. You are choosing to let your emotions guide you, Geralt. You’re going to end up dead.” You told him.

When he stayed silent, you started to leave.

“She left this morning.”

You stopped in your tracks. Sighing heavily, you turned to face him.

“I know.”

You’d heard the argument the witcher and the mage had at dawn. Geralt didn’t like that Yennefer was still endangering herself in an attempt to find a way to have children. They argued frequently, but never enough that Yennefer would leave.

“Come on. If you’d like to talk, we can talk once we get to the inn.” You didn’t want to talk about his issues with the mage. You didn’t even want to talk to him. You just wanted to make sure he would be fine before retiring to your own room for a sleepless night.

Jaskier talked you into staying when you told him that you wanted to leave. You stayed for him, doing your best to avoid Geralt. Yennefer never really spoke to you so avoiding her was easy. Geralt, however, still asked you to join him on hunts. You had learned to push your emotions down, to fight anything and everything you felt.

“I don’t deserve your kindness.” He whispered.

“You did nothing wrong. You can’t help that you don’t feel anything for me.” You murmured, shrugging your shoulders softly.

“I’ve pushed you away, haven’t I?” He met your gaze. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“No. I chose to stay away.”

He nodded softly, his eyes falling to the ground just ahead of him. A few silent moments passed between you before he spoke.

“I care about you, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened but not from happiness. It was painful and made you feel as though he had just shoved his hand through your rib cage and tore yourself heart out. A surge of anger flew through your body.

“You don’t get to say that.” You spoke through tour teeth. “You don’t get to say that, Geralt. Just because Yennefer left doesn’t mean I should come crawling back to you-,”

“I didn’t say that because she’s gone.” He cut you off, rising to his feet. “I just need you to know that.

You shook your head and started to stomp through the woods.

“I never wanted it to be like this, Y/N.” He followed behind you. “There was a point in time where I wanted you.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” You spun around to face him.

He didn’t know an answer to your question. All he could do was gaze down at you.

“I have suffered an unbearable pain because of what you did, Geralt. The wish you made-,”

“I didn’t want her to die!”

You nodded understandingly. You hated that you understood him. You were angry that he had admitted what he did, that he cared for you. You’d been doing so well in healing, in recovering from the wounds brought on by such a heartbroking rejection. You had just recently started to fall asleep without crying. You were moving on. And here he was, opening old wounds.

“Tend to yourself when you get back to the inn. I need a drink.” You muttered under your breath, knowing he’d be able to hear you.

Taglist: @riviawitch3r @notyouraveragemochii @dev1lbella @rosyghosty @merendis @lalalalemonade11 @wayward-dream @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @tshuuls @havenoffandoms @queen-sands @crazzyter @katiejmac @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @jennylovelyheart @stretchkingblog97 @itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead @hm-fck @mactho @msgeorgiarae @tragicmisfits @randomzxx @alwayshave-faith @rahdaleigh @lizliz3107 @turtlefordestiel @d14n4ol @asix122747483 @minervalavender @agniavateira @hina-chans-stuff @dressed-up-heartbreak @persephonehemingway

If you are in italics then it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#geralt #the witcher #henry cavill #geralt the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #the witcher netflix #request #requests #queenxxxsupreme

272 notes · View notes

blissfullylostinarabbithole · 3 years

Text

Duckling Pt. 7

Pairing: AU!Teen Wolf x Reader x AU!Avengers, Derek Hale x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Peter learns why he should never, ever approach the owner of the yellow Skylark.

A/N: This one’s a short, little filler, but not to worry! The next part will probably be up by the time you finish this one!

A/N 2: Plot requester didn’t remember the name of the film this is based on, so if you recognize it, let me know!

<< Prev . Next >>

Nat hadn’t spoken to Brock since that game. He’d gone over to the house, actually walking up to the door, and asked to see her on a few occasions. She turned him away every time. She knew she was a hypocrite for getting as angry as she did, knowing she wouldn’t have cared had he attacked any other player on the team. It didn’t matter, though. She was actually pleased she was rid of him, much to her own surprise. More than anything, she was relieved that no one saw anything at the game. Still, she didn’t relax; she couldn’t. Not only would there be other games, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before someone ran into you. It was a small town, after all, at least compared to New York. All she could hope for was that no one recognized you when they did.

The only bad thing about breaking up with Brock was that now she was back at square one; no boyfriend, no friends, and nothing to do. She considered pursuing something with Clint, but it seemed to her that every time they spoke, it was because she initiated it.

Word spreads fast in school, so she knew everyone knew she had left her old group of friends behind, yet no one stepped up to try to befriend her. She thought for sure Clint would, but he didn’t. At first she thought maybe it was because he was Brock’s teammate, and it would complicate things or cause problems amongst the team, but it looked like Brock was getting the same treatment. It shocked her, as she didn’t think his usual crowd could ever do anything but worship the ground he walked on. She didn’t care, though. Brock was no longer her concern.

For the first time in a long time, Nat didn’t want distractions. She wanted something real. It hit her when she saw not only the concern of your teammates, but the concern of some of the academy’s players, too. She saw how T’Challa had commanded his players to back off when Derek beat Brock, and when Clint actually spoke to you, making sure you were ok. It made her realize just how lonely she really was.

She didn’t understand it until she saw Derek, though. He was even angrier than she was when Brock tackled you, and Clint’s words came flooding back to her.

When you see them together, you’ll know.

The relief on his face when he realized you weren’t hurt morphed into pure adoration. As he looked you over, needing to be sure you were alright, her own heart broke at having never seen that look on Brock’s, or anyone’s, face. Whatever Derek was, whatever he did or whatever facade he put up, it’s not who he was when he was with you. Meanwhile, she never dropped hers in front of anyone. No one had ever made her feel the way you seemed to make each other feel.

Now she’d seen you together, and she knew.

She never stood a chance.

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

As much as Peter missed his friends and his old hangouts, he was starting to love his new home. He had a smart, beautiful girlfriend, an awesome car, and little to no city traffic to prevent him from enjoying it when the time came.

He was in the driveway again, listening to the radio in his ‘new’ Chevelle. It was about the only thing that worked in the old car, but that was the way he wanted it. Sometimes the twins would join him, making engine sounds and pretending they were on a trip. Other times, he’d end his dates with Shuri there, talking until it was time for her to go home.

The sun had just set, and the light was quickly diminishing. Her brother was due to pick her up any minute, so they sat in the car, relishing the last few moments they had together. They were speaking animatedly about their plans for spring break, which Steve had surprised them with a trip to the southern part of the state, and invited Shuri to come along. She had squealed that she’d always wanted to go to Disneyland.

A yellow car sped by, and Shuri pursed her lips at the gleam in Peter’s eye as he watched it shrink in the distance. He turned back to her, and his smile faltered at the worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You don’t like the Skylark?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that.”

“Oh, well, what is it?” He could hear her mind working, trying to decide if she should say what she was thinking. “Do you know who owns it?”

“No, not really. I know her name’s Y/N Lang, and she calls it Honeybee.”

“Aww,” Peter gushed. “That’s cute. You think she’ll let me take a picture of it? My friend Ned back home would-”

“No!” Shuri interrupted, clutching tightly on his arm. “You mustn't speak to her!”

“W-why not?”

Shuri sighed, deciding it would be better to tell him what she knew, rather than risk Peter putting himself in danger. “Because of Derek Hale.”

Peter knew that name, he’d even seen the guy around town once or twice. Most people seemed to be afraid of him, from what he could tell. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“He’s her boyfriend,” she leaned in, whispering as if it was some big secret. “Things don’t go well for people who cross their path. I’d say ‘Just ask Matt Daehler’, but...”

Peter’s brows knit in confusion. “Who’s that?”

“A boy who was found drowned in a creek last year. A shallow creek. My cousin said it happened just days after he spoke to her. Derek was the prime suspect.”

Peter visibly paled, swallowing hard at the information she’d given him. “But, there wasn’t any evidence, was there? Since he’s free right now. Why did they think it was him?”

“Look, we don’t even know Derek. My cousin thinks all the rumors are true, but my brother’s not so sure.” She hesitated again, but she quickly relaxed, resigning herself to just getting it all out there. He’d hear everything eventually, it might as well be now. “His family died in a fire a few years ago. Only three people survived: him, one of his sisters, and an uncle who said it was a miracle he was able to get out. Then, two years ago, his sister was killed. Had their uncle been trapped in the house, the only surviving member would be Derek.”

“Wait, so people think he killed his own family?”

“That’s the rumor,” she said. “It’s not just family, but girlfriends, too! Before his sister, his girlfriend was found in the woods. Then it was an ex last year. Throat ripped right open. Then when Matt died, and people started saying he was seen talking to Derek’s current girlfriend…”

“They assumed he did it.”

A loud knock on Shuri’s window startled them, making them both scream. They could hear T’Challa laughing, and they climbed out of the car just as Bucky ran out the front door, clutching a large hunting knife in his hand.

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

There weren’t many times you were seriously angry at your sister, but this was one of them. You’d all been ready to go, and were only waiting on your dad to double check the back door was locked before leaving, when Cassie spilled juice all over herself.

Now your dad had to get Cassie cleaned up and changed. You’d offered to do it, but he already had her halfway up the stairs and told you to sit tight. You swallowed thickly, turning back toward the living room.

Hope smiled at you, but you could see it didn’t reach her eyes. You offered your own strained one in return before taking a seat on the couch across from her.

“So,” she began awkwardly, “will Derek be joining us tonight?”

“Oh, um, no. He has… other things to take care of.”

She nodded in understanding, only letting silence linger for a moment. “Everything’s going well at the garage?”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s good.”

“That’s good. And you? Are you happy at Argent’s?”

“Can’t complain.” You hadn’t noticed when your knee began to bounce, so you pulled your legs up and sat cross legged instead.

“I hear your team made the semi-finals. Excited?”

The minutes dragged, and though you resolved to try to make things less awkward with Hope, it didn’t seem like it was any different than before. You suffered through small talk, silently begging your dad to hurry up and get down there already.

It felt like hours had passed by the time they descended the stairs, finally ready to begin your ‘family’ outing. They were a regular occurrence, but it was the first one Hope attended.

It wasn’t too bad, once it was the four of you again. You pretty much just focused on Cassie, keeping interactions with your dad and Hope to a minimum. It was easy enough to do, and easy enough to not let negative thoughts creep to the forefront of your mind. At least, it was until you fell a bit behind, and noticed how sweet the three of them looked together.

They held Cassie up, swinging her between them as she laughed. You tried to be grateful that Hope seemed to genuinely care about them, but you couldn’t help the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach that made you question if there was room in that picture for you.

Your father’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts. As you picked up the pace to catch up, you realized it didn’t matter whether or not you fit in. You only had a little more than two years of school left. After that, you’d be off to college, or moving in with Derek, and you wouldn’t have to feel like the odd one out anymore.

Permanent - @melconnor2007 @ria132love @psychicwitchphilosopher @sireennotsiren @silence–in–the–library @thefridgeismybestie @hymnofthevalkyrie @abbybills22 @mvasquez492 @ek823 @nicky10876 @sophiealiice @madeof-ink @dugan365 @magnitude101999 @way-ward-whale @i-am-the-fandom-warrior @seabasstiantrash @eden-the-human-garden

Duckling - @lgkoval@charmed-1998 @broco8 @sailor-earth-1 @sincerely-kizzy

If I missed you, let me know!

#marvel #Avengers #teen wolf #derek hale x reader #reader #reader insert #Duckling

24 notes · View notes

optimistic-dinosaur-nacho · 4 years

Text

Bloodshed AU

Chapter 5

Warnings: Nudity, Gore, Language, Violence Summary: Steve Rogers works in a research and tech company in New York. He’s been digging into myths and footage on a creature known as the werewolf. Vicious as they are, he hunts them. With a lot of failures, his team thinks he’s crazy. He may prove them wrong.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Characters (Bloodshed Seven)

The day had grown cold as the ice slowly melted during the day. They were sure by tomorrow the snow will wet the ground and Y/N could hang by the coastline with Bucky.

They may not swing that day, but she would love to watch the ocean wash up on the shore and retreat back to the dark sea.

She followed Bucky through the snow, shifted into their wolf forms as they scouted the area. Freely to roam the area after the hunting season had ended, they hoped no one was out here tonight.

Someone did.

Took a step onto the trail he once came through with a woman. Steve had his backpack on his back while his truck was parked in the side of the road. He hoped those people who lived down the trail won’t find his truck and call the police, invading their property. He walked down the trail—the one his father took him down for the one night.

His heart beat against his rib cage like thunder in his ears. His breathing was getting difficult to keep at a steady pace.

Flashlight in hand, it barely shined light to the outer woods. He kept it on the trail and that was all he could see.

The fear of turning around made him tense up. This fear always got to him. He would’ve wished he woke up in that bed in the motel. This all as a nightmare but he felt the cold. He felt the metal flashlight in his hand.

He could see his breath appear in front of him. His long hair covered his ears but he still felt the cold bite at them. He needed to find that spot or at least a sign of those Godly beasts.

He did bring a weapon. A hunter’s knife and a gun.

Even at the slightest sound, he’d reach for one of them. He kept moving. Maybe a mile down, he found a familiar spot. He could hear his father’s stories in that exact spot.

Those howling behind him when he was a kid. He looks around and turns to where he did hear the howling for the first time. The direction he heard it was actually where that family’s house was. Somewhere in the North, he heard that howling with his father and that led to the family’s house.

That house looked new to him. He would’ve saw it as a kid when they returned back home up the trail. They must’ve been new. Steve wondered if the family heard about the werewolf stories. Things that rotten in the snow and dirt. Those hunters, too.

No one found them yet.

Steve gasps and whips around when a howl was heard. It lasted for a good long 10 seconds before ending. He gripped on the flashlight. Of course, normal wolves roam the area and he knew some could play tricks and just make him go crazy.

Wolves were bigger than domestic dogs, but werewolves are larger than wolves. Their paws were almost the size of a bear’s paw, regular wild dogs were the size of your palm almost.

Steve heard the howl after the other. He knew those were close. His turned off his flashlight and he was drowned in the darkness. The only light source was the cold moon.

He started to run. He felt chills. His heart beat against his rib cage again and the dread began to raise every second. He was reliving the dream— but he wasn’t running away from a werewolf.

He was running towards one.

If he got closer, he’d have to lay low. He grabbed the knife from his pocket and ran. He met the edge of the hill. Immediately, he slid down on his hip. Meeting the bottom of it, swiftly he stands up and continues to run.

He stopped.

Something made him stop. He looked around. Silence. The forest was awfully silent. His breath came out as large huffs as he looks around almost in fear but desperation.

Y/N rushed through the woods and came to a stop. Shaking off her snow mane, she looks around. The howl rumbled through her throat as she released the long howl into the night.

It lasted for a good long 10 seconds before she lowered her head. They were patrolling tonight. Making sure no hunters were around. She heard a howl from her right.

Bucky.

He howled out as a clear over in the South. The next one to her left.

Ada.

Y/N went to head back to the cabin once she let out a short howl till something picked her scent. The smell triggered the feral inside again. With a harsh snarl, her eyes glow bright blue as she chased after the scent and ruffled the snow.

Steve continued to look around. His chest heaving up and down as he stood in the snow. Trees surrounding him. Shit. His heart began to hit against his chest again. The tightness in his chest began to make him choke on the air.

His eyes began to feel blurry.

Breath.

The fear of being in the forest alone without no sign of people. He needed to head back. He turns. Whipping around every second to the smallest sounds. His hand shook, fingers barely holding onto the blade in his hand.

He started to not think straight. Thinking there were snarls around him. Either behind or deeper in the forest.

Y/N stopped and felt their presence just over the hill. Her cold blue moon eyes watch the shadow of a man. She couldn’t be caught. Not from what happened last time. The smell made her want to sneeze, snarl but she held it in.

The man turns, she was unable to see the man’s face when she ducks into the brush.

“Who’s there?” The man called, her ears turned to the sound of his voice. Demanding for her to come out. She would. The sound of a long howl made her turn. The man did as well.

Steve panicked towards the long howl. He jumped when something moves in front of him and the sounds of it scattered away. What the hell was that?

He walked over to the sound with the blade in hand. He reached for the gun and also held it in his hand. He whipped around the brush and saw the snow pushed down by some weight.

He knelt down, making sure to look both ways. He found the trail. Something was watching him. He realized the movements of it, is that it turned away and ran off.

Just after the howl. Steve lifted his head up and saw the blue moon stare down at him. He needed to be back at the motel before someone finds him and arrests him from trespassing basically a crime scene.

The Volk Forest park had been closed down because of it. Who knew if Sheriff’s were in the area. He stood up and pulled his phone out. No service whatsoever, but he took photos. Using the flash, he got what he can gather and headed back to the trail.

Going back to his car.

Y/N rushed towards the sound of Roman’s howl and she jumped down to be on the side of the mountain. Jumping over the rocks and catching a few slips on the way. She hears yipping. All five wolves together and she jumped down, Bucky looks over and she rubs her head against his as a hi and ruffled her mane, looking at Roman.

His eyes were the usual burgundy red. If angered, bright red. None of them liked him angry in this form. He snorted at the pack, “Anything near the creek?”

Y/N looks up. She was the one by the creek. Whoever that man was, she didn’t want to tell them that someone was in the woods. Her blue eyes gleamed up at him, “Nothing.”

Roman looks up and snuffles, “Ada and I will head back. Around dawn, if you’re still out here, return back.” Ada and Roman low growled at each other before they jumped off the rocks and ran into the woods.

Tatum yips in a playful way as he pounces on Randall. The brown wolf growls and drops Tatum to the ground. Bucky looks at Y/N and snuffles at her, “Let’s go.”

Y/N and Bucky scattered off into the woods to go on a late night run and possibly a hunt.

“I’m craving moose,” Bucky says, running beside her. Y/N low growls, jumping over Bucky, “Unless you want a antler to the skull, be my guest.” The small snap of a twig, Y/N comes to a stop and so does Bucky. They both kneel and look over the hill.

Spotting a lone deer in the open. Y/N looks over to Bucky, his tongue swiping over his muzzle and she noticed his eyes go feral to the smell of the deer. Y/N’s flews lift up to show her pearly white razor sharp teeth as a low growl erupted from her throat and they leaped towards their dinner.

Steve jerks from his bed, inhaling sharply as he does. His skin layered in beads of sweat, he tried to calm his fast heartbeat and he turns to his phone on the nightstand.

His phone beamed with the time and his background the same since he got it. It was around 5 in the morning. He needed to go out. Maybe grab breakfast somewhere.

Getting up, he took a cold shower. Relaxing his muscles under the water, he closes his eyes. The growling echoing in his ears. He flinched when he felt the familiar pinch in his forearm and he opens his eyes to look at his arm.

Nothing.

That nightmare. That same red wolf chasing him in the forest. He remembered it biting into his forearm and the feeling of it being ripped out, his eyes still looking down at his own flesh being mauled by the beast.

Steve didn’t want to think of it any longer and turned off the shower.

He got dressed in a blue tee and a dirtied flannel, jeans and boots thrown on. He wanted to talk to someone who knew this town. So much of it changed but it was familiar places when he was young.

Steve took a step into the lobby, hearing the man at the desk mutter things behind the counter.

Steve knew this man was some psycho. He guessed maybe that girl was one, too. He leans on the counter, “Excuse me?” He says. The man continued to mutter things as he turns to the back.

Steve looked over to the wall and his face drops. Photos of wolves, men holding up hounds that were twice their size. Also there was a picture of the World War II. Pictures of men mauled in the forest. Steve never turned his head, but his eyes looked over to the old man who continued to mutter.

“Excuse me,” Steve says more louder. “Huh?” Erik jumps and turns around, he spots Steve, “Ah, sorry. I was just-uh...” Steve points at the photos on his walls.

“Big fan of the forest?” Steve asked. Erik squints at the photos, he nods, “Oh, yes. The Volk forest is one of the biggest forests in Oregon. Some say it’s like the Aokigahara Forest, the forest in Japan?”

Steve’s arm was on the counter as he leaned against the wall, listening, Erik turns to him, “You know, the ‘Suicide Forest’? Thought it’s not a sea of trees. Volk is a Russian word for Wolves.”

Steve was interested in his story. Has he seen one? Steve points again, “Have you seen... you know... werewolves?”

Erik grins, “I’m sure hunters have, yes. Me? No, I believe in them. I’ve been researching for years. Years and years of research till someone came to our lab and they took all of it. Some police or Men in Black! We never gotten names from them. Said what we were doing was very unlikely and not appropriate. Bastards,” He mutters.

Steve nods. Erik shakes his head, “That Rogers guy was closer than anyone else. Until he was mauled. Or murdered, you know what I mean, kid?” He says, turning away. Steve stood there feeling a bit unease.

He tried to shake it off, “Is there any diner around here?” Erik grunts when he lifts up something in the back. He comes over to the desk again, “Yeah, of course, one of the best diner’s in town! Just take that street down there and you’ll see it!” He says.

Steve turns to the direction he pointed and nods, “Thank you.” After that, Steve went to his truck. Driving over there, he parks his car on the sidewalk. Stepping out of his truck, he glances down the street and then over to the small alleyway beside the diner.

He saw a familiar ride. Two Harley-Davidson’s motorbikes were parked on the side. One with a wolf sticker and a long scratch mark of a wolf’s claw. He didn’t pay much in mind about those stickers and headed inside.

The diner was half full, greeted by a blonde woman in a apron below her waist as she smiles up at him. “Hello, welcome to Bobby’s Diner, what would you like?”

“Just a coffee, thank you,” He slides her a 10, “Keep it.” The woman gives him a smile as she slips the 10 into her pocket, “On it,” She winks. Steve gives her a small grin as she walks off to grab him a coffee.

“Shut up, come on let’s get out of here,” A woman spoke, Steve turns to see the couple walk over and he recognizes them quickly. “Hey,” Y/N says, Steve seem to feel relieved to see her again. He didn’t know why.

“Didn’t think to see you so quickly,” He jokes, Y/N grins. “Well, it’s Bucky and I’s favorite diner. The coffee here’s great,” She says. Steve looks up to see Bucky stand directly behind her like a guarded dog. If he were one, he’d start growling.

Steve shrugged the thought off, “I hope, I just came here to grab one,” He says. Y/N smiles, “Well, if you want... Bucky and I were heading to the coast, go near the ocean and watch it. If you want.”

Steve thought about it. He barely knew them. He knew the answer when Bucky was never removing the death eyes away from him. Steve shook his head no, “No, it’s okay. You two go, I actually need to visit someone today so...”

Y/N nods, “Oh. Okay, well...” She glances at Bucky, “We’ll head out then.” Steve smiled at her and once she winked at him in a goodbye, his smile dropped.

The hint of blue gleamed in her eye as she walked off. It was visible in the dim lighting in the diner as if someone shined headlights on those retro reflectors on the roads.

There was barely any light. And she never had eyes close to being that kind of color. He watched them head out to their motorbikes, laughing as they did. Y/N was the first to ride off. Steve watched as Bucky looks into the diner to glare at Steve.

Then he road off after Y/N.

“Sir?” The woman spoke, Steve turns and sees her hand him his coffee, “Thank you.” She nods and walks off, leaving Steve there to ponder what just happened.

“Bucky! Stop!” Y/N shouts, Bucky had his hands on her waist as he jokingly lifts her up to hover over the waves. He laughs and places her back on her feet, “I’m kidding,” He says. She shoves him back as they walked along the coastline. Trees and rocks in the distance.

Bucky points, “You see that cliff?” Y/N looks over to see the huge cliff with a peak that is a hundred foot drop into the ocean, he grins, “That cliff points directly at Japan. Some call it Whales Peak.”

“Why Whales Peak?” She chuckles. Bucky turns to her, “Cause if you follow where the peak is pointing, you’d see whales pass by. And one actually got washed up here. Took them a while to put it back in the ocean.”

Y/N quirks up her brows, “Wow, Mr. Smart guy. Didn’t take you as the nerd one in the pack.” Bucky shrugs, “It’s all about Google.”

Y/N laughs and bumps her shoulder into Bucky causing him to laugh as well. The two threw rocks in the ocean, chased each other along the shoreline. The sun was setting on the ocean. Bucky stood beside Y/N and watched her look at the ocean.

Seeing her eyes reflect the sun’s shine. Her gentle smile as her hair flew in the salty wind. He grins.

Steve stared at his hands, looking up to her with the soft eyes. “You should be proud of yourself, Sarah.” His mother glances over to where his eyes landed, seeing the photos of her and his old man.

One with Steve and his father going out fishing. Sarah turns, “I’ve had the best life I could ever imagine, son. But my only regret is that you didn’t have that much from your father and I.”

Steve turns away from the photos and stares at his hands. “What is it, dear?” She grumbles. Steve looks up to her, “For the longest I can remember is that I just wanted to do what was right,” He says, “Guess I’m not quite sure what that is anymore. I thought I could throw myself back in... follow orders, serve... it’s just not the same anymore.”

Sarah takes his hand, “You and your father are always so dramatic,” She chuckles. Steve grins at her. “And I understand, son. From where you are now... I’ve gotten calls from your friend Natasha. She told me how many missions you’ve all done and saved millions of people. You’re making a big difference.”

Steve grips her hand gently in his, “I just wish I could go back,” He whispers. Sarah gently smiles at him, “I know, Steve... But all we can do is to start over.” She placed his and her hand on her stomach, “Your father is proud of who you’ve become. You’re a good man. Though this world is filled with unexpected things. And your father with his... folktales that scared us half to death.”

Steve and her both laugh at that.

Sarah hums softly, “From what I heard on how you got here, you must be desperate for something. And it wasn’t me,” She says. Steve sighs softly. His mother knew how to find the lies behind the eyes. He lowered his head.

“Was I the reason you came here, Steve?” She asked. Steve lifts up his head, she shook her head, “No point in lying if I already caught you. I can see it in your eyes.”

There was no point now. She was right. If Natasha found out about why he actually came here, she’d drag him by the ears and hair to rip him back to New York.

Steve pierces his lips together and looked down to her hands on his, “I just need the truth to come out,” He says, Sarah shuffles her head to fully look at him as she laid on the hospital bed. “I have to find answers on what happened to dad and kill these-”

“Steve,” She gently pulls his hand closer, “These things aren’t true. These beasts... they don’t exist. I don’t want to lose you because of these stories,” She says.

“You’ll be humiliated,” She says.

“Our family was already humiliated from the very beginning, mom. Do you remember how many people surrounded our house? Calling us wackos? You’ve seen Joseph, he was mauled by an animal-”

“Steve, please... I know,” She says, “I just want you to be careful. We’re not sure who those people who did that. People who thought he was a freak and they killed him for it.” He shook his head, closing his eyes, “I know. I know,” He says.

Sarah frowns, “I don’t want to you lose you. And I want you to understand that. Okay?” Steve lifts up his head and softly nods. He watched as she stared at him with the soft but sad smile.

His tilts his head, “What?”

Sarah lifts up her hand and places it on his cheek, “You look like your father. You have his eyes. His hair.” Steve smiles sadly and placed his hand over hers on his cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I needed some mother and son bond in this chapter. Some Captain America: The Winter Soldier lines and a one from Defending Jacob. “You have his eyes.” I just love those movies and I love this story.

TAGS:

@jtargaryen18 @art-estrange @sourpatchspinster @kayteewritessteve @anjali750 @chrisevans-imagines @captain-a-rogerss @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @patzammit @ifuseekamyevans @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @nbarnes @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @bucksgoat @axen-gers @elliee1497 @princess-evans-addict @donutloverxo @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors @smilexcaptainx @star-spangled-beard-burn

Want a tag? Just ask!

56 notes · View notes

negansdoll · 4 years

Text

Warmer

( Negan x Reader )

Summary: Y/N and Negan got separated from the group during an attack from the walkers and the gotta survive in the wood for one night, during which the get to know each other ( Smut )

Requested by : Anonymous

You were sitting in a car with six people, following Carol’s car. One hour ago, while you were all in Alexandria, you’ve been attacked by the whisperers and their walkers... You tried to fight but you knew you had no chance to win, which made you leave Alexandria, your home.

With nowhere else to go, you listenned to Negan, saying you better go the Sanctuary which was actually not a bad idea cause the whisperers didn’t know that this place existed...

The car suddenly stopped which made you looking up.

- Fuck, said the driver before going out of the car.

You and the other people followed him out and you opened wide your eyes when you saw a hundred of walkers in the middle of the road, coming in your direction.

You all turned round and your heart skipped a beat when you saw walkers coming from every directions.

- Carol ?! What do we do now ?! almost screamed a guy.

- We’ll never go through them, she said. We leave the cars here and we’ll get’em later ! C’mon ! she then almost screamed as you all took your knives and guns and followed her.

Walkers were coming from every directions and you were all trying to save your life by hitting or shooting them in the head.

You were running when your foot suddenly hit a big rock on the floor which made you fall.

You turned your head as you heard a walker growling while walking to you. You took your gun and pointed it in the direction of his head but when you pulled the trigger, you realised your gun what empty.

- Fuck, you murmured as the walker got on his knees to get you.

He almost touched your foot when someone shot him in the head.

You looked up to Negan who offered you his hand to help you to get up.

- Thanks, you said, grabbing his hand and standing up as you heard two girls screaming of pain.

- We better not stay here, said Negan looking at the walkers, eating them at few meters from you.

You nodded before you both started to run through the woods.

After an hour, completely exhausted, you stopped running near a cave. The sky was now dark, the night was there.

- Alright, said Negan, we’ll stay here for the night.

You looked at him sitting at the entrance of the cave trying to catch up his breath.

- Stand up, we gotta find some woods to light a fire, you said.

Negan looked at you, chuckling.

- Oh no Sweetheart, we won’t light a fire.

You looked at him, sighting.

- So you want us to freeze to death ?

- I want us to stay invisible, he said looking up to you. And we won’t be if you light a fire.

You bit your lip, looking away, knowing he was right.

- And you know, there’s another way to keep ourselves warm, he said smirking.

You looked back at him, frowning.

- Yeah, keep dreaming, you said before leaving.

Negan stood up, as you were going back in the forest.

- What the fuck are you doing ?

- Calm down, I’m just gonna try to find some water.

Negan sighted before joining you.

- You don’t have to come with me, you said.

- Do you want me to remind you who would be a walker now if I haven’t saved her life ?

- Shut up.

After a few minutes, you found a creek. You got on your knees and took some water in your hands which you brought to your mouth.

Negan did the same.

- Don’t you wanna wash yourself, he asked, smirking.

- Shut up, you answered, understanding he asked you this just to see you naked.

- Too bad, he chuckled before standing up.

After 5 minutes, you decied to walk back to the cave.

- People who are frustated as you didn’t have sex since a while, said Negan.

- I’m not frustated, you said turning your head to him as he chuckled.

- Oh yes you are Y/N. Tell me, when was the last time you fucked with someone ?

You stopped walking and sighted.

- I don’t think that it concerned you.

- Ooooh, since that much time ? he smirked.

- Fuck you, you said as you entered in the cave.

- There’s someone else I’d like to fuck now, chuckled Negan.

You turned round to face him.

- You see Y/N, I’m starting to get frustated. It’s been almost 7 years.

- That is not my problem, you said, sitting down.

Negan sat next to you.

- When ? he asked again.

- Jesus Christ, you’re so annoying.

- When ?

- 8 years, you sighted.

Negan looked at you, smirking.

- And it’s one of you men who killed my boyfriend. Simon I think.

- Sorry bout’ that. Simon was an asshole. I killed him since.

- Well I’m glad you did.

You then stayed quiet for a few seconds.

- Do you hate me ? he finally asked.

- I’ve heard many stories about you, I know what you’ve done, the people you’ve killed... you said before turning your head to him. But we all killed people. I killed people so I guess we’re not that different. So no I don’t hate you.

Negan looked up to you.

- You might be the only one.

- I’m not. People know you’ve changed.

- Not that much, he said before sighting.

You gave him a little smile before you laiddown.

- Alright we better sleep now, you said. We’ll have a long walk tomorrow.

Negan laid down too and you both tried to sleep.

Ten minutes have passed and you couldn’t fall asleep. You were too cold and Negan understood that by hearing your teeth chattering.

You suddenly felt one of his arms pulling you closer to him. Your back against his chest.

- What are you doing ? you whispered, frowning.

- Sweetheart, I can’t sleep because of the noise your teeth are making, he answered. Stay close to me, you’ll be warmer.

You didn’t answered anything, knowing he was right.

You opened wide your eyes after a few seconds when you felt something hard in your lower back.

- Hell ! Are you fucking serious ?!

Negan laughed as you turned round.

- I can’t control it. Now we gotta do something to stop... this.

- Oh my... you said shaking your head.

- Do I look this ugly to you ? he chuckled.

- What ? No, I... you started but he cut you.

- Alright then, he said before pressing his lips against yours.

Once again you opened wide your eyes... but you didn’t broke this kiss.

He was right, you were missing sex since too many time and HELL Negan was handsome as fuck, so... after all... why not ?

You gotta admitted to yourself, he was a good kisser. Or maybe you thought this because you haven’t been kissed by anyone since years now.

Negan left your lips to took his breath before kissing you again as you closed your eyes, putting your hands on his cheeks.

You kissed like that for some minutes before you felt Negan’s hands unzipping your pants before he did the same with his.

He slowly got on top of you while spreading your legs.

- You won’t regret that, he murmured next to your ear before kissing it.

Your back arched when you felt him pushing inside of you. God. This felt so good.

- Oh my God... you moaned, clawing your nails down his back, under his shirt.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he started to move back and forth.

You were both trying to not groaning too loudly to not get spotted by walkers but it was hard... it was good, too good...

Negan was kissing you with a burning desire as he was moving faster and faster.

- I’m gonna come... you moaned next to his ear as you wrapped your legs harder around his waist, trying to help him to go deeper and deeper inside of you.

- Fuck, said Negan before your back arched once again as you reached an intense orgasm.

You closed your eyes and breathed heavily as Negan came just after you, groaning one last time before falling next to you.

- Wow... you whispered, catching up your breath. I wonder how I could have survived all this years without that.

- Yeah, me too, laughed Negan, putting his pants back on.

You did the same and laid again, but this time, you put your head on his chest.

- Thank you. Once again, you whispered.

- Thank YOU, answered Negan before wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm for the night.

Hope you guys liked it ! 🖤 especially the one who requested it 🖤

TAG LIST : @naniky

GIFS ARE NOT MINE

#imagine #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #twd #jdm #negan x reader #negan x you #daddy #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #negan x y/n #jeffrey dean morgan x y/n #smut #lemon #the whisperers

75 notes · View notes