#If i ever see his face I will bury him six feet under. That is a promise. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delaber · 1 year

Text

Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Words: 5.3K

Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.

Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.

According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.

For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.

"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.

Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.

"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"

He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.

His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.

"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.

"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"

It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"

"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.

Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."

Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.

"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."

"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."

Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.

Something really bad must've happened...

"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.

You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.

You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."

He nods again.

"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.

Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.

"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.

He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.

"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.

Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that.

"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?

He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."

Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.

"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.

From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.

"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"

You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."

Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"

He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.

"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."

"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."

At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"

"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."

You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.

"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.

"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"

"You good?"

"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."

You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."

"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.

"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."

Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.

"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."

Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.

The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.

Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.

You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.

"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.

"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.

Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.

Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"

"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"

"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.

Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.

With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.

"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.

He wants you to join him.

To wash him.

Take care of him.

The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.

"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.

With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.

He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."

"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.

The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.

Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.

"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.

Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.

He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.

"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.

"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."

You look up into his eyes.

He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I know, Buck."

"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.

"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.

He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.

You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.

Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."

You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.

"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."

You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -

"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."

"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.

"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."

You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.

"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."

"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.

"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.

"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.

"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."

"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."

"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."

"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."

"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.

You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.

"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.

"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.

"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.

Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.

"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.

"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.

The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.

You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.

"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.

You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.

"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."

You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.

"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.

"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.

"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.

"I love you too."

"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."

You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.

He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."

"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."

"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.

"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."

With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.

His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"

"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.

He's finally smiling and it's because of you.

"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."

You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."

"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.

"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"

"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes friends to lovers

6K notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 6 months

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 7

WC: 1109 Masterpost CW: panic attack, dissociation, past imprisonment

Danny felt like he was on a roller coaster. One moment he would be feeling safe, embarrassingly falling asleep on Hood mid meal, and the next a stool would scrape across the floor. That screech of metal on linoleum was distinct enough that Danny could swear he was back in the lab. His newest wound stung. The collar pinched at his neck. The acidic bite of bleach stung his nose.

They were talking.

They were talking too close to him.

Danny wanted desperately to hide, but there was no hiding in the lab. There was no hiding in the Box. Acrylic walls on all six sides, electrified metal frame, coated in a ghost shield; the box was torture. Danny pressed himself into the corner and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to watch their faces. He didn’t want to see the cold cruelty in their eyes, not even one more time.

Had it always been there?

It must have.

It was never true, he was never their son.

How had he ever thought that they cared?

He was so stupid, stupid, stupid—

Something pressed into his hands. Something soft and warm. The smell of herbs burst around him, chasing away the scent of bleach. Danny clutched at the warmth, curled around it. It was never warm in the lab, not unless they were experimenting on him with heat. And that was never warm like this.

“There you are, Kid.”

Kid?

“That’s nice, isn’t it? You can kept it as long as you need. Just keep breathing for us.”

Who?

“You’re in the safe house. Your wounds are treated. The collar is off.”

Danny felt around his neck with shaking fingers. The skin was tender under the bandages, but there was no collar.

“It’s just me, Red Hood, and Nightwing. Nightwing is getting you a drink. Do you think you can drink something?”

No, no he didn’t. His throat felt tight.

“That’s okay, Kid. How about a suck’em candy?”

Warm fingers brushed against the back of his hand, actual skin touched his. Danny shuddered. He let his hand be turned for the candy to be placed in it.

“Pop that in your mouth.”

Danny listened to the warm voice. He wanted to bury himself in that warmth. Why was it so warm here?

Tart citrus bloomed over his tongue, chasing away the rotting taste of stale recycled air and bile. He moved the candy around his mouth. Each breathe filled his nose with the lemon scent mingled with the herbs. The tension went out of him so suddenly that he collapsed.

Those warm hands caught him. He was pressed against a whole band of warmth and Danny let out a sigh. The earthy scent of death joined the other smells. A liminal. Red hood. He was… safe. The safe house.

They took turns staying awake that night. While they likely would have anyways, what with it being the kid’s first night with them, the panic attack pretty much guaranteed they would sleep in shifts. Dick slept first and it was only training and a strong cup of coffee that had him alert and ready for his shift. He was glad for the second cup when he heard stirring from the bedroom.

It was early, early enough that the sun wasn’t up yet, but the kid was standing on slightly shaky looking legs, peering out of the door.

“Hey there,” Dick said softly and with a smile. He approached the door but left a good few feet between them. “Did you sleep well?”

The kid nodded. “Better… than in a long time, yeah.”

“That’s great! Are you hungry.”

He nodded again before glancing to the side. His hand flexed where it was holding onto the door jam.

“Is there something else you’d like before food?” Dick asked gently.

Another nod.

“It’s okay to ask. We want you to be comfortable.

The kid’s mouth worked for a moment before he managed to ask, “A shower? It’s just that… Hood mentioned one and…”

“Of course! I bet you’d like to be clean,” Dick said. “I’d like you to use the shower chair we have and to leave the door open, in case you slip or something, but I wont look in unless I hear something concerning.”

“Okay,” the kid agreed quickly; quickly like he was afraid Dick would take away the offer. They had a lot of work to do.

Dick stopped at the closet and grabbed a bath towels, two wash cloths, and the med kit. He set the towels down on the closed toilet seat and the med kit on the small sink counter. “We’ll put a water proof bandage on your new stitches and get you wrapped back up after the shower. Be gentle around it and your neck, but you should be good to clean up well!”

“I will be. I won’t make you redo your work.”

“Hey, no, that’s not what it’s about,” Dick said quickly. “We just don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?”

“I… okay?”

Holding back a sigh, Dick instead turned with a smile and bandage. It was good to see the stitches didn’t look too bad and they were soon covered up with the temporary covering. Dick explained how the shower worked, pointed out the shampoos, conditioners, and body wash, and then left the kid alone. He took up watch just outside the door. If the kid slipped, he wanted to be able to be there at a moments notice.

“Kid already awake?” Jason rasped from the couch after the sound of running water filled the apartment.

“Yeah. He’s in the shower now. The wounds look good.”

“Credit goes to Tim, he did the stitching.” Jason stood and stretched with a pop.

He had taken off most of his uniform, as armored as it was, to be able to sleep. Still, he looked stiff and rubbed uneasily at his arms. Dick would have to make sure the other took some pain meds once they were at the new safe house and that he got some more sleep.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Dick said instead of voicing any of his current thoughts. He was sure they wouldn’t be welcome right then. “I figured we’d do breakfast here?”

“Yeah, I want to get some food in the kid since we didn’t really get another chance yesterday,” Jason agreed as he made his way to the pitiful kitchen.

Dick closed his eyes and listened to the running water and Jason clanking about.

They could manage this. They were through the first night. They just had to handle it an hour at a time.

---

AN: I'm so out of it I almost forgot Trauma Tuesday! Luckily I had this written on Saturday. Poor Danny had a hard time of it, but his brothers are there to help!

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost.

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons #trauma tuesday

963 notes · View notes

love-bugsy · 7 months

Text

meet cut(e) | jason todd

the worst thing about love (two) / (one)

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: allusions to character death, depictions of grief, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason but he’s like my own lil character now and I’m protective, i learned my medical terminology from grey's anatomy don't hate me

only jerks steal other people's writing (just don't repost, mate)

You’re awake when he stumbles into your apartment two weeks later. You stare at him owlishly; knees tucked up against your plush, non-indented couch, glass of Merlot in your hand kept carefully away from the carpet you just scrubbed the bloodstains out of. You set it gingerly on your coffee table, half convinced he’s not real.

“I got… a cut.” It seems strange for this masked vigilante - you may or may not have been doing some tipsy research on the hooded hero - to look so sheepish. All six feet of him stooped in your cramped apartment, one hand clutched to his side, that emotionless mask staring straight through you. You get up from your couch wordlessly, walking down the hallway to rummage through your bathroom.

First aid kit and isopropyl in hand, you return to his awkward stance in the middle of your living room; his gaze intently focused on your overstuffed bookshelf. His attention snaps to you when your sock-clad footsteps meet the edge of the plush rug separating you. From this angle, you can see the stubborn, brown bloodstain that you tried to hide under the leg of your armchair - little marks… stains or rusting memories… You gesture to your couch, and he sits, taking off his jacket.

Yanking a stool over to sit in front of him, you pull up his shirt, brows furrowing at the slice in his side. He’s undressed the cut you stitched up for him before he should have, and you examine it while you clean his most recent knife wound. Your stitches are far from perfect - the scar bulging in some areas - but for such a high tension wound, it’s healed well.

Your eyes flicker up to his blood red mask for a moment, and it occurs to you - distantly - that you should probably be terrified. I mean, seriously. A part of you screams that this is how people get murdered. Another part of you thinks that this is the most vulnerable he ever gets; his shirt off, gritting his teeth through the pain of 91% isopropyl alcohol.

Another - buried - part of you thinks this seems familiar.

Your gaze darts back down to his chest, lingering unconsciously on the end of the scar that cuts out from underneath his shirt. Your eyes catch on the ugly bruises decorating the tan expanse of his torso, some angry and purple, others a sickly yellow. He clears his throat awkwardly and your cheeks heat, returning your attention to sterilising his wound. Real classy, birdie, ogling a guy whose face you’ve never seen. He breaks the thick silence first, low voice crackling through his modulator.

“How’s it look, doc? ‘m I gonna survive?” You hide a smile beneath your exasperated look, brows knitted. Still, you can’t fully conceal the amused edge in your dry tone.

“You’re not nearly as charming when you’ve been stabbed.” He cocks his mask; unreadable. For a long moment, you think you might have actually offended him, until he huffs out a staticky laugh.

“Slashed, actually.” You scrunch your nose. Pedantic asshole.

“Look, I’ve had a long day, which wasn’t exactly made better by having to patch up a freak in a super-suit, so just… save the witty ironicism for someone who didn’t have to clean up baby vomit all day.” You can hear the smile in his voice when he responds, mask’s gaze still fixed on your face.

“Ouch, doc, and here I thought you were happy to see me.” A little pause as you meet his gaze briefly, unable to shake the familiarity… the instinctive fondness that warms your chest. His next words seem more guarded. “So, why’re you helping me then?” Good question. Your focus never falters from the slow concentric circles you’re rubbing around his wound with an alcohol soaked hand towel.

“I took an oath.” He laughs again and you quash the little spark of pride that hearing it gives you. You swap the towel in your hand for a roll of bandages and a plaster, applying the latter first before starting to wrap his waist.

“My bad, doc, I thought you were helping me out of the goodness of your heart.”

You scrunch your nose, trying to suppress the smile that tugs insistently at your mouth. Reaching for a clip, you secure his bandages and help him pull his shirt down so it doesn’t catch. You get up from the stool, shuffling it out of the way for your future self to move back in front of your kitchen island. Yawning, you stretch your hands above your head, a little noise of relief leaving your mouth when the tension in your shoulders loosens. You pretend not to notice how his mask tilts, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed as your shirt lifts.

He settles backwards, leaning his shoulders over the arm of your couch so that his legs don’t dangle over the edge. You watch as he yanks your throw blanket haphazardly over his torso and crosses his arms over his chest. You’re sure he must be keeping you in his peripheral as you startle out of eyeing him warily, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of it. Maybe to save you some dignity. Padding back to the hallway, you make it halfway before pausing, words spilling from your mouth unbidden.

“You can have some coffee, you know.”

“What?” The question comes out slurred, a full night’s worth of adrenaline finally dwindling. It brings back a flash of a near empty coffee pot - last dregs dripping slowly into a blue mug held in lethargic hands. You blink.

“In the morning.” He tilts his mask, and you stumble to elaborate, “When you sneak out. You can have some coffee.” Cautious, you study his reaction, but your vigilante doesn’t move an inch - his mask’s white slits boring holes into you like he’s trying to figure you out. Or waiting for a catch. You think he might trust you more if you give him one.

“You have to wash the mug, though. And the coffee’s old.” If you focus hard enough, you can hear something percolating - the coffee in your makeshift warmer or… the tenuous thread of something like dependency. He shifts on the couch and you suppress a wince at the stress it will put on his injuries.

“I like old coffee,” he hums out blurrily, hushed static of his modulator nearly rendering the words unintelligible. You flinch, turning off the living room light instead of responding.

You’re seventeen, he’s sixteen. You give him shit for being two months younger than you. It’s so late at night you’ll start to call it morning soon, and the two of you sit on opposite sides of a diner counter.

You lean over the counter, arms outstretched, dropping your head into your clasped hands. He reaches over you, pouring out another cup of old, lukewarm coffee. He follows it up with an unholy amount of cream and sugar - just how you like it - nudging it over to you with that wry grin of his.

“Tired, birdie?” You are tired, but not as tired as he is. You think maybe Wayne Enterprises should be funding his college tuition, not this superhero shit. Superhero shit that he never talks about, except. He used to tell you everything. You used to tell him everything.

Because he’s smart. He’s really smart. Smart enough to not risk his life every night. You want to tell him that but you know he doesn’t see it that way. In that mask, he’s infallible. Instead, you hum in agreement, dragging the mug closer and taking a sip. You scowl at the bitterness.

He frowns petulantly, looking at you with tired, amused eyes. “You don’t like my coffee?” You set down your cup, wrinkling your nose at the unexpectedly loud ‘clink’ it makes against the counter.

“You’re so dramatic, blue, only you like day-old coffee.” He gives you a dry look, one that says he’s too tired to mock-argue with you. So instead, you turn on the sink behind the counter, rinsing cutlery to load the dishwasher. You both sit in near silence, broken only by his fingers tapping carefully on the counter and your absent-minded hums.

You spend days agonising over a present as his birthday rapidly approaches, though you know he hates the fuss. You settle on a gunmetal grey lighter, shakily hand engraved with a bluejay. Something to replace his shitty BIC one, with its smudged sharpie lettering that barely spells out ‘JT’.

Secretly, you look forward to the sardonic comment he'll make about how he thought you disapproved of his cancer sticks. The truth is, you don't think you could stop enabling him.

A month out from his birthday, he drops by after patrol with your copy of Wuthering Heights. You ask if he liked it and he says he didn’t. Something, something, overly maudlin. He’s lying. He always gets that little specific crease between his eyebrows when he lies to you.

It feels like all you see lately.

Are the nightmares getting worse?

Lie.

Stayin’ out of trouble?

Lie.

Are we always going to be like this? Am I always going to lose you when you put on that suit?

Lie.

Over and over until you snap, poking a finger straight into the crease and smoothing it out. You tell him you want the truth and he tells you he can’t give it to you. You yell at him for ten hour-long minutes, sweeping angry gestures with your arms. One of them knocks over his half-full mug - blue shards shattering in the slow spill of murky coffee. You wish you remembered what he said to you, but all you remember is watching him leave. The last time he ever did.

You wait two weeks for him to come back, recording apologetic voicemails that he dodges with clipped, sullen phone calls. Then, he stops picking up at all.

His death isn’t reported on the news.

Alfred visits you once after he dies, carrying Jason’s old leather jacket like a sleeping animal that might come alive at any second. You don’t talk - not even when he hands it to you - you don’t know what you would say. You don’t know each other, you have nothing in common, except that you loved the same person once.

Your life shrinks - going through the same mechanical motions for months on end, school, work, home. It feels blasphemous to do anything but stare at the jacket - to lift it from where it hangs on the back of your door, to make it yours instead of his - until, one day, you can’t bear to be distant from him anymore. You put it on, shove your hands in the pockets like he always did, digging around. You find an old hairtie of yours in the inside pocket and a stick of apple pie flavoured lip balm you lent him last winter.

His lighter is in the front pocket, blue as his pale, dark eyes. Carefully, you place it on your desk, next to the one you meant to gift him.

Two lighters and you don’t even fucking smoke.

oof okay, this one was a bit of a monster (don't know if it bodes well for this series for me to have struggled with this chapter so much lol) but i hope you guys like it. :) i might have to take a little break over the next month because of my final exams, but rest assured, doc and jay will be back again come november. tysm for reading!

with love, bugsy

#series: the worst thing about love #love-bugsy #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd reader insert #x reader

233 notes · View notes

angel-of-the-moons · 7 months

Text

A Rose Under the Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Domestic violence mentions, hints at child abuse, child abuse mentions violence, phantom pains

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Again, none of this is beta read. We die like the younglings Anakin snuffed in the Jedi Temple

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @bad4amficideas

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 3:

The Victims

You sighed, checking the little egg timer in your apron pocket to see how long until the scones you were baking had left in the oven. Fifteen minutes. Ugh.

It had been a few days since Steven had come in and purchased his pillar of books. The two of you would make small talk, him thumbing through books and rambling about a subject on ancient Egypt that he knew. The moment you brought up your own obscure facts you have memorized from the things your father would read to you as a little girl, Steven’s eyes lit up and he got the biggest grin on his face, and launched himself headlong into info-dump mode. It was kinda cute, really, how excitable he got. You could tell the poor guy probably didn’t have many friends, aside from his brothers, whom he’d told you about, and a friend named Layla. You also found it endearing how his messy, bed-raggled curls would flop over his face, or how animated he’d seem when he would interrupt himself to bring up another fun fact…

But, it had been a day or two since he’d come in last. And to be honest, you kinda miss the guy. He was probably the nicest most engaging customer you had. He even admitted that he didn’t come in just for the books. He told you he liked your teas and treats, and he loved the comfortable atmosphere of your shop over a crowded cafe. But one day, he just had to ask:

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” He started, looking at the muffin in his hand.

“Hm?” You hummed as you stocked shelves.

“Are these… vegan?” He seemed hesitant to touch the muffine now, as if it were poisoned.

You giggle softly. “Yes, actually. I try to use recipes that everyone can enjoy. Vegan, gluten-free…”

“Oh! Wonderful!” He scarfed the muffin down rather quickly after that, his nose buried in the textbook on archaeology he had in his hands.

You set your phone down as you sipped your spiced tea. It was a rather cold and gloomy day today, not uncommon this late in the year, but still, it sucked. It reminded you of where you grew up in Maine, off the coast. Storms blew in all the time, you’d remember as a little girl getting up in the morning, wanting to run outside and play, just to be met with a dark and angry sky, blistering winds, and pelting rain.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Your poor little six-year-old heart was crushed one day when a particularly bad squall blew into town, and you were trapped within the confines of your house, arms crossed, feet firmly planted as you glared out the window, lip wobbling.

How dare the weather ruin your plans for the day? You were going to play in your treehouse! Now the stupid wind was gonna blow it away! And if it did, your father would have to build another one, and that would take forever!

“Hey, there, Lil’ Bit.” Your dad said, kneeling behind you, as you stubbornly looked out the window in a seething rage. So, so angry for a little girl. You inherited your temper from your mother, surely. Though you personally never saw her mad, of course. Ever. But then again, she worked so much…

Your mom was what your dad told you was a “breadwinner”, which was a term you found dumb. You mom never entered contests and she certainly never won bread as a prize. It was so dumb! Why did adults have to use such dumb words for things?

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad sang, leaning forward from where he was crouched to put his chin on your tiny shoulder.

“No, daddy, ‘m angy.” You mumbled, trying to shrug him off as lightning flashed in the distance.

He chuckled, his voice warm, much like your favorite pair of fuzzy socks after they were just taken out of the dryer. “Come on, princess. It’ll pass. They always do.”

“But why did it have t’ do it today!” You whined, not budging.

“Dunno, kid. The sky just felt like dumping buckets, I guess.” He said, humoring you.

“Daddy...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Clouds don’t use buckets!”

“Sure they do!” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you. “You just never see em!”

“You’re silly.” You scoff.

“You’re silly!” Your dad laughed, scooping you up and spinning you around, finally getting a smile out of you as you shriek in laughter.

He tucked you against his chest and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you some sna–”

His eyes went wide and he gasped when you writhed, crying out and wincing like you’d just been struck.

“Babygirl, what’s wrong?” He asked, hurriedly sitting you on the couch as you curled in on yourself. He could see the welts start to peek out from beneath the sleeves of your little pink shirt.

It was happening again.

The pain in his heart gripped him like ice, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain his daughter was feeling. His poor, poor baby girl, whose soulmate was constantly being inflicted with whatever horrors they faced with.

He would curse it, sometimes. Your mark. Your bond. You were already enduring abuse that wasn’t directed at you. Or maybe it was in a way… Given that it was happening to your other half. Who you would one day meet. Maybe things will be better, when you had. Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, he hated whomever was inflicting those injuries on your soulmate more. Not only were they hurting your soulmate, they were hurting you. He’d imagined that you were close in age. If so, who the hell would abuse a child in such a way? The concept was completely foreign to him.

He rubbed your back, murmuring sweet and loving things to you.

He noticed something odd about your mark about a few years ago, right when the welts and bruises started to show and you would recoil in phantom pain... There was a new addition to your mark. At first it was one crescent moon. But then one became two, and two became three.

Right now, the bottom right moon was full.

He wasn’t sure what it meant… But he noticed your crying slow to soft little hiccups and sniffles as you sit up, rubbing your eyes.

He rested his forehead against yours. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

“I jus’ wanna know why it hurts so much, daddy.” You sniffle.

“Trust me, I know. Me and your mom are similar. I remember when we were kids, before we met… She fell from a tree and broke her leg. Man, it hurt so bad…”

You looked up at him, your big beautiful eyes glistened with tears. Your mother’s eyes. Little gems of hers that you would always have.

“Really?” You peeped.

“Really.” He stood and walked over to the bookshelf above the living room fireplace, and plucked a book off of it. He turned back to you and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap and kissing the top of your head.

“This book came from your great auntie over in London. You remember her, yeah?” He hummed.

Your fingers grazed the cover, old and worn, obviously well-read and well-loved. It had a picture of a woman with wings and a pretty dress on it. You couldn’t read the other words on it just yet, you were still learning how to read the bigger ones.

“Want me to read you some of the stories in it?” He inquired.

“Uh-huh.” You nod.

Your father flipped the pages open, and hummed again, softer.

“Now, let’s start with the tale of Isis and the Seven Scorpions…”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You jumped, almost dropping the egg timer you had in your hand when your shop’s door dinged and swung open. A frantic young woman rushed inside, her sunken and baggy eyes looking at you, wide with fright.

You skipped the usual welcome and regarded her with a confused expression.

“I… Can I help you–”

“Please, I just need to–to hide!” She said, rushing over to you and gripping your hand, pulling you behind her and further into the winding shelves that made up your bookstore.

“Hey, Hey.” You say, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My–my boyfriend. He… He’s… I messed up and burned lunch and…” She looked to the side trying to check if he somehow didn’t materialize out of thin air over her shoulder when she wasn’t looking; and when she did… you saw them.

The already darkening bruises on her delicate throat.

Immediately you went into protector mode. You gently urge her towards the door leading to the stairwell that went up to your flat above.

“You hide up there, and call 999, okay?” You say to her. “You can stay here until the police arrive. If it makes you feel safer, there’s a deadbolt to the door up there. If your boyfriend comes in I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

You rush to the oven when you hear the timer go off, and pull out the scones (after slipping on your mitts), when the bell to your store dings.

You curse under your breath and say to the girl quietly. “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll be up when the police get here.”

You carefully slip the tasty treats onto a plastic tray and toss the pan into the sink with a clang; instantly regretting it when the young woman flinched and curled into herself, her arms instinctively reaching to cover her head.

You muttered and apology and balanced the pan on your hand as you hastily make your way down the stairs, to see whomever was incessantly dinging your “ring me!” button at the register.

When you finally break free of the labyrinthine bookshelves, you spot a rather large and angry looking man.

This had to be the boyfriend.

“Hello, one moment, please.” You say tersely, sliding the scones into the small display case showcasing the fresh treats of the day.

“Oi, you seen somebody come in here?” He demanded gruffly.

You take another visual sweep of his appearance. Rather big build, probably abuses the gym too much. He looks like he exclusively dines on protein shakes more than food… He could be trouble, if he got violent. The only upside is that you knew the layout of your little shop by heart, he didn’t. You really wished you had a gun under the counter, right about now.

You made a mental note to sign up for the courses and get the certificate from the police..

“Other than you, no, you’d be my first customer of the day.” You force the cheer into your tone as you bring a box of books and begin to half-assedly place them, hoping to look normal.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ customer.” He growled. “Don’ want no books.”

“Well, I also offer a variety of coffees, teas, and snacks–”

“I ain’t no fuckin’ customer!” He barked, getting in your face.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains the slurred speech.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you please back away, you’re a little too close…” You say, your hands up in a submissive gesture, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Does it look like I giv' a fuck? Ya fuckin' muppet?" He hissed at you, his eyes dilated and glassy.

"Look, I don't want to cause trouble, but–"

He seized your arm and gripped it painfully tight, you could feel the crunch of your radiocarpal joint being squeezed under his rough and indelicate fingers. "Did ya hear me, ya fuckin' cunt? I'm lookin' for my girl, I know she came in here! Don't lie t' me!"

"Sir, people come into my store all the time, and it's not really my business why unless they buy a book or a muffin. Let me go!" You retort, trying to pry his fingers from around you with your free hand.

"Shut th' fuck up!" He snarled, pushing you back against the bookshelf so hard the back of your head cracked on one of the shelves. Great, another pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An unmistakably American accent called from the door of your shop.

How had you missed the bell? How did you not notice the sound of the door opening?

The drunken man holding you turned, still gripping you. "Great, another fuckin' yank? Can't you fucks stick to ya own country?"

You felt your pulse quicken, and your eyes widened at the man who stood in the door; dark, honey-tinted eyes aflame with anger. But the man the eyes belonged to?

Dead ringer for Steven. But he carried himself entirely differently, he even had his hair styled back in a different way. He wore a white hoodie, faded blue jeans, and some steel-toe boots.

"None o' ya fuckin' busniess, you dick." The man sneered, looking back down at you.

"It is if you're hurting the lady." He said gruffly.

"Oi, you got a listening problem?"

The man turned again, but he was met with the knuckles of the American man who just came to your aid; straight to his jaw, knocking him back against a cart you had full of discount books, sending them to the floor with a clatter.

The man cracked his knuckles, before gently grabbing you by the shoulder and moving you behind him for cover.

At this distance you could just barely catch a whiff of sandalwood and some kind of spice. A hint of aftershave wafted into your senses in accompany.

"You fuckin' dick!" The man grunted, shaking his head in an attempt to reorient his brain.

"You need a better repertoire of insults, buddy. Or stop hitting the sauce." The other man sneered. "Probably both."

The drunk lunged at him, and this guy was one step ahead, intercepting him by grabbing his wrists.

The crunch of bone was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, and when you dared to peek again, the drunk was clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Your savior on the other hand?

Barely broke a sweat. He headbutted him with the hardest part of his head, crunching bone and cartilage.

"Stay down, asshole." He growled. You spun on your heels to look at the door when two clothed officers came in, hands on their pepper spray.

"Everybody just calm down!" One of them shouted.

Ugh. Now you had a headache…

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

By the time the officers, the battered girl, and her boyfriend all left, it was just you and your knight in shining hoodie. Who looked way too much like Steven.

You sat him down at one of the reading nooks and shakily wring your hands out to calm down. "Uh… Yeah, so…" You try.

"My name's Marc. Marc Spector." He said. "You, uh… met my brother, already. Steven."

You gasp. "The heathen!"

He choked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"Oh! Uhhhhhh…" You clear your throat awkwardly trying to change the subject. "You and Steven have different last names!"

Marc huffed through his nose. "It's uh… a long story."

"What, were you guys separated at birth or something? He speaks with a typical Londoner accent, you're full-blown American." You smile.

"Or something." Marc murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

"God, and Steven and I joked about my life being a setup for a book." You giggle softly. "You guys sound like you're straight out of a Dickens novel!"

Marc kind of squirmed in his seat. "Yeah…"

"So, uh… what brings you here today? From what Steven told me, you don't exactly pick up books all the time like he does." You say to him, tilting his head.

Marc wiped at his face with a groan, "Ugh. Don't get me started on Steven's books! He has too goddamn many–"

"Ah!" You say, flicking a stray curl. You weren't sure why your brain told you that was okay to do. It just felt right. The look he gave you afterwards sent your heart leaping into your throat.

Raw confusion, maybe some surprise?

"Uh… No talking like that is allowed in my store, there, pal…" You stammer out. "So… why are you here?"

"Steven said you had coffee. Didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people today." He kind of mumbled.

"Oh, I get that." You sighed softly in sympathy. Already, Marc struck you as the kinda guy who didn't like dealing with people unless he had to.

And honestly, you kinda felt for the guy. Something about him made your heart twinge in a funny little way.

"Tell you what, as a thanks for helping take care of that asshat, coffee is on the house, and I'll even give you a cup of my personal blend instead of the stuff on the menu."

"Uh, you don't have to–"

"Ah!" You say, wagging a finger at him as you walk away. "None of that in my store!"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You sat and talked for a while. Hours, really. Whereas Steven loved to babble about things he knew, and was rather energetic about it, Marc was… reserved. Shy, almost. He was content to let you lead the conversations, piping in here or there on a subject.

He told you some about his time in the Marines, and how something happened to him mentally that got him discharged early. He was vague about what he did after that, but he mentioned moving to London after he and his wife ran into problems.

At first you almost asked a rather impertinent question, "Why did you guys split up?" But decided that was far too rude of a thing to ask. Even if you wondered why he married outside of a soulmate bond. Even if a marriage like that wasn't entirely uncommon…

"I'm sorry." You say softly, sitting across from him, your coffee long finished, the mug cold. "You've been through… a lot..."

"Yeah, you can certainly say that." Marc sighed, turning his mug in his hands for probably the hundredth time.

"So… Thanks again. For y'know. Helping me." You smile.

"No problem, easy enough to deal with a drunk." He shrugged. "And he looked like he was about to hurt you, so I had to do... something."

"Well I'm glad you did that something." You chuckle.

Marc cleared his throat and smiled back, a soft thing on his face, really. But it was nice to see.

He moved to stand, "I should, ah… go. Thanks for the coffee." He reached out to hand you a few notes from his wallet, and you declined, gathering the mugs to go wash them.

"Nope, I already said it was on the house." You tell him.

"But–"

"No buts!" You called out as you vanished into the expanse of bookshelves.

When you came back, you noticed that, stacked neatly on the counter, was a bundle of notes, your egg timer sitting neatly atop it, with a post-it note simply saying:

"Tell me your life story next time. Thanks. -Marc."

Chapter 4: Link

#A Rose Under the Moon #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #soulmate au

194 notes · View notes

dwobbitfromtheshire · 6 months

Text

The Right Place in Time

Summary: What if Steve was in the woods with Chrissy and Eddie getting weed for his headaches?

@disrespectedgoatman @estrellami-1 @darkrose517 @panicatthediaz @mandriice @nightmareglitter

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Eddie's POV

Jesus H Christ! He buried his face into Chrissy's neck as they drove back to the Byers. It was completely quiet. The only sound was Steve fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Even Dustin was quiet in the back seat. Lucas chose to ride with Wayne and Max. Chrissy had her feet in Steve's lap again so that she was touching him. Eddie was pretty sure they were all shaking. He never wanted to see Red like that again. He remembered the first time he really talked to her and how she was sitting on the steps of her trailer, trying to act like she hadn't been crying. He approached cautiously, but she still looked skittish.

"Just because we listen to the same music doesn't mean that we are the same," Eddie had said and paused. "Not to speak ill of the dead or anything."

"Wouldn't have anything nice to say about him anyway. . .except for the fact that he saved my friend's life in the fire," Max said. "How do you know?"

"He brought you once to pick up his drugs. You were asleep. I thought it was shitty of him to leave you sleeping in the car without rolling down any of the windows. Didn't say anything, though. One look from that dude scared me shitless," Eddie told her and paused again. "You can still hate him for what he did, you know? One good thing doesn't necessarily erase all the bad. It would take a lot more good things to do that. Holding onto that hate, though? Means he wins, he got under your skin. If you ever decide to forgive him, it should be on your terms. . .not on his."

"Aren't you a thousand year old senior? How the hell are you so smart?" Max said, and Eddie had laughed. "My mom is snoring. I think she's asleep. She drinks a lot, I hate it when she drinks."

Eddie let her know then that they kept the door unlocked, so if she had ever wanted a place to hide out at their place, it was available, as was Granny Ecker's. After that, Wayne would walk out of the trailer for a "smoke break" whenever she did come over and would clean up her mom so she wouldn't have to. Both Max and Eddie knew immediately what he was up to. Like his uncle, apparently, Eddie was a sucker for lost sheep, and Max Mayfield was a lost sheep. He wasn't going to lose her.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Chrissy's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Max," Eddie said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," Chrissy said.

"We're going to stop this bastard," Steve said, his voice thick as well.

Eddie glanced at him, and he could tell Steve was seconds away from crying. He placed his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and watched as he leaned back into his touch. Steve sighed as Eddie caressed the back of his neck. When they pulled into the driveway, Wayne was pulling in behind them, which was crazy because he had left with Max first. The explanation came when Max climbed out with Lucas, licking an ice cream cone. Eddie raised an eyebrow at his uncle.

"What? She was upset. When you're upset, you get an ice cream cone," Wayne said. "I don't make the rules, son."

"If you wanted an ice cream cone, you should have gotten possessed by an evil wizard," Max shrugged and stuck her tongue out at Eddie.

She was still shakey and pale, but Eddie could tell the ice cream was helping. He laughed and ruffled her hair before walking back into the house. Of course, Gareth opened his mouth to complain about the ice cream, but when he saw the serious look on Eddie's face, he stopped.

"Shit. What happened?" Gareth asked.

Eddie gave them the rundown on what happened, and Gareth cursed.

"You okay, Red?" Jeff asked, and Max shrugged. "Yeah, I get that."

"So, now what?" Frank asked.

"Now, we wait until the others get back," Wayne said. "Decide what we're going to do next."

They waited for them in a tense but comfortable silence. Max was finishing her ice cream while leaning against Wayne's arms. Eddie smiled softly. It was nice that Max had an adult to lean on, and Wayne was a good parental figure to have around. The secret knock came a few moments later, and the others came into the house.

"I'm just thankful I'm back in my own clothes again," Robin said.

"You definitely look a lot better," Vickie said with a grin. "Very se - oh!"

Chrissy had gotten up and thrown herself into Vickie's arms, hugging her tightly.

"What happened?" Nancy asked.

"Vecna tried to come after Max," Steve scowled. "Luckily, she had her Walkman with her."

"Yes, you were right about the music connection, Wayne," Nancy said.

"Pretty smart for a Munson," Wayne said proudly.

"Probably the smartest in the room, I'd say," Max said, and Nancy laughed.

"Hey!" Eddie exclaimed. "You're lucky you get a pass, Red."

"Vecna is definitely the one who killed Victor Creel's family. He went after Victor's trauma from World War 2, and from the way Victor described it, his family was killed exactly the way Fred was," Nancy shivered, and Vickie squeezed her shoulder.

"Why the hell is he doing this?" Frank asked.

"Do you think maybe he's trying to get into our world from the Upside Down?" Dustin asked with a frown.

"You think he's possibly using people to form gateways?" Nancy asked.

"Maybe," Dustin shrugged.

"When Barb disappeared, it was quick. I didn't even hear her scream. She was sitting by the pool, and then she was gone. He could have used her to open a gate," Nancy said. "And then a demogorgon dragged her in the Upside Down. I never wanted to look at Steve's pool after that so I didn't."

"You think he's been trying to get out since then," Dustin said.

"Wait, what about in 84? Why didn't he try to get out then too? When the sickness was spreading and the demodogs created those tunnel things?" Steve asked.

"Maybe it wasn't big enough," Dustin said.

"Shit," Nancy cursed.

"What?" Eddie asked.

"No, it's a stupid theory," Nancy said.

"There's nothing stupid here, darling," Wayne encouraged. "Go on."

"I think it's possible that he might be trying to bring the Upside Down into Hawkins," Nancy said. "Make this place his own or maybe build it for El. That's what the Mind Flayer said before. That he wanted to build it for her."

"Shit," everyone cursed, and they went silent as it sunk in.

"When exactly did he get trapped in the Upside Down?" Frank asked.

"Does it matter?" Lucas asked.

"It does!" Nancy and Dustin said together.

"El never told us how she escaped Hawkins Lab," Dustin said.

"Because she doesn't remember," Max replied.

"Exactly. She was weak and disoriented, which meant that she had already used her powers. It had to be something big," Dustin said.

"Like trapping someone in the Upside Down?" Nancy asked.

"I think. . .I think he might have been trying to use Barb and Will to open the gates, or maybe they were his first expiriments," Dustin said.

"No, because Will was being kept alive, remember?" Nancy said. "And then Barb was killed. He didn't need her."

"Okay, so he needed Will alive. Why?" Dustin asked.

"I don't know," Nancy said.

"Maybe he's trying to build an army," Eddie said.

"Could be. For El, maybe?" Dustin asked. "Like a weird twisted way of courting her?"

"No, I think it's her power he admires," Nancy said.

"She doesn't have any powers," Max said. "Not anymore."

"Maybe not now. Has anyone tried calling the Byers?" Nancy asked.

"Tried calling them when we were at Steve's, but I didn't get a hold of them. Joyce has that telemarketing job, so she keeps the line pretty busy," Dustin said.

"Well, we'll wait until night fall, and then we'll check out Lover's Lake," Nancy said. "Check and see if there's a gate. There are trees so it would be more secluded than the parking lot."

"How would we check for a gate in Lover's Lake?" Jeff asked.

Dustin grinned and pulled out a compass. Eddie drowned out Dustin's explanation as he went over everything in his head. If this fucker was as powerful as they said he was, how the fuck were they supposed to defeat them without superpowers? Holy shit. Has it really been only like two days since he met Steve and Chrissy in the woods. It felt like a lifetime ago. Fuck. They both took his hands in his, as if reading his mind. All of this was just happening way to his fast.

Chapter Thirteen

63 notes · View notes

agentwhiskeysdarlin · 7 months

Text

Fooled Around and Fell In Love

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: mostly done in Jack’s pov with one switch to reader’s for a short time, mentions of death and funeral setting briefly, bar setting, alcohol consumption, (y/n) mentioned once, heavy make out session, smutty good times, oral (female & male receiving), p in v sex, the fluff is ridiculous topped off with the cutest ending I’ve ever written

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Notes: I honestly have had this fic sitting for weeks and completely forgot about it. Oops. This idea has been in my head for at least a year and I finally did it. This was also the first timeI wrote a lot in Jack’s pov which was a lot of fun. I’m probably not going to have anything else until kinktober 👀 Thank you as always to @clint-aww-no-barton and I hope you all enjoy! Also if you have never heard the song played in the fic go give it a listen!! Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvin Bishop

ao3 link

Jack Daniels had only been in love once in his life. She’d been his high school sweetheart. He never did figure out how he’d won her heart, but he had. They were going to get married and she’d been pregnant, a baby boy. Then it was all ripped away from him. He’d stood in the cemetery and watched them lower her into the ground along with his heart. Buried six feet under. He swore that day, when he turned his back to her grave, that he was also turning his back on love. He was done with the silly four letter word, that meant nothing but heartbreak. It was hard at first especially seeing his parents, knowing their story. It was a beautiful one, one people wrote books about but Jack just supposed that life wasn’t for him.

He fooled around of course. He still found women ridiculously attractive, and sometimes it was just too hard not to try and charm his way in. He would flirt until he found the perfect girl, who just wanted a little fun for the night. By the morning he was long gone. It got lonely sometimes, but when it did Jack would imagine himself right back at that grave. It was a reminder to not get attached, not to fall in love. He couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t live through it a second time.

He sat now at a local, small town bar, which had pulled in a crowd not long after he’d arrived. He was nursing his second whiskey, turned around on his barstool watching the crowd as it grew. This was his usual Friday night routine, when he wasn’t working. He would come here and wait for the ideal woman and then make his move. Tonight was busier than usual which, Jack didn’t mind at all. The bit of sunlight remaining suddenly broke through the dim lighting, and Jack turned his head to see who was walking in. That’s when his eyes fell on you.

*Your POV*

You couldn’t believe your best friend had dragged you here. Actually you could. She was strong willed, and didn’t take no for an answer much. You’d rather be sitting at home, binge watching a show and eating your weight in ice cream.

“Oh come on. Let’s get you drunk and laid.” Your best friend looped her arm within yours.

“I’m not the one getting over a dick of an ex. I’ll pass.”

“You still need to get laid honey. You’re too cranky.”

“I am not! I’m perfectly fine. Plus there’s not a single guy in here who would look twice at me.”

“Tell that to Burt Reynolds sitting at the bar.”

You glanced over and sure enough, a man who looked like a younger version of Bandit himself, had his brown eyes on you. You felt your face heat as you turned away.

“He’s probably looking at you.”

“Oh honey. He’s not looking at me. Come on, let’s get a booth and I’ll get our first round.”

You rolled your eyes but let her drag you along to a booth. This was going to be a long night.

*Jack’s POV*

Jack watched you, as your friend dragged you to a booth reluctantly. You were beautiful. Honestly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Something about the fact that you obviously didn’t want to be here, just piqued his interest even more. A little more liquid courage and he would go make his move. He watched your friend walk over, confidence so clear on her face. She leaned on the bar calling out to the bartender, placing her order. Two whiskey’s on the rocks. Then she turned to Jack.

“Hey tell me, where you looking at me or my gorgeous friend over there when we walked in?”

“No offense against you darlin’ but definitely your friend.”

“Oh no offense taken. You’re definitely her type. I just wanted to prove that I was right.”

She grabbed her drinks and Jack smirked.

“I’ll add more to your case here in just a minute.”

“You better be nice to her. I have a black belt and I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

Jack chuckled at your friend’s protectiveness over you. It just made him wonder more about you. Jack realized then, that this was the first time he wanted to actually get to know a woman in a long time. He pushed it away, trying to focus on just getting you in bed, before he downed the rest of his drink and got up. He weaved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on you. Your friend said something to you and you turned, your eyes growing wide before you spun back around, your face turning red. Jack couldn’t help but to think it was cute. Luckily you had just finished your drink, and it gave him the perfect excuse to speak to you.

“Can I buy you ladies another round?” He spoke as he leaned on the table.

“You can buy her another round,” your friend spoke and Jack smirked as his eyes went from her to you.

“Uh yeah. Yeah I’ll take another…”

“Whiskey on the rocks?”

“Um…yeah,” you spoke slowly your eyebrow knitting together in confusion.

“I’ll be right back.” Jack smacked the table before turning away.

He ordered two drinks for you and himself before making his way back over.

“May I join you?”

“By all means.” This time you spoke and slid over, making room for him.

“Names Jack. I’ve seemed to have forgotten my manners.”

“Oh (Y/N),” you spoke giving him a shy smile.

Your friend introduced herself, and then her eyes darted to someone in the crowd and gave a flirty wave. She excused herself, your eyes burning a hole in her as she went. Jack moved to the other side so he was facing you.

“I see you were dragged here against your will.” Jack spoke and you pinched your nose between two of your fingers.

“What gave it away?” The way you looked at him was full of embarrassment, but a smile still pulled at your lips.

“A guy just knows,” Jack smirked as he leaned back, his arm draping across the back of his seat. “Not your usual scene then?”

“Not really. I went through a very small stage where it was, but it didn’t last long. It ended in heartbreak so I’m safer at home in front of my tv.”

“Ah come on. You gotta have fun every once in awhile.”

“I guess I’ve had all my fun.”

Jack felt his stomach sink slightly but he’d dealt with this before.

“Oh sugar I promise you haven’t.”

“What makes you say that?” You raised a brow, challenge in your voice.

“Because you haven’t been with me yet.”

“You sure are confident,” you chuckled lightly.

“That I am. I ain’t ashamed of it.”

“Definitely nothing to be ashamed of. I wish I had an ounce of it.”

“You should. You’re a beautiful woman.”

You looked down at the table your face once again red.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s just…I don’t have the best record so…” your voice trailed off and Jack felt his heart clench.

He wanted to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. He wanted you to believe it. It was now a mission of his, and he never left a mission unsuccessful. Jack slid out of his seat, and he watch your face fall slightly.

“May I pull you to the dance floor sugar?” He reached his hand out and he saw a smile pull at your lips.

“Yes you may.” You grabbed his hand, and he pulled you out of the booth and out onto the dance floor.

A fast pace song was playing at the moment, so Jack spun you around and the two of you joined in on a little line dancing, before the song shifted to something slower. Jack pulled you close, his hands on your hips and yours wrapped around his neck. He watched you look around the bar, and he knew you were trying not to meet his eyes. He reached up and his finger brushed at your chin, moving your head until your eyes met his. You looked over his face, your eyes stopping briefly at his lips. He quirked an eyebrow and you gave him a soft nod. Jack dipped his head and his lips met yours. The entire world disappeared. It was just you and Jack. He felt something shoot through him, and it only made him kiss you deeper. He felt your fingers lace in the hair at the nape of his neck. You kissed him back with equal fever, and it made Jack wonder if you had felt the same as him. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He could stand here until the day he died, attached to your lips. He had to get you out of here, now. He pulled away and looked down at you. You were panting and searching his eyes. He could tell you were having a battle with yourself. You pulled him down, your lips brushing at his ear and pulling a shiver through him.

“Take me home Jack,” your words were intoxicating and Jack gulped before nodding.

You pulled him along to tell your friend where you were going. He could only let out a soft chuckle at the high five the two of you shared, before you all but pulled him out the door. Jack took the initiative then, and pulled you to his car. He opened the door for you and you slid in. He was quick to round the front and climb in, buckling and driving off. There was a comfortable silence, full of the tension that hung between you and Jack, as he drove as fast as he could without breaking the law. Your knee bounced rapidly, and Jack knew you were probably feeling the same excitement he was.

Jack noticed far too late that he’d pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t even thought to ask you where you lived. He’d just driven straight here. Another sign he was off his usual game. Deep down, he already knew why. He shook his head slightly trying to clear his thoughts, to focus. The two of you filed out of his car, and he was quick getting the front door open. As he shut it, he moved to cage you between him and it. You were both panting, and he smirked, before he was kissing you again. Damn your lips, your kiss could make him drunk like he had several bottles of whiskey. You moaned against his lips and he shuddered. Your hands traveled over his shirt, and soon he felt his jacket fall to the ground. He was quick to get rid of yours, before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. One hand stayed secured around you, flat against your back, while the other traveled down to your ass. He gave you a quick squeeze, and with a gasp against his lips, you jumped circling your legs around his waist.

The two of you stayed there for several moments, never coming up for air, you pressed between the door and Jack. He let out a breath through his nose, and pulled away reluctantly. Your eyes fluttered opened and you panted. Jack’s breathing was rapid as well, and he gazed at you.

“Please tell me you want to,” his voice betrayed him as it came out slightly hoarse.

“More than anything,” you breathed, your voice not even going above a whisper.

That was all Jack needed, before he pulled you back to his lips, his kiss hungrier than before, as he walked through his house and to his room. He kept you close still with one arm, as the other caught him as he laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. You kept your arms secured around him but your legs slowly fell away, spread wide for him to stay between. He kept himself propped slightly letting his other hand wonder. He his slipped under your shirt and then under the wire of your bra letting his thumb brush across your already hard nipple. It pulled a moan from Jack’s lips and he sat up slightly bringing you with him. His lips parted from yours as he quickly pulled your shirt over your head and discarding it somewhere in the room. Lips back on yours he soon tossed your bra away too. Then he finally let his lips drop and start to wander across your body. Your skin was soft and you smelled so good, that once again Jack could only think about how he never wanted to leave this moment. He kept his kisses feather light as he explored you, finding all the places that made you moan. He noted them carefully, before he finally moved to your breast. He pulled your left nipple between his fingers and pinched slightly. At the same time he pulled your right one between his lips and flicked the hard bud with his tongue. You let out a loud moan, your back arching into him and Jack smirked at himself. He flicked once more as he pulled and then was gone. He was quick to repeat the process on the opposite breast. You, once again, beautifully responding to him. He started to make his way down your stomach, until he came to the top of your jeans. He leaned up slightly, undoing your button and zipper slowly. He glanced up at you and you let out a whimper in a plea. Jack felt his cock twitch at the sight and sound.

He pulled your jeans away, along with your underwear and let them fall to the floor. He stood then, still stationed between your legs and looked down at you fully bare for him now. You were beautiful, no that wasn’t even the right word. There wasn’t one that accurately described you. Jack knew he was in so much trouble. His eyes that had racked over your body, now met yours, that still had a plea held in them. Your pupils blown, your lips swollen. It was truly a sight. He kept his eyes on yours as he removed his shirt and didn’t bother with his jeans yet as he kelt between your legs. He wound his arms around your legs, flatting his hands on your thighs to keep your legs open. The sight before him made him lick his lips. You wiggled and let out another desperate whimper, that sent Jack reeling. He dove, his tongue licking up your slit, and you let out the most beautiful noise Jack had ever heard in his life. You tasted incredible and it sent Jack into overdrive. He kept going, sucking and licking at your clit. He felt his hat knock off from his head, and your fingers in his hair pulling slightly.

“Jack,” you panted out, pulling slightly harder and he looked up at you still giving your clit little flicks with his tongue.

“Please…I want to feel you…inside me,” you begged and Jack smirked.

He reluctantly pulled his mouth away from you and stood. You sat up your feet hanging from the bed, as he watched you undo his pants. He helped you shove his jeans and underwear down, and before Jack could think to make a move you had his cock in your hand. You were quick to take him into your mouth, and it was so unexpected it took Jack a moment to catch up. His hand laced in your hair and he pulled ever so slightly, pulling a moan from you around his cock. He let out a hiss and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in how good your mouth felt on him. He pushed his heavy lids open, looking down at you and it was such a beautiful sight, it was so hard for Jack to stop you. He pulled you up to him and kissed you deeply. The both of you seemed to moan in unison at tasting each other on your lips. He lightly pushed you back once again, and hovered over you. He pulled away, his forehead falling to yours as he glanced down and lined himself up with your dripping entrance, before he pushed in. He made himself go slow trying to take in how you felt as you opened for him. He buried his head in your neck as he finally filled you completely, and it was like the perfect puzzle pieces coming together.

“Fuck,” you whined and that sent Jack into a frenzy.

He pulled out and then snapped his hips forward, letting out a moan at the feeling. He did this a few more time, pulling moans and curses from you before he set a quicker pace. The room filled with the noises coming from the both of you. Jack tried so hard to be quiet, so he could hear ever last little sound you made. He wanted to hear them for the rest of his life. He wanted to spend every spare second he had pulling them from you. You felt so good around him and he swore he had never been with anyone that felt this perfect. It was making him climb his high, quickly.

“I’m so close,” you suddenly whimpered out.

“Let go for me sugar,” Jack spoke in a horse voice.

You snapped and clutched at him like a vice. It was enough for him to follow you. He drilled deep inside of you, and you milked him. He let out a groan as he buried his face in your neck. Your fingers came up and ran lazily through his hair. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, until you’d come back down to earth. Jack pulled out of you and gently laid down next to you. You turned on your side and he did the same, the two of you looking at each other.

“You were right,” you spoke after a few moments and Jack’s eyebrow quirked.

“About what sugar?”

“That was a lot of fun. The most fun I’ve had in awhile,” you smirked and Jack felt his heart jump slightly.

“I must say it was the most fun I’ve had as well sugar. You’re breathtaking,” the last few words fell from his lips in a whisper as he reached out and brushed away hair that was stuck to your face.

His fingers lingered as they softly brushed down your face, and he watched your eyes close and lean into his touch.

“Let me clean you up and we can get some sleep. That is, if you want to stay?” Jack had sat up and he paused looking back at you.

“Yeah I think I would like that,” you looked up at him and he smiled as did you.

He cleaned you up gently, and the two of you settled into bed. Jack pulled you close and watched as you slipped to sleep before he soon followed.

The sun pouring into the bedroom window pulled Jack from the most blissful sleep he could recall having. He turned his head to look at you, and my god how beautiful you were. You were still peacefully asleep. Your breathe was even and the sun danced over you. Jack watch you for awhile weighing these feelings that were creeping up on him. He knew deep down no matter how hard he tried not to, love was going to creep back up on him one day. Looking at you in his bed next to him he could feel it. He gently and slowly crawled out of bed, slipping on some pajama pants before padding to his kitchen. He turned on the radio and turned the volume low letting old classic rock and country music fill the silence. He started in on fixing you breakfast, silently praying that you would want to stay for it.

“I must've been through about a million girls

I'd love 'em and I'd leave 'em alone

I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

Their tears left me cold as a stone”

The familiar lyrics of a song filled the air around Jack, and he found himself smiling to himself. He moved around the kitchen and then he caught you leaning against the doorframe, hair ruffled and nothing but his shirt hanging on your figure. He knew in that moment, one glance at you, eyes catching yours. Both of your faces breaking out into smiles. The lyrics of the song rang true. Jack Daniels had fooled around and fell in love.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl @arcadianempress @discogrrl @immundusspiritu @someplace-darker @thisis-theway @ohpedromypedro @scribbledghost @fioccodineveautunnale @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @littlevodka @all-hallows-evie @mack4676 @perropascal @audreyshepbvrn @mswarriorbabe80 @kaqua @novemberrain221 @weasleywinchester

#pedro pascal #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fic #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey smut #Jack whiskey daniels fic #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x female reader #jack whiskey daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels smut

108 notes · View notes

mad4turtles · 6 months

Note

Can I get some Uncle Tello- Baby/Toddler Casey Jones Jr bonding fluff? Their bond is just so cute and funny to me & I just keep thinking about Donatello "I don't like kids, but if anyone even breathes wrong in Casey Jr's direction I will not hesitate to take someone out" Hamato aka 'the grumpy, protective uncle who grows to love his nephew very much but would never willingly admit it outloud (especially to his twin. Too bad for him Leo most likely already knows. again. twins lol ). Cause I can imagine poor guy had a hard time coping with the fact that CJ can destroy anyone's "emotionally unavailable bad-boy" image with little effort if you give him the time. And Donnie learned the hard way 😂

I am SO sorry this took so long! This prompt is golden and I love it, here you go!

Donatello tolerates children. He doesn't hate them because, believe it or not, there is a difference between the two.

He understands from a logistical standpoint that children function differently from adults. They're still navigating the world, cry when a need isn't met, laugh when you tickle them or someone falls on their face, and put everything and anything within reach in their mouth to figure out what it is and if they can eat it. Most of the time, the answer is no.

Donnie understands that, so he tolerates children. And as the world caves in and he's forced to intermingle with more humans and Yokai than he'll ever see (the numbers dwindle daily, but who's counting?), his tolerance builds. Though his position in the Resistance—Keeping Everyone Alive Under Six Feet of Earth and Limited Oxygen—keeps him cooped up in his lab and limits his interaction with people in general, on the odd days he's not locked in there with a sign that reads 'Keep Out or Get Bit', he'd say he does a decent job. Take that, autism.

It's on one of these odd days Cassandra Jones kicks the door of the mess hall down with enough force to send it flying, holds up a dirty bundle with a squirming thing inside and screeches. “I have acquired a child!”

And that was that.

Well, not really; there was a lot of screeching, demanding, explaining and even more frantic demanding involved. But Donnie barely remembers most of it. He'd been busy staring at the little pink face peeking out from the ragged cloth wrapped hastily around a tiny body, wondering how and why anyone would abandon him.

Logically, he knew why. Babies smell, they're defenceless, needy and loud. All recipes for disaster—death—in the alien apocalypse. Logically, he knew it was better to cut your losses and ditch, lighten the load, ease the burden and raise your chances of survival.

Emotionally, irrationally, he wanted to find the blood mother and kill her himself.

Regardless, Cassandra had claimed him, named him—Casey Jones Jr, of course—and the Hamato's had a new family member.

Cass was a mother, and Donnie was suddenly an uncle.

Cassandra, despite herself, is a great mother. She feeds, clothes, bathes and teaches Jr with the ferocity and vigour she's always had in spades but dipped in a new warmth and love Donnie never would have associated with her. It's unexpected, but Cass wouldn't be Cass if she weren't screwing Donnie's perception of reality in her every waking moment.

April and Raph dote on him something awful with baby voices and whatever toys they find or have donated to them by other understanding and indulgent parents. Mikey cries when he takes his first steps. Draxum gifts him a Yokai necklace made from dragon teeth and scales.

(“He can eat them once his feeble infant teeth fall out,” he explains while stoically cradling the giggling infant on one clawed palm, outwardly indifferent yet impossibly gentle. “They will harden his skin and strengthen his bones to iron. No Krang would dare stand in his way.”

“We are not,” April says, “feeding dragon teeth to my nephew, Draxum.”

“As his grandfather, I should have some say in his dietary requirements. Cassandra agrees with me!”

“I will bury you, Draxum,” April growls in a tone that promises unspeakable violence. “I will bury you deep.”

“... understood.”)

Leo lets him chew on his mask tails while rocking him to sleep. He also cries like a bitch when the little pink thing looks him in the eye, drool dribbling down his chin and his gummy smile miles and miles wide and says—“Weo!”

(Donnie thinks Splinter would have loved him just as much. Shared with him the stories and legacy of their clan, sang to him the same old Japanese lullabies, enthralled him with the tales of Lou Jitsu, everything he'd wanted to do should he ever become a grandfather.)

Donnie doesn't see Casey much. Not by choice, but he's a busy freaking turtle and one-year-olds are notoriously for being loud, distracting little things that Donnie cannot afford, now more than ever.

He knows their chances of winning the war are slim at best and impossible at worst. Hope can only take you so far, crazy mystic powers or not. They've already lost so much of their world. They've already lost Dad.

So Donnie needs to focus, work and keep working so they won't lose anyone else. Anything less than the best possible outcome is not a thread of logic he is willing to follow.

Then there's a knock at his door.

Without turning from his multiple screens, mystic or otherwise, Donnie grunts, “It had better be good—”

Cassandra bursts through the door, blazes across the room, dumps something on Donnie's lap—“HOLD THIS I WILL RETURN SHORTLY SHUT UP AND THANK YOU FAREWELL!”—and slams the door behind her on her way out.

Donnie sits bamboozled in his chair in the aftermath of her whirlwind. He stares at the scorch marks her feet left on the floor, the angle his door sits at after she'd slammed it near off its hinges—

“Ba!”

—and at the one-year-old pink thing she'd left to drool on his lap.

“Oh hell no, hell no—Cassandra Bernid Jones!” he hollers to no reply.

How in the shit could she do this to him?! Why in the shit?!

Junior giggles at Donnie's misery, kicking his bare feet madly and clapping damp hands. He must've had his fingers in his mouth. Joy.

“Cassandra, come back for your child or I will feed you to the nearest Krang Hound!” Donnie shouts. Unsurprisingly, his only answer is more of Junior's incessant giggling. Pudgy fingers reach for Donnie's face and Donnie lifts him higher, further away. Junior shrieks with joy.

Growling, Donnie activates the mechanical arms in his shell to carefully lift the child off his lap as he stands, holding him at a fair distance. The child is delighted by this and kicks harder, screaming with unbridled joy and having the time of his life. Donnie stares, fighting a scowl and a flinch because dear god how can something so small be so ungodly loud?

Donnie wants to smash something. Ironically, the indirect source of his ire keeps that desire at bay, but it doesn't stop him from grinding his teeth.

He's busy running updates on their freaking security system, the only thing keeping the Krang from finding them and killing everything that breathes. Cassandra knows this, everyone knows this, he'd sent them an email about it! So why, in the ever-loving shit, would Cassandra literally drop her child off with the one person who has a history of only tolerating children? Sure it's his adopted nephew, but he can only last so much in the presence of his own blood relatives for Christ—

He doesn't realize he's hissing, a low guttural thing rivalled only by Raphael at his angriest, until Junior stops laughing.

As much as they postured and played with fashion, aesthetics and trends as teenagers, Donnie and his brothers are mutants, and by (non-freaky)human standards, they are not conventionally 'pretty'. And according to many honest human comrades, April included, they can be downright unnerving sometimes. Mostly when they're pissed off, their animal roots seeping through the cracks of the humanity instilled in them by a loving father. They growl, hiss, click and roar, bearing their teeth and snarling like beasts. It's worse for Donnie and Raph, the carnivores of the family and most prone to biting; Raph's size doesn't help, and Donnie has easily frightened some of their biggest and strongest Yokai allies with a flash of fangs or a warning hiss.

It's not something he likes about himself these days. It never bothered him until they were forced to interact more and more with humans who had no qualms pointing shit like that out, even now with literal aliens prowling their ruined world. Still, he's learned to roll with it like he does with everything else.

But Casey Junior looks at him—his peeled lips revealing sharp fangs grit tight in a snarl and a hiss he can't curb fast enough—and he starts crying.

Oh shit.

“Oh shit,” Donnie says, flapping his hands, ire forgotten as panic takes over. “Oh shit, the child is crying and I am the cause. Cassandra will kill me, then Draxum will bring me back as a zombie so Raph can kill me again.”

What the hell does he do? Make funny faces? Pretend to trip over and fall flat on his snoot? Kids love physical comedy, pain is always funny! Or maybe he—or—oh who is he kidding, he's screwed. And the baby is still crying, kicking his feet and red in the face. Donnie lowers but doesn't touch him, biting his lip as his thoughts race. Not even five minutes and he's proven he cannot handle a child. How does Raph do this? How did Dad put up with this for seventeen years—

Oh wait, there's an idea. What did Dad do?

Trick question: Donnie knows exactly what Dad did when they were younger, and eight times out of ten it worked. The problem lies with Donnie and his intense aversion to all things stinky and gross and loud, all of which Casey Jr is.

But Donnie has seen and lived with worse even before the world went to shit. He lived with Leo and Mikey as his little brothers; they piss him off like it's their personal mission, but he loves them so fiercely it's painful. He'd look death in the eye and double-dog dare it to do its worst for them.

This is his baby nephew. He's not been around nearly as long but surely, surely, Donnie can get over himself for him, too.

(Even if he is a busy turtle working his ass off at the end of the world. But family is different. Family trumps everything.)

So Donnie swallows, takes a deep breath, takes Casey from the mechanical arms before dismissing them into his shell—“I'm doing it, I'm freaking doing it—” and pulls Casey into his arms, holding him tight against his chest.

The crying doesn't magically cease as Donnie had hoped, but it dies down into kitten-like sniffles that do—something to Donnie's heart, squeezing and twisting it in a way he hasn't felt since Mikey was this small, maybe smaller. Whatever it is, it compels him to cup the back of Casey's ebony head and press his (grossgrossgross) face into the exposed crook of Donnie's neck.

“Um... there there,” he says clumsily, patting Casey's back with his other hand. “Cease your crying. It's making my knees hurt and my chest do weird, fuzzy things I don't have time for.”

Casey turns his head at Donnie's voice, frighteningly alert.

Hm.

With a claw from his battle shell, he pulls his purple hood up, shielding Casey from the neon glare of his computer screens and LED lights around the lab.

“I apologize for scaring you,” he says a decibel softer. Casey turns his head again in response, still sniffling but significantly calmer. “I am angry, yes, but I am not angry at you. It was unfair of me to show my ire that way, especially in front of you, child who is easily frightened by loud noises and yet is scarily perceptive of the moods of the people around you...”

Casey lays his head against Donnie's shoulder, blinking up at him with big watery eyes. Donnie blinks back.

This is... not awful. It's progress. Progress is good. This is good.

He tears his gaze from Jr's—as deadly a weapon as Mikey's eyes for sure—and sways from side to side the way he used to do for Leo when they were young and scared. He hums a tune under his breath, one from that Ghibli movie about little people; he can't remember the film's name but the song at the end was cute and catchy as it was corny. Even years later, he remembers the words—

“I'm 14 years old, I am pretty. I'm a teen tiny girl, a little lady. I live under the kitchen floor. Right here, not so far from you.”

The sniffles die off, Casey's pudgy fingers grasping Donnie's torn hood, tiny nose buried against cool scales. Donnie keeps going, softly rubbing Casey's back the way Dad would rub his shell during Donnie's worse days. The memory brings tears to his eyes, so he shuts them before they can fall.

“Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel blue. In my dreams O I wish I could... Feel my hair blowing in the wind, see the sky and the summer rain, pick a flower from the garden for you. Beyond the lane there's another world, butterflies floating in the air. But is there someone out there for me?”

By the end, Donnie looks down to see Casey fast asleep, sucking his thumb and drooling on Donnie's shoulder. For a breathless moment that lasts an eternity, Donnie is spellbound, staring at the little pink thing—a biological miracle someone had so quickly discarded on the barren streets of a dying world, a little life that had persevered despite every odd stacked against it, Cassandra's son, Donnie's little infant nephew—he cradles in his arms. For the first time he doesn't care for the slimy drool coating his shoulder, the bacteria or anything his body and brain would outright reject.

Donnie stares at Casey Jones Jr and finally pins a name to the fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Oh.

“Oh,” he says. Jr snuffles in his sleep.

---

When Leo turns a corner to find Mikey, Raph, April and Cassandra huddled outside Donnie's lab doors, he almost turns around to avoid the oncoming storm of Donnie's short temper. The gossip in him wins out in the end as he squeezes between Raph and Cassandra to peer through the crack in the door.

What he sees has him gaping like a fish.

Donatello Hamato—the Resistance's resident genius and hermit—sits languidly at his desk surrounded by screens, one hand tapping away at holographic screens, breezing through emails. The other arm curls around a babbling Casey Jr, grubby hands clenched tight on one of Donnie's old rubber fidget toys as he gnaws on it like a dog with a bone.

“The shipment from Asia's remaining base in Hong Kong should be arriving at the port between noon and sixteen hundred hours tomorrow,” Donnie rambles, eyes scanning a long wall of encrypted mystic text.

“Ba!” Casey cries around the toy, kicking his legs.

Donnie nods with a hum, scratching his chin. “Yes, I agree. Krang activity has intensified alarmingly at the Old Port since the refugee extraction six months ago, but there's no time to plan a safer route...”

“Ba dee ba!” Casey blows a messy raspberry. Not missing a beat, a mechanical arm pops from Donnie's shell to wipe the baby's mouth with a cloth before discarding it.

“You're right, Jr. I suppose there's no helping the matter. We must brief the teams as soon as possible to discuss the matter, rally what factions we have at our disposal—”

“Eeeee!” Casey screeches before bursting into giggles.

Donnie brightens. “Of course! We could send the drones! They're stealthier and won't incur a needless massacre at the hands of psychopathic aliens. If anything, we shall be doing the massacring once I've outfitted the drones with my newest Genius Built trademark mystic weaponry! Excellent idea Casey Jones Jr, what would I do without your added brilliance.”

“Don-NEE!” Casey cries.

“Yes yes, I'll send the email and hopefully one of those dumb dumbs will actually read—wait, what did you say?” Donnie drops the screens and plucks Casey off his lap to stare him in the face with wide eyes. “Did—Did you just—did you just say—?”

“Don!” Casey giggles, wiggling in Donnie's grip. “Don don don don don! Don-NEE!”

Donnie stares and stares and stares. A stupidly happy grin splits his face in two. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” Mikey breathes with a matching grin.

“Would'ja look at that,” Raph chuckles, his smile a proud, fond thing.

“Knew he had it in him,” April nods.

“Which means Leonardo owes me fifty bucks!” Cassandra quietly whoops.

Tearing his eyes away from the horrendously cute picture of his twin and nephew, Leo aims a sly grin at Cassandra. “I would if we still used actual money as a source of income or trade.” Cassandra's grin drops like a stone, and Leo fights an evil cackle that would make Draxum proud. “Cash hasn't been a thing in years, Cassandra dear. Get dunked on.”

“Bite my ass, you di—!”

The door abruptly slides open the rest of the way and they tumble to the floor in a heap. Above them, Donatello stands unimpressed, brow raised and one hand on his hip. Curled in his other arm, Jr babbles happily and reaches for Cassandra.

“Evening all,” Donnie drones as they clambered guiltily to their feet. “To what do I owe this displeasure.”

“Nothing at all!” Cassandra said, shooting Leo a poisonous glare before opening her arms to receive her son. “Thank you for looking after my child, I will take him back now and relinquish you from your—”

“A-bub-bub-bub!” Donnie turns slightly, putting Jr out of her reach. “I have decided that Jr may stay a few hours longer while I run the regular diagnostics and schedule that meeting you no doubt heard about while you were unceremoniously eavesdropping at my still broken door—thank you for that Cassandra, by the way—he is no trouble presently and makes an excellent rubber duck to bounce ideas off. Don't you agree, Jr?”

Jr snaps his head up to beam at Donnie. “Ah!” he says. Donnie's impassive face melts into a rare smile that Leo aches to see. He's not smiled like that since before Dad...

Cassandra's arms flop to her sides. April, Mikey and Raph stare, rendered speechless until April lifts a finger. “... er, Don, are you sure—?”

“Quite sure, Commander O'Neil,” the impassive mask returns, but Donnie's fooling no one. “Now if you don't mind, Jr and I are very busy bees and must get back to work, so begone. And while you're at it, please issue this new warning to the rest of the base: 'I have only had Casey Jones Jr for five hours, but if anything happens to him, I will kill everyone in this base and then myself.' Good day.”

“Goo' 'ay!” Casey chimes and Leo has a front-row seat to Donnie's delighted crooked smirk right before he slams the door shut in their faces.

There's a beat of silence.

Then Raph claps his hands. “So,” he draws out with a strained smile, “who saw that coming?”

“Me,” Leo sings.

“You bet against him!” Cassandra booms. “With non-existent money!”

Leo shrugs, motioning them to follow him down the hall. “Only on principle. I knew he had it in him. Jr is family and Donnie loves attention and family. It was bound to happen.”

“Aaand it was stupidly cute!” Mikey chimes, floating by them with his hands tucked under his chin.

Leo thinks of the tingle he'd felt in his chest hours ago when Cassandra first ditched—ahem—dropped Jr off with Donnie, of the familiar tune from an old, corny yet hopeful film from their childhood humming from the fringes of their Mind Meld, of the glee and soft, new, helpless love bleeding from Donnie's gaze, his smile, as Jr babbled his name.

Leo smiles. “Yeah. Stupidly cute.”

---

Reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to drop more requests! For those of you still waiting, thank you for your patience I will get to them soon! :3 <3

#rottmnt #my writing #rottmnt fic #rottmnt movie #bad future rottmnt #bad future timeline #casey jones jr #casey jr #uncle donnie #i love them with all my heart #they are family your honor

58 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 2 months

Text

Sam’s not sleeping when Dean pulls off the road. “What,” Sam says, although without a lot of interest. State highway after midnight and exactly no one to see, but Dean coasts down the gravel shoulder to the pitted asphalt-and-dirt road that turns off into—sparse woods, a sign that says NO HUNTING. Sam snorts.

“Gotta take five,” Dean says. Sam nods, arms folded over his chest. Shadow-shapes in the dark, his eyes slanted away at some terrible inward thing. Out of the car there’s moonlight peeking through the tree-tops and Dean left the headlights on, so he doesn’t trip and break his neck on his way to water a patch of weeds. He zips up and then stands there, breathing. Dirt and mulch. Kinda acrid now but not any worse than the woods usually are. Not that different from where they’d buried the vampire kid—god, less than six hours ago. Soft dirt there and they’d made a good grave, burned him right, covered the charred bones. Sam hardly looking at him then, too. Like finishing the hunt hurt as much as sitting around thinking about the other dead kid had.

Dean hasn’t got much in his back pocket, when it comes to making Sam feel better. They’ve been doing this so long they’ve got rhythms they follow and he knows that he’s—tough, sometimes, and he can be a real pain, and Sam always seems to have some way to grip Dean by the wrist and pull him up and be solid as mountain rock for Dean to brace against. He doesn’t have a roadmap for when the rock starts to slide under his feet. He can say some of the dumb crap he’d offer to civilians but Sam’s too smart for it to work; he can offer work, or duty if work itself doesn’t do the trick, but Sam’s never felt the pull of that the same way Dean has, and if Dean’s honest he’d be freaked if Sam really bought it. With how Sam’s been talking Dean’d be willing to throw on Steel Magnolias and give him a foot massage if he thought it’d help, but it wouldn’t, and he doesn’t have much left to offer, to try to make it—not fixed. Fixing it isn’t something he’s been able to do since he was five years old and everything went wrong. But maybe it could be—

He comes back to the car and opens the trunk, instead. Then to the passenger side, where he opens Sam’s door, and Sam looks up at him narrow-eyed but not frowning. Tired. Sad, which makes Dean’s throat do something weird, and he clears it before he says, rougher than he means, “You gotta piss or anything?”

“No,” Sam says, tilting it like Dean’s the weird one. Well, fair enough.

Dean nods. He twists the cap on the bottle he fetched and takes a long burning swallow. Sam shakes his head when Dean holds it out but Dean waggles it at him, and Sam’s not yet so oatmeal-hippie-health conscious that he won’t have a drink with Dean on the wrong side of dawn. His lips pull back like it stings. “Good value for fifteen bucks,” Dean says, and Sam raises his eyebrows, and Dean crouches then in the open door, puts his hand on Sam’s leg. Curling his fingers around the inside of Sam’s knee.

They’ve been doing this so long, they’ve got rhythms. Sam’s chin tips down. “I don’t…” he starts, but he bites his lip and breathes in long and slow through his nose and Dean doesn’t know what he would say, anyway. That it was too fucked up, that he missed all the people they’d lost, that the dark was so heavy it had this velvet choking intensity, so bleak no light could ever get through. Pick a number.

But Dean’s left the headlights on. He pulls, and Sam swivels on the seat so his bootheels crunch in the gravel, and Dean settles down on his knees and reaches up and puts his hand on Sam’s face, and watches Sam close his eyes. His jaw clenching. Stubble thick and sharp and his face as hollow as it was when Jack—when—

Dean unbuckles Sam’s belt. The button, the zip, and once he smacks Sam’s hip he lifts up enough so Dean can yank everything down. He’s soft but so what. Dean’s worked with worse. He spreads his hands over Sam’s bare thighs, hair prickling in the autumn air, licks his mouth wet, and when he takes Sam in it’s—everything familiar, good. Gravel biting into his knees through his jeans. He tongues under the soft ridge of the head, breathes through his nose. The rarity of getting to go down to the base without choking, suckling soft, salt under his tongue and the bitter of a long day and Sam’s fingers sliding through his hair, holding the back of his neck so careful. Like Dean will get hurt, doing this thing he’s been doing as long as his life has been worth anything. Like Dean’s doing Sam a favor, here, when he’s split halfway between wanting Sam to stop thinking and wanting his own brain blank as a snowfield.

A weird strangled breath, above. Dean slurps back and kisses Sam’s hipbone, and drags his shirt up and kisses his belly, hair prickling his lips. “Let me,” he says, asking for—a lot, maybe—and Sam doesn’t say anything but his thumb drags up into the soft hollow at the top of Dean’s spine and his thighs tip wider. Dean presses his forehead to Sam’s stomach. Weirdly grateful, in a way he can’t ever say aloud. This one good thing. Then he pushes Sam to sprawl back across the bench seat, and holds Sam’s hips in his hands, and takes his brother into his throat.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 311 #o to give sam a sleep without nightmares #i realize s15 was not particularly interested in emotional continuity #but that shit is a rollercoaster #dead jack directly into dead teenager #(murdered by dean no less)#and sam's sad about rowena (??) but kinda just giving up generally #and you know what i think would help?#dean's dsl

25 notes · View notes

haihaihaitani · 8 months

Text

1:04 AM ~ *Taiju Shiba*

Summary: You’ve made the 10th generation leader of the Black Dragons soft. Now you must pay the price. But you’re not scared.

Pairing: Taiju Shiba X Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst Drabble

Word Count: 530

Warning: mentions murder, bad swearing, blood, hurt to comfort, no one dies but it comes close.

Masterlist

A/N: I just want to try something.

The switchblade pressed against your throat was cold to the touch. You were completely frozen due to the cold steel against your jugular. However, you were as calm as could be. You weren’t worried as the person holding the blade pressed a little harder.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Taiju was pissed but he only showed it on his face. His posture was relaxed, his arms folded over his broad chest. You kept your eyes trained on his closed eyes.

Everything was okay.

“This bitch has made you soft. I’m just removing an obstacle.”

“No, you’re touching something that’s mine.” He snapped. “You draw a single drop of blood and I’ll bury you six feet under.”

See? Everything was fine.

“We could be great! Legends even! And yet you let this whore get in our way! She has to go!”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Taiju’s voice was deadly calm but razor sharp. “Now let her go.”

“I WON’T!” He pressed harder. A drop of blood dripped down your throat. Your breath hitched.

Taiju’s face turned murderous. “Hakkai.”

The blade jerked across your throat.

It then slashed down your clavicle before being pulled away from you entirely. Your knees gave out and you crumpled to the floor. Instantly, Taiju was by your side. You barely heard the gunshot behind you. Your hands pressed to your throat, assessing the damage.

You were pulled into Taiju’s strong arms and you realized you’ve never seen him so worried in his entire life. Tears were even welling in his eyes. But you were shaking too much from the adrenaline rush to hold his face and reassure him.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay! You have to be okay!”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was hoarse. “I’m fine, Taiju. It was a superficial cut across the throat. It didn’t hit anything. The one across my clavicle will need stitches though. He still didn’t hit anything. I’m just going into shock.”

He shook his head. “God, I hate how you know so much about this shit. Hakkai! Get the car! We have to get to the hospital!”

Hakkai’s footsteps fade away and you try to touch Taiju’s face. He grabbed your hand softly and placed it back over your wound. “Don’t. Don’t move. You need to be okay.”

“I will. Just keep me awake. Kiss me like a princess if you have to.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

“You’re stupid for not stopping him before.”

“He would have killed you!”

“No, he wouldn’t have. You would’ve stopped him.” You stared deep into his eyes as you said, “I know you, Tai. You would have stopped him from hurting me. And you did. You saved me.”

Taiju shook his head. “No, you still got hurt. You’re going into shock. You could still-”

“I’m not.” You snapped. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you until we go to the hospital. So just keep holding me tight and don’t let me go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hakkai popped up behind his brother’s shoulder and the two of them helped you to the hospital. You went under anesthesia and woke up in a quiet room, Taiju staring out the window. When he saw you were awake, he squeezed your hand and told you you were going to be fine.

“And now I’ll have cool scars.” You smiled, squeezing his hand back. “Also, I’ll look like Frakenstein for a while. Isn’t that cool, Tai?”

He glared at you. “Shut the hell up. You’re in the hospital and it’s all my fault.”

“You shut up. We’ve been over this. Everything turned out okay. We just need to be more careful in the future, that’s all.”

He sighed and dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed against your clasped hands. “I hate you. I should leave you and never see you for the rest of my life. You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you whispered, “But you love me too much. And I love you too. We’ll figure this out. We’re going to be okay.”

“You’re going to be okay. I’m never seeing you again.”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “You would never.”

He didn’t say anything. The two of you stayed like that until you fell asleep. He walked out of your hospital room and didn’t come back.

But you know Taiju. When you were ready to be discharged, he’d be right there by your side.

Because he would never leave you behind.

#Tokyo Revengers #Tokyo Revengers Fanfiction #Tokyo Revengers Drabble #Anime #Anime Fanfiction #Anime Drabble #Black Dragons #Taiju Shiba #Taiju Shiba X Reader #Taiju Shiba Fanfiction #Taiju Shiba Drabble #Taiju Shiba Angst #Taiju #Taiju X Reader #Taiju Fanfiction #Taiju Drabble #Taiju Angst #Drabble #Angst

68 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 1 year

Note

But they deserve to be happy Leah don’t hurt our babies

Listen….. I don’t make the rules okay. I just don’t. But as always here’s the series Masterlist if you’re not caught up!

Funerals. They were always far too much for you. The idea of a loved one being buried six feet under the surface or burnt into a pile of ash. Both concepts of inevitable mortality seemed horrifying—the furthest thing from a peaceful transition.

“Dad’s memory will live on through the Navy, with all he gave, all he aspired to achieve and everything he changed.” You always had a comforting understanding for cultural whose beliefs were that death was only a stepping-off point, not a forever goodbye. But as Chaos Kazansky spoke about her father and his love for all things aviation and his deepest passion of all, his family. You couldn't fight the fear off for much longer. Death was an inevitable goodbye you were running from.

“How's she holding up?” It was odd seeing everyone in their dress whites instead of their usual attire. Their sweaty old flight suits that had seen better days. “Probably not too good under the circumstances?”

“Yeah, she uh–she's shut down.” Rooster spoke to you softly as his eyeline continued to linger on Chaos who stood with Maverick and a few other of Tom's close friends. “I've got her though, no need to worry.” Rooster only let his gaze drop from Chaos to send you a soft smile. “How about you?”

“Can I uh, can I talk to you about something?” You had always trusted Bradley Bradshaw in all the time you had known him. He was a soft spirit, but he’d been through things that made his heart a little harder. You knew he’d have some advice to give. From the heart. Sipping on the beer you’d picked up from the bar the Krazanksy family had provided at the wake. Nothing too extreme, just a few beers, wines and soft drink options to go with the catering. Finger food and hors d'oeuvres.

Rooster turned all his attention to you without hesitation, noticing how it was now your eyes that now lingered over to where Jake Seresin stood in his dress whites with Sarah Kazanksy. Spilling his deepest condolences as the woman still stood holding the framed photo of her late husband.

“What's bugging you Hawkeye?”

“I keep having this nightmare, about Jake.” You hadn't told anyone about the nightmare that had riddled you, and plagued your mind since before your split with Jake. “About this–” Gesturing to the wake going on around you. Sombre faces everywhere. “Except it's just me, there's no one else around to mourn his death.”

“What scares you the most? The fact it's just you or the fact that he's gone?” You’d never stopped to think about it in too much detail before, but Rooster had a point. “I think both ways you look at it though you can't control the outcome either way.” Rooster explained as you looked back at him. “Jakes a great pilot Y/n, come hell or high water he’ll give his life for the greater good, but he's also a menace to fly with.”

“If something were to happen tomorrow would you have his back after everything?” It was a heavy question Rooster didn't really know how to answer simply with a yes or no.

“I wouldn't risk my life for him, no.” Rooster had his own life, his own love to worry about. You understood where he was coming from even if it made your heart sink into your stomach. “But you know I'd do my best to prevent the situation ever getting to that point Hawk.”

“I know, I know, it's just–I don't know if everyone else would do the same.”

“Everyone would do the same.” Rooster was quick to correct your judgment of the TopGun group. “It's our job, like it's your job to keep us safe with all the parameters you set–I don't think you’d send someone you don't necessarily like to their death because of something they’d said or done in the past.”

“I wouldn't–” You defended yourself as Rooster wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close to his side.

“Exactly, it's like that with Hangman, we argue and get on each other's nerves and sometimes I really do question how he managed to convince you to marry him but at the end of the day I'm fairly confident if push came to shove up there he’d have my back and id have his.” Rooster was trying to level with you as Jake noticed the moment you two were having, sending Sarah his condolences one final time before making his way over with intent behind his stride. “I wouldn't go out of my way to save his life if he was the one who put himself there though, I’ve made promises to be around for the long hall for a certain someone who won't even look at me right now.” Rooster had lost Chaos in the time he’s spent listening to your insecurities. He’d later find her back at her place, in her childhood treehouse with a sign hung up that said no boys allowed. Knowing he’d come for her.

“She’ll come around Roo, she always does.” You sighed as he let you go. Pressing his lips together as Jake finally made his way to you, eyes off Rooster like he was the son of Satan himself.

“You trying to steal my girl, Bradshaw?” Jake taunted as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. He looked way too good in his dress whites, handsome and all put together. Shoulders squared as they could be. “Something I need to be concerned about?”

“I wouldn't use a wake as a pick-up place.” Bradley sighed, almost annoyed that he’d again insinuated that he was trying to hit on you. Even though if anything he was doing his job for him. “That's definitely a lot further up your alley than mine.”

“You okay?” Jake turned his attention specifically to you as Rooster walked away, trying to find the girl who really had his whole arse heart in the palm of his hand. “You seem a little off?”

“We’re at a funeral, Jake, do you want me to wipe out a couple of backflips or something?” sighing you shrugged him off, making your way over to the nearest table that had some finger food laid out. A little hungry. “How's Sarah holding up?”

“Distraught, she just lost her husband.” Jake explained as he reached over your shoulder for a sandwich triangle. “Wouldn't you be if you–” He physically had to stop himself from finishing that sentence. Jake's brain had momentarily forgotten just who he was talking to. His eyes lingering on yours as you turned back around to face him. “I'm sorry– I shouldn't have–”

“I would be.” You agreed with Jake's assumption. “Distraught would have to be the kindest way to describe it.” Looking around Jake finally understood what you were so afraid of, what you had run away from. It was never about him, it was about the fear you felt of losing him. But you can only run so far. “The only difference between you and Iceman is he quickly learnt how to fly with the idea in the back of his mind that there were people who loved him waiting for him to come home—“ You took in every fine line and small set of Jake Seresins face. “You still fly like you have nothing to lose and that’s what keeps me up at night.”

“I have already told you—“ Jake's voice grew lower, you didn’t miss the little hint of frustration in his tone. “I’d pull back.”

“What does that even mean though.” You questioned as you pushed past your husband, too overly consumed with the emotions the funeral had made you feel. “Your version of easing up is probably something completely different to mine and it still doesn’t change the fact I don’t wanna be the only one who has to say goodbye—“

“Hey?” Jake chased up to you with concern lacing his voice. “Hey slow down will you?” Taking strides to keep by your side Jake took your wrist gently in his hand. Forcing you to stop in your tracks. “What’s this all about?” Trying to read your face, Jake only saw sadness hidden behind your eyes. An inner ear raging on, he wondered what side was winning and hoped that he was on it. “Tell me.”

“I just wanna go home—“ It wasn’t an acceptable excuse but nevertheless Jake let you go. Hoping you’d tell him anyway. “Come home with me?” You asked softly as you stood with your shoulders slightly sloughed, barely enough energy left in the tank to keep yourself upright after the emotionally draining day that was the goodbye of Tom Kazanksy. “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

“I’ve got an even better idea.” Jake smirked softly as he walked beside you. His hands in his pockets as you wrapped your arm around his. Kissing your temple as you both walked down towards where your cars were parked. “Go change, pajamas only—meet me at the Hard Deck.”

“I’m not wearing my pajamas to the Hard Deck.” You chuckled, scoffing at your husband’s request.

“Okay, just something comfortable at least, and I said meet me there not that we’re staying there.” You wondered what Jake was up to, but chose to let him have this moment—obviously believing whatever he had in mind was better than what the offer you’d given him. “See you soon.” Jake paused, turning to cup your cheeks in his hands before pulling you closer. His forehead on yours. “I love you, so much.” Kissing you softly and with such passion it almost sent you to the moon.

“I love you so much more.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Jake Seresin considered himself to be a romantic. Sure he had his flaws but when he wanted to be? He could really turn it on. All he ever really wanted to do was fly planes and marry the girl of his dreams. His highschool sweetheart. His best friend.

Jake stood awkwardly by his locker across the hall from where yours was like he did every morning. Waiting for you to grab your things, he’d been working up the courage to say hello to you ever since you’d transferred.

“She’ll never talk to you—“ Sebastian snickered as he watched the love struck blonde who’s braces were due off in two weeks pine over a girl he’d never even spoken to. “I heard a rumor that she got expelled from her old school in Florida for kicking some kids so hard in a fight she broke his legs.” Jake's eyes widened as he saw you round the corner, headphones on and minding your own business like you typically tried to do most days.

“Shut up douchebag she’s coming.” Pretending to fish his bags from his locker, Jake turned to see if you had stopped behind him. Noticing that you hadn’t as he looked around—Jake let out a heavy sigh. Another day to tick off his calendar as another day gone he didn’t have enough courage to talk to you. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. “See ya later Seb, I’ve got P:E with Mr Horron and if I'm late again he’s gonna make me do two hundred pushups.” Jake groaned as he stepped back slightly and shut he locker—revealing that you’d been standing behind Jake's open locker door. Just waiting for him to close it.

“Why do you wait by your locker for me every goddamn morning?” It was the first time you’d ever spoken to him. Jake almost shit his pants with how much you’d managed to scare the junior-year puberty-ridden teenager. His hand over his heart as he looked at you speechless and wide-eyed. “Well?—you gonna tell me or?”

Jake turned around to see that his best friend Sebastian had in fact, bailed. Leaving him to fend for himself.

“Must just be a coincidence?” Hardly, Jake made sure he was at his locker every morning at least twenty minutes before your bus even came in. He didn’t want to miss the best part of his day. “I’m Jake.”

“Y/n—“ You knew Jake was lying, but you didn’t really care. Your heart was beating so fast from the fact you’d worked up enough courage to finally ask the kid who you thought had been glued to his locker all semester if he was in fact waiting for you, that it didn’t really matter what the answer was. So long as he wasn’t trying to run away from you. Kids could be cruel, and the rumours they created even more vicious.

“Oh, I know.” You couldn’t help but to laugh as Jake's cheeks turned a blushed crimson, embarrassed he’d been so quick to let you know he knew who you were. “I mean, I just—“ Fuck he’d fumbled the ball. Big time. “Hi?”

“Hi yourself.” It was your turn to blush. You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising as Jake's eyes stayed lingering on yours well past the bell which meant he’d be getting two hundred push-ups. “I reckon tomorrow morning you come say hello now that we’re not technically strangers anymore?”

“For sure, yeah uh—yeah No definitely I will!” Jake rambled on like you’d just asked him to marry you. Watching as you pushed off the lockers you’d been leaning on and made your way to whatever class you had that morning. Chemistry—Jake knew you had chemistry Wednesday mornings. “Bye!” You didn’t respond but what Jake couldn’t see was just how excited you were that you’d spoken to him. Keeping your composure—ignoring him as you walked away. That’s what you did when you liked a boy right?

“Oh my fucking god dude she left you hanging man—“ Sebastian laughed as he met up with Jake in the hall a little later. “Hangman’s a great nickname though, at least that’s something.” Turns out that nickname stuck a little too well into his adult life, and Into his career for all the wrong reasons.

“What’s all this?” Jake heard you from the top of the dunes, you’d gone in to find Jake at the Hard Deck but Penny had turned you away, pointing to the direction of the beach.

“Pizza, beers and a fire.” Jake bellowed back as he put the finishing touches up. A string of fairy lights that hung across two tiki torches that he’d stolen from Penny and stuck in the sand on either side of the beach chairs. “Come sit.” Jake picked up one of the blankets he’d brought with him to the beach, wrapping it around your shoulders before you sat down.

“What are you up to Hangman?” There it was again. His callsign, that stupid nickname he’d been given all those years ago when he’d left him hanging in the hallway. The original hangman if you will.

“I thought we could just—“ Jake took his own blanket out from the seat before he sat, letting it lay across his legs as the fire warmed you both. “Talk. Thought we could just sit here with a beer and listen to the waves and just talk.”

“Sounds doable.” You cooed as you accepted the beer Jake had given you. Taking the neck gracefully. “Can we maybe talk about what we’re gonna do with the house?” You jumped straight into the opportunity gifted to you as Jake took a bite of the pizza Penny had made him, offering you a piece too. “Do we maybe wanna put it on the market?”

“Depends on what you think the markets gonna do I guess?” Jake's voice fit perfectly with the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. “On one hand we’re making what? a couple of hundred extra each week from rent after we pay our mortgage.” You both still kept your joint account after you’d split up. It all felt too permanent and too real to close it. “On the other hand we split the diff and sell up.”

“I think I was more wondering if you just wanted to start a fresh somewhere else.” Taking a sip of your beer to help the pizza go down. “I mean we could always buy in Texas again? Your mums always said she wanted you closer.” Turning your head towards Jake you watched under the glow of the fire as his chest puffed. Laughing.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just a ruse to be able to see you more often.” Jake explained as he told you about all the times his mother had questioned him about if you were getting back together or not. “She’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“Right, well—we can circle back to the house situation after we figure out what we’re gonna do about our next postings.”

“I overheard Admiral Beau talking to Admiral Bates last week and I think we’re getting a pretty easy ride after this if we want it.” Jake mumbled through his next bite of pizza, talking with his mouth full. “So I’ll go wherever you’re going.” It was nice to think about—being able to spend more time with Jake while working. It always seemed to be touch and go. “But, I do wanna talk about something, if you’ll give me a chance?” Jake took a sip as he let his head fall against the beach chair. The white wooden lounge chairs connected by a table top that held the pizza box.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, enjoying the serenity and warmth of the fire.

“Today honestly really got to me.” You weren’t expecting that. “I mean, I've never really thought about it before but—yeah it hit me really hard after you left just how much I really need to check myself before I crash and burn babe.” You’d been right. Jake knew deep down that you had been right all along. You had every right to be worried about him. “Seeing the way Sarah was just so lost really made me think—“ Jake turned to look at you with a soft lul in his neck. Mimicking him you did the same. Both of you still holding your respective beers. “I can’t do this to you anymore—I’m done talking risks, if that means I’ve gotta fly with hazards on then so be it.”

“And all the times you’ve called Rooster a conservative—“ You chuckled softly as Jake beamed at you. He loved your laugh, so much. It had been far too long since he’d gone without it. Never again.

“Yeah, I’ll have to eat my words.” Jake just rolled his eyes knowing that that would open a can of worms for Rooster to eat one by one. “You ever gonna tell me what you were talking about today?” You let the question linger a little. Treading water in the silence as waves crashed and the fire crackled.

“I will, one day—“ You smiled softly as Jake sat up. Letting his blanket fall into the sand. “Hopefully I won’t ever need to. But sure, one day.” For a while, you both just sat In comfortable silence. Something you hadn’t had the chance to do in a while. Enjoying each other’s company.

“Are we really gonna make this work again?” Jake's voice drew you back into reality before you had a chance to drift too far away. “Because if we are I reckon we should at least write new vows.”

“Why’s that?” You weren’t opposed to the idea, not in the slightest bit. But you wanted to know Jake's reasons. His thought process, what led him to this decision.

“I wanna be with you forever.” Jake was wearing his whole heart on his sleeve for you. A side no one else ever got to see. “And you wanna be with me forever, right?”

“I do.” You responded with no hesitation. “I absolutely do, although it’ll probably lead me to an early grave the amount of worrying I do.” Jake let you have that one. Watching as you decided enough was enough and that you needed to be closer to him.

“In order to do that, we need to make vows—a commitment, a contract.” Jake continued as you made your way over to him, bringing your beer and blanket as you sat in between his legs. Back against his chest. Reaching out for the notebook he’d brought from the glovebox of his car Jake let his arms prop over your shoulders so you could see the book. “So what do we want to promise each other?”

“We already did this at our wedding?” You tried to side just how smitten you truly become but it was hard to do when Jake kissed the top of your head before clicking the pen he held in his other hand.

“This is for now until forever, clearly the ones we made before just weren’t cutting it.” Jake's voice had dropped a few octaves as the night grew old. The fire still burned bright before you as the lights above your head flickered. “So, what do we want to promise each other?” You didn’t respond instantly, you simply let the waves fill the silence.

“That you’ll always love me—even when you hate me.” Jake couldn’t contain his happiness as he wrote down what you had said.

“To love each other—“ Jake spoke allowed as he chicken scratched his handwriting across the paper. “Even when we hate each other.” Love isn’t random. It’s chosen, Jake Seresin would choose you in every universe. “How about, no running—ever.” Jake pulled you as close as he possibly could into him. Your back right up against his as you took the pen from him, writing down his words. “Nobody walks out, no matter what.” It just got personal, your past self would never have thought to write something so specific down. But it felt right to promise it now.

“To take care of each other even when we’re old and smelly and senile—to have and to hold forever.” Jake chuckles against your back as you laughed with him, watching as he took the pen and wrote down what you had said.

“This, is, forever.” Jake whispered the words he wrote in your ear as his chin dropped to your shoulder. Signing his signature underneath the bows you both had written down. Passing you the pen and notepad so you could do the same. “Sign here please Mrs Seresin.”

“To have and to hold Mr Seresin.” You signed your signature right next to Jakes. Grinning ear to ear because for the first time in a very long time—you had hope that your marriage was whole again. Under the moon and the stairs next to fire and with the love of your life, everything felt whole as you both sat and listened to the waves crash and the fire crackle. “I feel like we need to exchange rings—“ ripping small strips of paper from the bottom of the same page you’d written your new vows on.

“Paper rings? A nice touch.” Jake cooed as he held his left hand out for you to slide the not so sturdy paper ring down his left ring finger . Covering the tattooed one he’d gotten because he was always forgetting to put the carbon fiber wedding band on. It still sat in the ring box at the bottom of his bedside table. Safety tucked away.

“Love you forever.” You whispered gently as Jake took the one you’d made for yourself. Placing it above the ring that already wrapped around your ring finger snugly.

“And a little bit more—forever and a day.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The night you and Jake had rewritten your vows to each other had been a turning point for Jake Seresin. He wanted nothing more than to be a better version of himself for you. Nothing mattered to him more, more than you, his marriage.

“Captain Mitchell?” Jake knocked before he entered Petes office. Waiting to speak again until spoken to.

“What can I do for you Hangman?” Pete sighed. Frustrated at the stunt Chaos had just pulled in front of the entire class, knowing there was nothing else left he could do to protect her from whatever punishment Admiral Beau had chosen for her. If Jake was quiet enough, he could hear the reprimanding she was getting next door. It didn't sound good. And judging by Petes expressions? It wasn't going to end well.

“I uh, I just wanted to express my concern about the mission, sir.” Jake stood with his chin tall and his shoulder squared. Hands behind his back as he watched Maverick roll his eyes.

“Yeah i know i know, i’m working on it kid–i've got names and times and i know everyone wants to be chosen but i just can't promise an–”

“I’d like to withdraw my name from consideration.” It was the last thing Pete Mitchel ever expected to hear come out of Jake's mouth. His jaw almost hit the floor when he paused in his tracks. Rubbing his face to see if he’d actually fallen asleep at his desk going over reports.

“You what?” Maverick questioned just to make sure he heard the aviator with such potential correctly. Sure he needed some real tough love when it came to teamwork and efficiency but Jake was a fine pilot. A top condenser on Pete's current list.

“My priority list sir, it's uh–it's shifted recently and I can't–” Jake corrected himself as quickly as he could to make sure it was known this wasn't negotiable. “Sorry sir, I won't risk not coming home to see those commitments through.” Pete stood beside himself bewildered into utter silence. Downing in the silence, Jake tried not to let his mind wander.

“It's really funny you mention this sudden change of heart Hangman, because not four days ago your wife was threatening me that if I even considered putting you on this mission she’d hold me personally responsible if anything happened to you.” If there was one thing Jake was good at it was a poker face. As Maverick dropped a bond he wasn't expecting as a response Jake stood calmly as his heart raged a war inside his chest. His temperature rising, his skin boiling. “I can't promise either of you anything, but I'll take both of your requests into consideration.”

“Thank you Mav.” Jake wasn't in the mood to stick around, he did however wait outside Admiral Beaus' office to see what had become of Chaos Kazansky. He needed a distraction from the fact you'd meddled with his career. The only person who got to do that, who got to decide what he did and did not do with his career was him. Not you. Not anyone. Even if you had both come to the same conclusion– you went behind his back before the fact. And didn’t mention it.

Down the hall, you were just coming back from lunch. Admiring the bunch of roses Jake had been ever so kind to surprise you with. The card attached read to have and to hold forever and a day in that same chicken scratch writing he’d down on the notepad that now sat framed on your desk.

A pile of mail sat unopened that had been delivered while you were out. All addressed to Y/n Seresin. On autopilot, one by one you opened each envelope. Reading the mundane work jargon that cluttered your brain. Some real above the shoulders mustard type shit. But soon your heart was falling into a pit so deep you never knew a hole could be dug so deep.

A single letter had been mixed into the mail. Addressed to one Jacob Seresin. It was already too late to put it down, no. You couldn't put it down even if you wanted to. Screaming from the inside to stop reading but you couldn't. Your hands clench at the paper as you read the letter addressed to your husband. A letter from DNALabs.

A paternity test request from a woman by the name of Marissa Mccauley.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: @justanothermagicalsara @alexsisrebekah @stinkyjax@starkleila @luckyladycreator2 @love2write2626 @shanimallina87 @dempy @mintellaine @kiarabellerum31 @abaker74

#jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #to have & to hold // jake seresin #top gun jake seresin #top gun angst #top gun maverick imagine #jake seresin au #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x you

298 notes · View notes

iheartyouyou · 1 year

Text

Kill Bill 2 | Tate Langdon

Summary: Part two of Kill Bill.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death & suic*de, not proofread and probably more (sorry!)

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you for all the feedback and love on the first part. I really had no idea where to go with the ending, but hopefully I did it some justice. Anyway, requests are open so send them in <3

Part 1: here

”We’ve looked everywhere, we’ve been digging for hours—“ Chad starts, dropping the shovel he was using.

“No! We need to keep looking, what about over there?” You ask, pointing to a random spot that looked somewhat untouched.

You guys have spent the last few hours digging for your bones. It was your only way out, and you were desperate.

You hear Patrick and Chad whisper something towards each other, before heading towards the door. “We’re tired, we’re gonna go to bed. Maybe you should too, we can look tomorrow?” They ask, entering the house before you could even respond.

Feeling tears welling up in your eyes, you throw your shovel on the ground. Your legs gave out, sending you to the ground as you sob.

The entire backyard looked like a 7 year old went digging for fossils.

Tate said he buried your body in the backyard after you told him you didn’t want it in the house. You couldn’t stand looking at your body— let alone be in the same house with it. Tate suggested that he could bury it.

After having a meltdown for a few minutes, you eventually went back inside and down to the basement, knocking out cold.

You had a dream that night that the next morning you found your bones, or whatever was left of your body and had your happily ever after.

You bury your face into your knees, clenching your eyes as you tried to block out the nonstop bickering of Chad and Patrick.

When you woke up, which was around the afternoon, you went straight to the backyard to finish your mission.

A few hours later, you were covered in even more dirt than the night before, two other frustrated ghosts, and shattered hope.

You sat on the ground, next to the gazebo. Knees pressed against your chest with your arms around them.

“Y/N— I don’t know what your psycho ex told you, but your body’s not out here.” Patrick spoke, annoyingly shushing Chad who tried to speak after him.

“W-what about the front yard? We can check there right?” You ask, lifting your head.

They both share that all too familiar knowing look with each other, giving you looks of sympathy.

You throw your head back, ready to bang the back of your head against the gazebo, but you stop, noticing the same figure who once promised you that your body was six feet under in the backyard in one of the windows of the mansion.

“We need t—“ Chad starts.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” You cut him off, quickly getting up. You rush past them, running inside.

Running up the stairs, you head to the room you saw Tate in. You look around for him, moving to the window to look outside.

You cringed, seeing how messy the backyard looked from up here.

“Tate?” You spoke, staring at Chad and Patrick’s figures. They looked so small from where you were. You watched as they picked up your shovel, moving it to the side as they begun to throw the pile of dirt back where it was before you went hunting for your body.

You heard a few steps, causing you to turn around. There was Tate, a frown etched onto his lips and a sad look in his eyes.

“Hi.” You started, coughing awkwardly. “You— you said you buried my body, where is it exactly?”

“It’s in the backyard, I told you that.” He spoke, scratching the back of his neck.

You sighed. “I checked the whole entire backyard! You should already know since I saw you in the window.”

“It’s back there.”

“Tate, it’s not. Where’s my body?”

He took a second to respond, shutting his eyes quickly. “I don’t remember…”

“How do you not remember?! It’s my body!” You shrieked, tugging on the roots of your hair. You turn back to the window, looking around the backyard.

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you move it? Jesus, I shouldn’t have told you about this- god damnit!” You cried, turning to look back at him. “Of course you would do this, you’re insane! You can’t let me be happy, huh? I hate y—“

“It’s in the front.” He blurts out, hastily rubbing his watery eyes. He really hopes you didn’t mean the last part.

“What?“

You run down the stairs, bursting through the front door. Tate close behind you as you heard his sniffles.

“Where? Where?” You ask, searching the yard. You stop, turning back to him. You see him hesitate for a moment before pointing to a small patch of flowers.

You pick up the garden trowel that was lying near it, digging into the flowers.

“Wait! Wait— stop!” Tate shouts, lightly shoving you away from the flowers. He frowns at you, tears welling up in his eyes at the now dead flowers that you killed.

Your face contorts in confusion, watching as he snatches the trowel from you. He tries to fix the mess you made.

“I don’t have time for these stupid flowers- I’m gonna go get the shovel.” You sigh out exasperatedly, ignoring the way he flinches at your words.

“You are the flowers.” He mumbles, patting the soil that was around the flowers. He watches as one falls sadly.

“Can you stop lying? Just tell me where my body is! Is it still inside? I swear, I’ll tear this ho—“

“No, I mixed some of your ashes with the soil so you grew into flowers. I mixed the rest with the soil in the backyard, but you killed those too…” He hiccups, wiping his eyes.

Your face falls. “Ashes?”

“I got you cremated Y/N!” He shouts, his eyes shooting to yours. His eyes and nose were slightly red, his cheeks a shade of pink.

“Why…” You stare at the flowers you just dug up, thinking back to last night how you dug up the other flowers as well. “Why’d you do that?”

He takes a moment to respond, sadly staring at the dead flowers. “Cause’ I love you.”

You stare at the side of his face, watching the tears flow freely down his face. You start crying too, you don’t even know why. Maybe because he was crying. Maybe because you basically just killed yourself, again. Maybe because of the sweet gesture. Maybe because he broke up with you. Maybe because he replaced you easily. Maybe because there was now no way of getting out. Maybe you were crying about everything.

You wipe your wet cheeks, rubbing your eyes to hopefully stop the tears. “You don’t love me. You don’t hurt someone you love.”

“I do.” He insists, ripping the dead flowers out of the soil. One flower remained, still alive and smaller than the others. He gives you the flowers, “Maybe you can plant them in a graveyard next to a grave. Your mom’s or something, maybe that’ll work.”

Your heart wrenches at his words. You shake your head, “I’ll put them in a vase. Next to my bed.”

He nods his head looking away.

“Tate?” You ask quietly, looking down at your lap.

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me some closure at least? Maybe that can help me get over you and make the rest of time easier. Can you do that?” You ask, not even mad anymore.

“G-get over me?” He chokes out.

“I can’t be heartbroken for the rest of eternity.” You mumble out. “Can you just tell me why you broke up with me?”

He swallows down the lump in his throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Yet you still did it.” You snapped, looking up at him.

“I know.. I jus— you don’t deserve to be here. You should be out there, in college and with one of those smart frat boyfriends. I’m a bad guy. You know what I did, and you still stayed. I’m just gonna disappoint you. So, I t-thought maybe distancing myself you would break up with me. But you didn’t. I broke up with you. Then Violet came along and I thought maybe I could distract myself. She’s leaving soon anyways. I should’ve just buried your body— no, i should’ve just let you leave. You wouldn’t be dead. And I love you so much, I’m gonna leave you alone. I’ll find a way to get you out of here, I promise.” He speaks, nodding his head to himself. “I’ll get you out.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

He did all this, for you. He was trying to protect you, but instead he ended up hurting you. As much as you wanted to hate him, scream in his face and tell him to get lost, you just couldn’t. You knew he had good intentions, he just never thought them through.

“This house, the people in it, they aren’t good. You need to stay away from that ga— Chad and Patrick, they aren’t as good or nice as you think they ar-“

Before you could even stop yourself, you grab his arm, moving it so you could hug him from his side. He freezes, breathe hitching. “Wha-“

“Thank you.”

“Y/N-“

“I only wanted to leave because I couldn’t stand seeing you so happy with Violet. It was breaking me. You left me so confused and hurt, I-I thought I was the problem. I was gonna leave for you.” You laugh softly, feeling his rigid body soften.

“You’re never the problem. I am.”

“No you’re not. This house is the problem, but together we’ll get through it. Okay?”

“Together?”

“Yeah, together.” You mumble, letting go of him. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. You need to stay away from me-“

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do!” He insists, frowning.

“I think I can make that decision for myself.”

“You’re making the wrong decision.” He says.

“Probably.” You say grabbing one of his hands. He lets you, watching as you intertwine your guys’ hands together. “But if I think it was the wrong decision I wouldn’t be here still, I love you too… and I’m willing to give this another go… that’s if you are too.” You announce sadly, looking up at him. He shies away from your stare, thinking.

“But I left you? I promised I wouldn’t and I did anyway, you should hate me.”

“I could never.”

“B-but… I didn’t bury your body! A-and I slept with Vio—“

“I don’t care. Well, about the Violet part yeah but I’ll get it over it.” You say, frowning at the thought of Violet and him.

“But what about all the bad stuff I have done? Like those students? The…” He rambled on about all the bad stuff he had done, even mentioning the pack of gum he stole from a gas station when he was 10. But it wasn’t enough to convince you that he was dangerous. He’s changed.

“Can you stop trying to get me to change my mind and kiss me?” You ask, tugging on his hand.

“Okay. You sure?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes.”

He lets out a shaky breathe, pulling you closer as he closed the distance. It felt right, your heart mending back together. He deepens the kiss, pulling you to straddle his lap.

You pull away after a few seconds, Tate already chasing your lips with his. You smile, softly pushing him away as his hands found property on your waist.

Grabbing the flowers from the ground, you show them to him. “Let’s go put these in a vase?”

#tate langdon ahs #tate langdon angst #tate langdon #tate langdon imagine #tate langdon x reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters #ahs murder house #ahs #violet harmon #american horror story #american horror murder house #imagine #angst

400 notes · View notes

sulfurz · 9 months

Text

*ೃ༄ DAY OFF (edge x fem!reader)

*ೃ༄ PAIRING: edge x fem!reader

*ೃ༄ REQUESTED BY: @micheleamidalajedi

Can I have "Your eyes are beautiful" with Edge pretty plss 🥹

*ೃ༄ WARNINGS: pure fluff, some suggestiveness if you squint

*ೃ༄ WORD COUNT: 688

*ೃ༄ NOTE: shorter than usual but possibly my fav bit i’ve wrote so far (that’s my baby(50 year old man))

you had gotten used to waking up alone these days. between training and everything that came inbetween, adam was rarely able to stay in bed past six in the morning.

personally, you enjoyed a lie in, your own job being able to be performed on your own time ever since you opened your own business. it made things pretty perfect, and in the rare times adam had more than 5 minutes, you’d often have him helping you out by modelling your designs or something along the sort. that was, on some days, the most you got to see of him.

usually, when you came to, with the soft light of the morning entering your apartment building, you’d roll over to find the other side of the bed already empty. you never minded too much, using the opportunity to starfish across the entire bed and most like go back to sleep. there was always a part of you that wished adam could be there to cuddle instead, but you never held his regime against him.

so, one random, seemingly mundane tuesday when you did your morning roll, the body you met under your arm was just an added bonus.

as you shifted and slung your arm across adam’s bare chest, you couldn’t help the smile that cling to your lips when you heard him hum in acknowledgment. it appeared neither of you were ready to open your eyes just yet, but the movement as he lifted his own arm to rest on top of yours was more than welcomed.

“good morning” he spoke gruffly, voice still laced with sleep. you were sure yours wouldn’t be much better, so you chose to bury your face into the crook of his neck to mumble your own morning wish.

he chuckled quietly, his other hand scratching at your head from where his arm was underneath you.

you allowed yourself a while to relax, revel in the silence and the warm body below you. the sun peeping through the crack in the curtains only got brighter as it rose in the sky, and you couldn’t help the groan of displeasure you let out as you pushed your head further into adam’s body to avoid the light.

“fight the sun for me.” you murmered, voice cracking from lack of use.

“of course, i’ll defend your honour.” adam played along, sounding a lot more awake now than you did.

“bring me back a cloud or something.”

adam pressed a soft kiss into your hair, the one thing that caused you to look up from your hiding spot. his eyes lit up when you finally caught his gaze, immediately closing the distance to peck your lips in a closed mouth kiss.

“i missed waking up to you.” you admitted immediately, loving the feeling of his warmth, coupled with the hand that gently graced patterns on your shoulder. it was always better waking up by his side.

the smile he gave you in response was almost blinding, your heart doing a weird flip of content. “let’s make the most of it?” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows under you slapped his shoulder lightly.

“you’re insatiable.”

adam laughed along with you, spare hand moving up to gently brush a piece of hair behind your ear. despite his less than pg joke before, the adoration exuding from his features was soft and warm, a clear sign he had missed it too.

he seemed to search your eyes for a moment, the corners of his lip dancing upwards in a grin. “your eyes are beautiful.”

you blinked quickly, taken aback by the sudden direct show of affection, but it was quickly brushed off by the want to get your hands on his face. and also maybe his cooking.

“come on,” you uttered, squeezing his cheeks quickly before jumping to your feet, nearly dragging a shocked adam who still had a hold of you along with you “i want breakfast.”

“i was enjoying myself actually.” he pouted, following you nonetheless.

“if you make me an omelette i’ll feed it to you.”

“if you sit on my lap it’s a deal—“

find out how to request on my page <<33

#✍🏻 requests : micheleamidalajedi #wwe imagines #edge x reader #edge imagine #edge scenario #edge imagines #edge x you #adam copeland imagine #adam copeland #wwe edge #wwe edge imagine #wwe x reader

105 notes · View notes

dadr0ckmusic · 2 years

Text

stranger things headcanons because i said so (fruity four + billy)

basically them in my dr

steve harrington

does restaurant challenges unironically. like he has to eat a big wet daddy burger in an hour just for a plaque on the wall and a pic with the owner smh

calls his car babygirl

modern au where he texts the girl he likes at 1:11, 2:22, etc just to get her hopes up

loves madonna. you can't tell me otherwise

he does yoga. and if you catch him he'll threaten your life

calls his house 'the love shack'

if you were just becoming friends with him he would listen to your music or do your hobbies with you just to make you happy

would totally rock out to stacy's mom

he gives off lactose intolerant vibes. i do not make the rules.

would definitely have playlists called "alt songs that make you drink monster" or "sad vibes" or "coronavirus got me like"

would've fucking KILLED on grindr

would love twilight. he's on team jacob

laughs at minion memes

robin buckley

the literal queen of your mom jokes

she would totally say "who up wonking they willy rn"

would work at spencer's

she had a ton of hamsters that died the most traumatic deaths when she was a kid and they're all buried in her backyard

loooves poop and fart jokes

she still sleeps with the same stuffed bear she had when she was little (and we are NOT judging)

says "oh my goodness gracious" at the funniest possible times

would literally FUCK at rainbow loom

her childhood room was purple and steve picks on her for it

cannot use chopsticks to save her life

one time steve made her mad so she literally WENT OFF THE GRID and he didn't see her for a whole week and he was freaking the fuck out

was a bug girl. worms? fuck yeah. roly polys? best buds. what the fuck is that thing? it has a terrarium now.

literally is the most caring person on the planet. she's always worrying about you and what you're feeling and what you're doing

only eats the marshmallows out of lucky charms

is scared of bees

billy hargrove

he bakes. he bakes cookies, cupcakes, you name it. if you ever catch him he's FORCING you to taste whatever he's making

an AVID reader. he's got books all over his room, stolen library books in the glove box of his car, and he's reading the hawkins post every morning no matter what

his mom taught him how to sew. lets say after a mishap with the whole 'different dimension' thing, you're bummed cause you got a hole in your favorite shirt. billy would be like "i can fix it for you" and you're like "what??" but he just gets mad and goes "just give me the fucking shirt" and then the next day he's bringing it to you good as new

hates cooked carrots

can fall asleep anywhere. couch, car, at a party, you name it. he will find a spot to fall asleep

he was actually very interested in supernatural stuff when he was younger. and then when max started telling him about everything billy was like "wait. i read this about... blah blah blah" and max is just so surprised

he can totally make a mean cocktail. you want a pina colada? whipped up in seconds. craving a margarita? he's got the salt ready. feeling like an old fashioned? liquor's already in front of him.

he never wears sunscreen. not a single spf anywhere on his body.

calls girls broads and you can NOT tell me otherwise

totally thinks metallica was at its best in their thrash era. sorry bud i'd hate to break it to you

hates the fourth of july cause of y'know.

i feel like he would totally get into dog rescue after he leaves hawkins.

would totally kick ass at mario kart. like he's THE BEST and he always chooses bowser

would totally bash you for your music taste if it was different than his. "what the hell is a beatle?" "mick jagger is not hot." "queen? aren't they gay?" "zeppelin? who taught you that?"

a literal GOD at making mac n' cheese

nancy wheeler

so so so stubborn it's actually annoying.

call her 'einstein' and you're six feet under the floorboards

the tom cruise poster in her room has stared her in the face ever since robin commented on it

nancy's actually amazing at rollerskating. like even mike was surprised because when did she get good at that?

she has nightmares about what happened to barb multiple times a week :(

please know that if you're really close to her she would kill someone for you. no hesitation.

she's super literal? like when someone asks a hypothetical question she's like "when would this happen? why w-" and then immediately get cut off

has a tonnn of notebooks/journals just filled with random stuff like doodles, school notes, reminders, and little ramblings

has plants named after each of her friends and when something's wrong with one of the plants, there's always something wrong with the friend.

is a feminist (slay)

she saves every birthday card given to her and keeps them in a box in her closet

she's a morning person. up and at 'em before 9 every morning and it pisses the gang off when they all sleep in the wheeler's basement. "nancyyyyy..... close the curtains i beg of you..." "it's such a beautiful day, don't you think?"

she's actually amazing at shoplifting.

eddie munson

is allergic to peanuts

when i tell you this man is spontaneous... think 100x more. he'll pull up to your house at 11pm and declare that he planned a road trip while sitting in detention earlier that day and that you're going with him. "eddie what are you doing here? it's so late." "we're going to ohio. we're gonna stop in columbus for like five minutes and drive back." "what the hell."

has cried to sweet child o' mine and will keep that fact to his grave

owns multiple pairs of boxers with superhero logos on them.

definitely has 10 in 1 shampoo that he uses for everything.

ate dirt as a child

if you ever smoke pot with him, just expect him to say the weirdest shit while he's doing whatever. "do you think steve is thinking about me right now?" "yoooooo...... uh.... yo..... um...... i forgot....." "i want to get a cat." "shut up eddie."

he's just,,,, so oblivious,,,,, to sarcasm, flirting, jokes, etc

has ADHD, no doubt about it.

just like billy, he'll bash you on your music taste no matter what. even if you like the same music as him. "that's your favorite tool song? god, you could do way better than that." "c'mon, you know that dio sang better than ozzy." "munson, you're lying straight through your teeth and you know it."

will make you friendship bracelets and you KNOW you're wearing them till you die.

modern au where you're facetiming him and he takes SO MANY facetime pics of you and sometimes makes them his lockscreen. he thinks he's THE SHIT for that.

he giggles. a total giggler.

he flicks dustin in the head all the time.

592 notes · View notes

bandaged-writer · 2 years

Text

𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧.

↠ pairing. dazai x reader

↠ genre. angst, heartbreak, happy ending

↠ warnings. not proof-read

↠ words. 1k

↠ summary. you knew that if you turned around, you would never be able to let dazai go and let him have the life he deserved

↠ notes. it's been actual years since i've posted anything on this account and the first thing i write at 7 am gotta be angst 👩🏻‍🦯 anyways, i hope you enjoy this little something i whipped up on a whim ✨

When the lights illuminating Yokohama were exceptionally pretty, in a spot that only you and Dazai knew, the birds were still chirping underneath the setting sun. The sky, dipped in hues so blue that it rivalled the sadness within the man's heart, hung above you like some sort of omen.

"You called me out here to say goodbye, didn't you?" Breaking the silence first, you gave Dazai a smile. One that he admitted to adore when he thought you were sound asleep in his bed.

"How did you know?" Dazai asked, a rare, surprised glimmer in those eyes that always seemed so void of any life left.

You chuckled, it lacked any humor. "I have heard of Odasaku's passing, Osamu. Rumor had it that a mafia executive went after him and never came back. I had a hunch it was you."

Dazai let a half-smile grace his features. Attentive as always, although your head seemed to be up in the clouds, believing in everything that was deemed good, but refusing to judge him who had done everything that was deemed evil.

Before Dazai could speak another word, you beat him to it. "You wish to leave, don't you?"

Not the brightest tool in the shed, they liked to call you. But you had managed to figure Dazai out, an endless puzzle of complex thoughts and an inexplicable desire for death that ran as deep as the ocean. Despite that, you willingly drowned in his sea.

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?" Dazai came to a stop in the middle of a field of grass, trees and dandelion seeds as he took in your appearance.

Your eyes got glassy underneath the last sunrays and threatened to spill like an overflowing sink and for once, Dazai understood a feeling he had never quite felt before until he lost Odasaku and stood in front of you.

The fear of losing those he loved.

He always said that the things worth wanting were always lost the moment he obtained them, yet he feared this moment, because this was the end of the one good thing he managed to obtain.

Dazai remembered the day he met you for the very first time at Lupin by Odasaku's side. The only person left of a small-scale group, Oda had said while you were shoving a piece of strawberry cake down your throat. Oh, how horribly you had cried and how hilarious you looked with whipped cream stuck to the corner of your lips.

Back then, Dazai hadn't thought much of you. You were merely another person with another tragedy upon their shoulders. Too innocent, too soft for the mafia. Not even one good quality did you possess that could qualify you to be part of the Port Mafia.

Each time Dazai had seen you again, you'd prove him wrong and his interest in you was the demise of the heart he had buried six feet under.

"It's okay if you wish to leave. I won't stop you," you said and cupped Dazai's cheeks. His skin was warmer than usual, you silently noted.

"I will never see you again once we turn our backs on each other. Are you sure?" He leaned into your touch, his hand resting atop yours.

"Of course!" Now, the tears were rolling down your cheeks and you cussed underneath your breath. "Ah, you shouldn't see me cry. You have to remember my smiling face!" Hurriedly, you wiped the tears from your face and forced a smile upon your lips. "Girls look prettier when they smile, after all."

Dazai couldn't help the light-hearted laugh slipping his lips or his hands that dried your tears. "Belladonna, how could I ever forget your smile?"

The last sniffles left you. "Promise?"

"..I promise."

And when dandelion seeds got stuck in Dazai's hair while he was wearing a smile so gentle, you knew it was the right decision to let him go. Whatever plan he had up his sleeve, you knew it was better than being stuck in this hell disguised as the mafia.

Yes, he'd be well.

Even if it was without you, this was all you had ever wanted for the man you had terribly fallen in love with.

He'd be well.

Standing on your tippy toes, fingers grasping the soft fabric of his blazer, you pressed a kiss to Dazai's cheek. Your breath fanned across his skin as you spoke in soft, broken tones. "Take care, Osamu."

A heart heavy as lead beat within your chest as you turned your back to Dazai and walked away. Each step was more painful than the previous, each step tore that heart within you apart, but you couldn't bear to see the face Dazai was making.

You knew that if you turned around, you would never be able to let Dazai go and let him have the life he deserved.

It wasn't until five years later that Kunikida pulled Dazai back to the Agency after his hell of a partner nearly buried himself on a client's farm. Kunikda was certain that he would die of a heart attack caused by none other than the bandage-wasting machine that went by the name of Dazai Osamu.

"If you wanna bury yourself, do it in your free time! Because of you, our next client has been waiting 5 minutes and 35 seconds longer than scheduled!," Kunikida scolded his colleague, dragging him up the stairs by the collar like a sack of potatoes.

Dazai whined. "You sure love your schedules, huh?"

When Kunikida ripped the door open and the light coming from within the Agency briefly blinded Dazai, he could hear chatter and laughter coming from within. One voice belonged to Yosano, another one to Tanizaki and the other one to someone who he had silently cherished like a prayer in his heart.

"Oh! There they are." Yosano said.

After years of vowing to yourself to not turn back, you finally did. Not a hint of regret lingered in your eyes when you saw Dazai again and smiled at him like you always did when he used to cross paths with you in the mafia.

The decision to let him go that evening was indeed the right one, you concluded after seeing the spark of something in his eyes.

"Right. I have a request for you."

#bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader

290 notes · View notes