#i have a yard but everything out there dies come the months of baking heat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahh-fxck · 3 years

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Here is my gift for @mossymel for @thewitchersecretsanta 2020 gift exchange! I hope you like it!!

Title: Heat and a Healer

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Geralt x Female!Reader

Cross-posted to Ao3

Geralt is injured in a hunt to save your village. You find him in the snow and bring him inside to keep him from dying.

The courtyard is muddy and cold, the air in front of your face misting with every breath. It is crisp with a light dusting of snow that crunches under your feet. Pale fingers of dawn light are creeping over the rooftops as you go about your morning chores. As you round the corner of your barn to break the water on the livestock trough you let out a startled gasp.

The water on one end is already broken and there is a strange brown mare contentedly drinking from it. It takes you a moment to realize that her rider is there as well; He is barely visible at first, huddled in a snow-encrusted cloak at the base of the trough. When he hears your gasp he jerks, as if he hadn’t meant to fall asleep and is slightly startled to find that he had.

The movement draws a thin, reedy noise of pain from him. Milky white hair spills from the cloak, and you see a flash of silver around his neck. With a start, you realize that you’ve seen this horse before. The road to the south has been terrorized by a griffin and no trade has gotten through in months; Everyone’s larders are bare and tempers in town have been growing short. The Witcher riding into town a week before had been a welcome sight.

It’s a relief to see him back again, but your heart plunges as you take in the state of him. You kneel to inspect him, frowning at what you see. His lips are blue with cold and his face is streaked with dried gore of some sort. When he opens his eyes you can see they are a startling shade of gold, like a cat’s. They are hazy with pain and exhaustion.

“Witcher?” You say, beginning to brush the snow off of him. “Oh Melitele, look at the state of you! Can you walk? Quick, let’s get you inside.” You bend to help him as he struggles painfully to his feet. The clothing all down one side of him is stiff under your hand and his armor is ominously tattered.

“My horse,” he croaks through dry lips.

“I’ll see to her once I have you settled,” you promise. “You need heat and a healer first, Witcher. She’ll keep.” He is too weak to do more than nod, allowing you to guide his stumbling steps across the courtyard. You hurry him into the kitchen and ease him down on the floor in front of the roaring fire.

He goes down with a grateful groan, settling in a sodden heap on the well-swept floor. As quickly as you can, you pull the sleeping mat you use for guests out of the crowded storage room. Next, you bring a pile of blankets and set them aside. Then you hurriedly help him remove his wet clothes before the chill can set any worse. As the full extent of his injuries is revealed, you can feel your blood running cold. He is gouged and bruised all over one side, still slowly leaking blood from ugly wounds in his flank. Every movement, every breath, pulls at them and causes his face to flicker with pain.

As soon as he is tucked under the blankets near the fire you race out of the house, battering at the healer’s door until she shuffles out to greet you. Her eyes widen as you breathlessly tell her what happened. In short order, she is dressed and hurrying after you. The crunching of your footsteps on the empty streets is loud in the hush of dawn.

You spend the rest of the morning running at the healer’s beck and call, boiling water and making simple herbal preparations at her instruction. During a lull, you slip out to tend the animals and stable the Witcher’s horse. The mare is stroppy and irritable, but you’ve known your share of horses and you aren’t impressed. Far more impressive is the griffin’s head dangling from the far side of her saddle, where you hadn’t been able to see it before. A rush of relief goes through you; the alderman will be pleased to see that, by the gods.

Before long, the horse is clean and dry, munching on her feed. The same cannot be said for her rider. The sun is well in the sky by the time the healer straightens from her work, and even then he looks gaunt and pale. He lies on the floor sleeping soundly as she cleans up and prepares a basket of supplies for you. She explains each item as she puts it in the basket, then instructs you to let him rest. As she leaves, she squeezes your shoulder silently. You and she both know without speaking that keeping the Witcher alive is the right thing to do.

Not long after that, the alderman comes to call, no doubt notified by the healer. Bodily blocking him from entering your home and seeing the state the Witcher is in, you insist on walking the alderman over to the griffin’s head yourself. He eyes it skeptically, hemming and hawing about whether or not the Witcher has earned the full price.

Your eyes flash with fire. Your alderman is a fool and a scoundrel, else you’d expect him to have some compassion for the man who nearly died to save his bloody town. You tell him that and a fair few other things besides, letting him have the sharp side of your tongue. There are few women he’ll take this treatment from, but as the best baker in town, you happen to be one of them. By the time you threaten to refuse baking his daughter’s wedding cake, the alderman buckles, handing over a far fatter sack of coin than he’d intended to.

Pleased, you hand him the griffin’s head to dispose of and march him off of your property. Then you return to the kitchen with the Witcher’s coin. He wakes when you come through the door, eyes bright with fever and exhaustion. When you toss him the bag of coins he catches it though, and his crooked smile lights his face handsomely.

Over the following days, he slumbers in front of your hearth as he heals. At first, he is too exhausted to do much but wake occasionally to eat and use the privy. Though your larder is as bare as anyone else’s in town, you feed him as if he were your own. With gentle hands you tend to his wounds, cleaning them, spreading salve on them, and finally wrapping them with clean bandages. You can see sometimes in unguarded moments how much he likes your touch. His face relaxes and sometimes you can even see the brief flicker of a smile. He is handsome when he smiles.

You find yourself enjoying the time you spend at his bedside, treasuring the little flashes more than you'd expected to. It turns out under the grime he's gorgeous. Wide golden eyes, a square jaw, a cupid's bow lip, and that's only his face. Each of his long limbs is cabled with heavy muscle, and his skin is almost as milky as his hair. It gives him a very striking appearance, and you frequently find yourself struggling not to stare as you change his bandages.

He becomes more alert as he heals. At first, all he does is silently watch you from the floor, golden eyes following you about the room. You don’t mind, filling the air with friendly talk as your hands work. You tell him stories about your childhood, your family, sharing the little memories held in chipped teacups and lovingly crafted decorations.

In his turn, he tells you little things as well. You learn that his name is Geralt and that he’s trying to get north before the snows close the mountain roads entirely. You also learn that he loves baked apples and that he adores his horse. They’re small things, but they put you at your ease, making him seem less remote and strange.

Though he heals quicker than any man has a right to, it is still days before he can limp around your house on his own power. He moves first from the sleeping mat to the chair near the fire, where he listens to you talk while you work. Although supplies are scarce you ply him with tea and treats from your bakery as you work. It gives you joy to feed him nice things after everything he's been through. The kindness and the treats both seem to confuse him, but he devours the pastries without complaint as he listens to you talk. Before long he is alert enough to mend his tattered clothing and armor as he sits there in the corner, his big hands working skillfully.

On the day that the caravans finally arrive in town, he has made it as far as the yard. He is slowly moving through forms with his massive steel sword, limbering his healing body. A clamor arises all through the town as a horn sounds. By the time the first wagon is through the outer gate, half of the town has surged out to greet them.

At the sound of the ruckus, the Witcher’s head comes up. Yours does as well, and you race to the gate. When you realize that the caravans have arrived at last, you let out a joyous whoop, dancing around your courtyard. You catch Geralt up before you can even think about it, so overcome with excitement that you plant a huge kiss right on his lips.

“The caravans! We’re saved! Oh, we’re going to have such a feast tonight, just you wait!”

It’s only then that you see how wide-eyed he is, looking between your hands fisted in his shirt and your lips. You drop his shirt with a start, worried that you’ve caused him offense, but as you back away he breaks into a slow smile. The corners of his golden eyes crinkle handsomely, and you feel your heart trip over itself.

Cheeks heating, you look over your shoulder and then back at him. He’s still smiling. You smile back, giving him a thoughtful look, then tap him gently on his chest. “You just wait here. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail! Then you’ll see why they call me the best baker in town!” Without waiting for him to reply, you race off to get ready for the impromptu market already forming in the town square.

You walk back to your house sometime later with your cart and donkey in tow. The cart is practically overflowing with supplies, and your heart is glowing as you pull it up in the courtyard and begin to unload it. All your worries about the winter’s food have been wiped away, and you are in a very merry mood indeed.

The kitchen is rich with the smells of good food and mead that evening, and it’s already groaning under the weight of all the treats you’ve baked for the next day. Geralt sits on a stool at your kitchen table. He munches pastries and chops herbs for you while you cook and sing. You catch him smiling to himself as you overflow with happiness. It’s the nicest meal you’ve been able to make in months, and it’s a joy to share the bounty with the man who’d made it possible.

When dinner is cooked and dessert is cooling, you sit down to dine with him. For once he’s able to eat his fill. Even though he puts away a truly surprising amount of food, there is still enough for leftovers. It’s satisfying to see him warm and contented at last, his belly full and his pale complexion flushed with drink. He’d come into your home so gaunt and pale, but now…

You realize you’re staring a little when he smiles at you over his cup of mead. You break away, flustered. When you look back at him, though, there is a little gleam in your eye. You rise from the table and go to where the honey cakes are cooling on the counter. You retrieve some sugared rose petals from a jar, which you arrange on two of the cakes. Then you dress them with cream and a little rose syrup. It runs and gathers prettily at the bottom of each bowl.

You make eye contact with him as you offer him his little bowl, a smile playing about your lips. He looks at the bowl, then at you, his pupils dilating subtly with interest. A slow smile breaks out across his face and he carefully takes the bowl from you, letting his fingers linger against yours as he does. A little shock of delight goes up your arm, and your eyes twinkle. You sit across from him to savor the sweetness of your dessert. As sweet as the honey cakes and cream are, still sweeter is the way he can’t seem to stop watching you, his gaze lingering on you as he licks delicious crumbs off of his spoon.

When he sets his empty bowl aside and rises from the table to go to bed, it feels as natural as breathing to stand with him. Your own bowl is left empty and forgotten on the table. You step closer to him and he brightens with interest, head cocking to the side. Emboldened by the mead and the desire waking in those lovely amber eyes, you lean up and capture his lips in a kiss. He sighs hungrily as you do, drawing you wordlessly closer.

His broad chest is warm and firm under your hands, and his lips taste of roses and honey. You hum happily as he brings his hands to your hips, drawing you firmly against him. Parting your lips, you wind your arms around his neck as he slips his tongue into your mouth. His breath hitches as you lean up to meet him, your clever tongue twining with his.

The kiss is heady and hot, leaving you wanting more when he draws back for air. He swirls his fingers up the back of your clothing, a playfully sensual gesture, and you smile. Your hands trace down his flanks, feeling the firm muscles flex beneath. His beautiful eyes are alight with desire, watching your every movement, wanting more but not daring to take it.

Then you lean up, inviting him in for another kiss. He gives a little shiver, rumbling a low noise of approval. The kiss is deeper this time, slower and more sensual. You take your time with each other, fingers gently tracing the edges of clothing, plucking at laces without pulling. The only sound is the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Heat pools between your thighs and you sigh, rocking idly against him. You can feel him stir in his trousers where his hips are pressed against you and you rock more firmly, finding yourself suddenly dizzy with desire. He hitches in another breath, then growls oh so softly against your lips. He rolls against you and you can feel his cock hardening, pressing against you. You let out a little moan, fingers pulling at his laces in earnest now.

A flurry of clothing is left in a trail leading to your bedroom door. Geralt walks you back until your bare thighs are pressing against your bed, kissing you hungrily. You wiggle your way up onto the bed, giggling as he snuffles at your neck between kisses to take in your scent. He helps to lift you onto the bed, big hands squeezing your thighs as he settles between them. Making low noises of pleasure he mouthes his way to your breasts. His tongue is velvety-hot, and you give a low little cry as it flicks across your nipple.

He savors your belly and your thighs in the same way, hungry and eager, like he hasn't been with a woman in far too long. When his lips finally brush the soft thatch of hair between your thighs you can’t help but groan, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. He teases at you gently, eyes alight as he takes in every little reaction. When he finally bends to trace the tip of his tongue up your inner lips they are sensitive and slick, causing you to whimper and shiver. You wind your fingers in his hair as he sets to work, savoring the warmth of his tongue.

A look of bliss suffuses his golden eyes as he laps at your dewy cunt, his pale lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You tremble with delight, your soft cries filling the room. When he slips gentle fingers inside of you and flutters them just so, a swell of pleasure breaks over you. You cry out as you buck against him. A low rumble emerges from somewhere deep in his chest, an intent look coming into his eye as he redoubles his efforts. His clever tongue circles and dances, bringing the pleasure to a fever pitch, working you until you are coming harder than you thought possible. He withdraws only when you have fallen back to the bed panting, your thighs trembling with the aftershocks.

You run your fingers through his hair as you quiver, savoring the glow that suffuses you. He hums and smiles, nuzzling you. His eyes flutter half-shut as he lets you stroke his hair and face, enjoying the affection. After a lazy moment, you draw him up onto the bed with you. He goes willingly, pulling you down on top of him with a wolfish smile. From the way he moves you can tell he is still stiff and sore, but the bandages are gone. Though you worry about hurting him, he doesn’t seem to care. His smile broadens as you lower yourself to rest across his hips, your lower lips kissing the base of his cock with wet heat.

That grin wipes all your worries out of your mind, replacing it with a sudden rush of desire. His hands guide your hips to start moving, encouraging you to take your pleasure. You smile wickedly, placing your hands on his broad chest as you start to rub your clit against his throbbing cock. He moans softly, his hands sliding up your flanks as his amber eyes trace the beautiful curves of your body. He begins to tease at your nipples, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment at the sounds he draws from you. His touch on them is surprisingly delicate, sending exquisite little shocks of pleasure down to your cunt.

Before long you are rocking hungrily against him, your composure unraveling by the second. He moans and shivers beneath you, arching. The feeling of his thighs tensing sends a shock of heat through you, hunger for more. With a twist of your hips you rise, using a quick hand to position his cock at your entrance. His eyes fly open as you groan happily, circling your hips on the blunt head just barely pressing into your wet heat. He looks at you with wide eyes, breath hitching as you twist your hips again. You lock eyes with him as you sink slowly down, savoring his guttural moan when he bottoms out inside you.

His gold eyes are hazy with need as you begin to rock on top of him. He matches your tempo carefully, watching you with a now-familiar intent expression coming across his face. Without a word he presses a hand against your abdomen, pushing you until you are leaning back with your hands on his thighs. He shifts his angle and you let out a sharp gasp of pleasure, the change allowing him to hit your spot with every thrust.

You cry out as he grins breathlessly and begins to fuck you in earnest. He is surprisingly vocal as he does so, making up for days of silence with murmurs and growls of pleasure. When he brings his thumb to your clit you can’t help but join him, your shaking cries punctuated by every thrust.

He fucks you with care and precision, one hand on your hip, the other working your clit until you come with a ragged yowl. Your muscles clench tight around him and a sharp groan punches out of him as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. Grabbing your hips, he only lasts for a few more short, sharp thrusts before he is spilling inside of you and crying out, his body arching beneath you. His head tosses, white hair scattering across the pillow as he holds you close against him.

In the thundering silence that follows you collapse against him, laying your head on his shoulder. Both of you go limp, too exhausted at first to crawl under the blankets. You lay there listening to the crackle of the fire in the kitchen, the occasional creaking of your old home, and a soft hissing noise that you can’t place at first. He looks to the window and your eyes follow. You see thick white flurries of snow, and once you see them you realize that the hissing is the sound of them being blown against the windowpane.

The first blizzard of winter has come.

You turn back and eye each other thoughtfully, then smile and settle into the blankets. Until the snows clear, what else is there to do but enjoy one another?

And you do, all winter long.

#the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geralt x reader #the witcher fic #thewitchersecretsanta

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

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BUSINESS AND PLEASURE

Johnny “Coco” Cruz x Chibs Telford’ daughter!Reader

“What if you should move to Santo Padre for two months...”

Chapter one.

Word count: 3.4k

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. English isn’t my first language, so I’m sorry if I have some mistakes with grammar. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Thanks to my lovely beta reader and partner in crime with this one, @chibsytelford 💘

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @dazzledamazon @chibsytelford @mara-mpou @sammskellington 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Since you've been forced to move from Glasgow to Charming, your life has been a roller coaster with noisy falls into hell. Some days you were fine, the rest you were only available to create chaos around you. Your mother died because of a terminal disease, after fighting for two years, and the last time you saw your father before that it was when you were a child. Came to live with him after twelve years without no contact, except for a few calls every month, it was hard. Harder than he could imagine.

The first days you were locked in the room he enabled to you in his house, where you only had a bed, a nightstand and a wardrobe. No picture, no colors around, nothing. It was kinda depressing. At least, he tried. He tried to re-build the good relationship you two have had in the past, before your mother kicked his ass out of Scotland, when Clay said he needed him at California, with the Sons'.

Filip used to cook your favourite dishes, having had to learn to cook before. At first you only ate two or three bites, until one morning when you woke up hearing him screaming in scottish. You've never heard him so angry, and that scared you. Barefoot and silently, you went out of your room, sticking your head by the door frame of the kitchen. Unbelievable. He was arguing with his phone. Specifically with YouTube. You could see how he was watching a recipe of baked fish. It sounded easy, right? The problem was the sauce. Apparently he forgot to add some ingredients, and he had to repeat it from the start.

“Shit!” He shouted hitting the marble countertop, supporting his fist on it with his head down and a sigh in his mouth. “Fuckin' pepper and fuckin' lemon”.

“I don't like”. You said in a whisper, getting out of your hiding place.

He turned at you frowned and upset, leaning against the furniture. Cross-armed, he shook his head with his gaze on the floor. You knew how frustrated he was, trying to kick you out of that sadness that it was consuming you. You lost your mother, you had to move out of your country, from the cold to the heat. And you truly hated sunny days.

“I just... wanna make you feel like you're at home”. He said kinda desperately, scratching his head hard, completely disheveled. “I know this is not Scotland, nor your house. It's ok if you miss it, but this situation is killing me too. So, please, give me a break...”

You heard every word he told you, feeling the same knot he felt on his chest, and his voice about to drown in tears. You walked slowly towards him, looking inside your head for the correct things to say.

“I like the way you cook, but you scared the shit out of me, 'cause I didn't know you were shouting at YouTube”. You thought maybe some kind of joke could help, while he was holding your hands. “I don't like pepper, nor lemon, so it's fine. Maybe... we could have lunch together, if you're not busy with the club”.

“Fuc' da' club, caileag”. For the first time, you saw him smiling and it was amazing. “Do you think everything will be fine?” He sounded sad, simply sad. But you nodded without any doubt.

“We will be fine, athair”.

That was all he needed to hear. Chibs leaned towards you, placing a hand behind your head to leave a kiss on your forehead. Your hands held on his waist in a warm hug that you were wanting to give him since you arrived to Cali.

━━━━━━ (One year later) ━━━━━━

But what happened next was totally unexpected. You hear Happy talking with his prospect, around the corner of the workshop, about a dangerous mission they have to take care of, keeping them for two months out of Charming. And by Chibs decision, you're not coming. But he didn't tell you anything about it, before. Walking in the front yard, you find six motorbikes and a van you don't recognize from your charter, but belong to an MC. You're angry, so angry. Your steps are heavy and big, going faster to the clubhouse, taking off the rings of your fingers to keep them inside the pocket. You open the door suddenly, without warning the men who seems mexican sitting closer to your father. You only can see that fucking scottish who made a promise he's not gonna keep. And he sees the fury burning in your orbs.

“Oh, shit”. It's everything he can say before one of your fists go straight to his face.

“Woah, woah, take it easy, chamaca!” One of the unknown man talks, trying to walk next to you, until you point it at him with the gun you had tucked under your shirt. All the men raise their hands with their eyes so much opened, letting you know that they're not gonna interfere again.

Time have passed. Some wounds has been closed and you have got used to the heat of the coast. Now, you're not who you used to be. SAMCRO changed you, having its good things and its bad things. You lost all the innocence you had, learning to defend yourself by fighting body-to-body and shooting weapons of different calibers. Happy and Tig usually try to catch you by surprise hitting you, but your faster than their old asses, blocking every hit that comes from nowhere. And sometimes you ‘play’ paintball with Juice on his free day. You're one of the Redwood family, being included in every mission one way or another, working hand by hand with the prospect; with the minimal difference that your father is your sponsor. This gives you two some problems because of the strong character you have inherited from him. And there are some times when you end up being beaten. The crew is used to it.

You turn to your father, who is rubbing his right cheek between some groans, supporting a hand on the pool table. You're breathing distressed with your eyes full of tears. You know how it works. When he leaves Charming, you don't have any notices for almost one week. You live every day with the pain of not knowing if he's still alive or not. Two months is too long. You can't even live without him at this point of your life, how are you supposed to do it?

“You promised me!” You yell at him pointing your chest with your own forefinger. “You said ‘us against the world’! You said it!”

Your voice is breaking, drowned by the tears that run down your face and your neck.

“You're a fucking liar! You're doin' the same you did thirteen years ago!” Yes, you can see how your words are affecting him, but you don't care.

“Baby, listen...” He tries to give some steps towards you, receiving a push on his chest.

“I don' wanna hear more bullshit”. Putting the gun again behind your back, you turn to the front door, with a slight pause next to the other charter. “By the way”. You stare to the man you pointed seconds ago. “Next time I'm talking to my father, you shut the fuck up...” Reading his patch, you raise your eyes at him. “Presidente”.

You slam the door shut after you leave, seeing Happy next to your motorbike. He knows you know what is gonna happen by the tears running your cheeks. But even if you don't wanna talk with him, being your confidant since you came to Charming, he wraps strongly your body with his arms before you can run away from him. Crying inconsolably, you hide your face on his chest without moving your arms, only supporting your weight against him. Happy rest his chin on your head with a sigh, 'cause he knows well how much you suffer when your father attends a mission out of town.

“Are you leaving too?” You finally ask, even when you don't wanna hear the answer. He nods slowly, cleaning your tears with his long fingers.

“I'm sorry. I promise I'll try to write you”. He says hoarsely. “I'm sure you didn't let Chibs explain himself, but listen… Not even my prospect is coming. It's really dangerous for you two, we're gonna be ok, (Y/N)”.

“Who are they? What are they doing here?”

“They're Mayans, from Santo Padre. Oscar and Canche ‘family’. We can't leave you here, alone, without any protection. So, Chibs asked them to take care of you while we're out”.

Now you understand what's happening. It's suppose you should move from Charming to the south Cali, surrounded by men you don't know. Leave your house, again. Your cry appears again, shaking your head with some sobs stuck on your throat.

“Baby, listen, listen”. Happy try to have your attention cupping your face between his hands. “They're good men, they're gonna take care of you. And Canche will go to Santo Padre every week to see you”.

“I don' wanna go, Happy. I wanna go with you, please”. You beg in tears, with your lips trembling.

“(Y/N), you can't”. He sentences, trying not to sound too rude. He snort closing his eyes for a second. “Listen, they also have a car scrapping. You can work there. You like cars and you studied to be mechanic. 'Am sure these two months gonna' pass so fast that you're not gonna notice it”.

The front door of the club house gets opened. You turn for a while, just to see how the men gets out of it. You sigh, looking at Happy again. And you nod, even when you don't want to do it. Pulling yourself away from him, you're heading towards your motorcycle. In silence, after fastening the helmet, you start the engine. If you have to leave Charming you wanna do it as soon as possible. So, it's time to pack your stuff.

And that is what you're doing, when you hear your father's keys opening the door. His footsteps coming close to you, watching sideways how he leans against the door frame arm-crossed. Your basic clothes are already inside the suitcase on the bed, closing the zip after checking again that you have taken everything you could need. In the bag next to it, you keep your laptop, your headphones and all the chargers, in addition to other things.

“Please, talk to me”. Chibs says, but there's no answer from you. “I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm sorry, honey. But I promise...”

“Don't”. You turn at him raising your forefinger. “Don't make any promise you're not gonna keep, Filip”.

He knows you're truly sad when you call him by his real name. Chibs walks towards you, holding your hands slowly hoping that you're not gonna push him away again.

“Bishop and his guys 'gonna take care of you. And Happy said he told you about ‘Romero and Brothers’. I'm pretty sure you're gonna have fun there”. He's trying to make you understand.

“I don' care. I'm gonna be away from you”. You finally say, letting go all the pain you have inside your chest, oppressing your heart. “And you're not allowed to text me, nor call me. Could you imagine how distressing it feels?”

“'You think it isn't for me? I'm not stone cold, even if sometimes it's what it looks like, (Y/N). I think about you all the time. About what you're doing at any moment. If you're eating well, if you're sleeping... All the fucking time”. He replies trying to hide his anger. “But I need to protect you. And there aren't better hands than Bishop's”.

You nod. You don't want to continue arguing with him. Filip hugs you tightly, hiding your face on his neck, trying to not break in cry again. Your hands clinging on the back of his shirt. You're not sure how many time you have been like this, when your father decides that he should call the Mayans to pick you up.

The roars of motorcycles, coming just in time, have your attention. You take your stuff, rolling the suitcase over the floor till you find them outside. Your father takes it to keep it inside the van, before saying goodbye.

“They're gonna take care of you, ok?” He says again, holding your cheeks between his hands. You nod in silence about to cry. Leaving a kiss in your forehead, he hugs you. “If I can, I will text you. I promise. And I'll keep that one”.

“Two months?” You ask raising your gaze at him.

“I'll be back before your birthday”. Assures you. “I love ya' more than anything. You know, rai'?”

You nod again swallowing, before leaving one last caresses in your left cheek, cleaning the tear that falls down through it.

“You're going with my man, Coco”. Bishop talks, with the helmet covering his head while he wears both leather gloves.

“And my bike?” You turn to your father with more dramatism than necessary.

“It's in the van too, don' worry”. Chibs answers, hitting twice one of the doors. “Canche could need you”.

“Or us”. The Mayans president add with a soft smile on his lips.

Things starts to change, when you're conscious that you will continue working with the charters even if yours isn't present. So, at least, it's not gonna be that bad as you thought.

“I'm sorry 'I pointed you with my gun”.

“What I can expect from Chibs' daughter? It would have scared me more if you hadn't, after everything we've heard from you”. Your father chuckles because of the words of the Mayan. “Ready?”

You hug him again, taking some seconds to memorize his smell to not forget it at all.

“I love you”. You whisper, pulling him away softly, before walk to the front passenger seat of the van.

But, before the man could start the car, your father makes a last appearance, pointing with the forefinger to all the men presents there.

“If anyone of you touch my daughter, I'll cut off your cock and make you eat it”. The Mayans know that it's not a joke, so they nod agreeing.

“I've a daughter. Her name is Letti”. The mexican accent, camouflaged in the foreign language, pushes you out of your thoughts. “She's sixteen, but I think you could be fren'”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

The sun is falling when you leave the ‘Welcome to Charming’ sign behind the van. You sigh heavily settling in your seat. The fresh air that enters by the open window makes fly some strands of your hair, supporting both arms against the door, with your chin on it, to watch out of the car the sunset on the horizon. It's gonna be hard, you know it, but at least you will have Canche visiting you every week. Maybe Oscar comes from Stockton too.

“Yea', maybe...” You say, turning for a second.

Coco turns the radio, hoping that music makes you feel better, looking for a channel without interferences. Then, you hear your favourite song, turning to the hand that is moving the calibrator. The man stares at you with curiosity, before turning up the volume. The melody continues, while you go back to your position leaving your cheek this time and closing your eyes to focus in the song.

“Hey, oh, listen what I say, oh! I got your hey, oh! Now listen what I say, oh!”

You're about to give him the silent treatment, but that only has bad points in your favor. You'll have to live and work together for the next months, so sooner or later, you're gonna have to talk him.

The first time you listened that song, you were living with your parents in Glasgow. You can remember your father singing it to you all the time, before go to Charming. So, listen to it again causes you bittersweet feelings.

“I like the Red Hot' too”. Coco says trying to be kind, while his fingers drum the steering wheel to the beat of the music. You have to say that he has a funny voice and hearing him singing sounds like a dying cat. That makes you chuckle. “Hey! What's up, mami? Don' laugh on me!”

“Sweet Jesus Christ, you're gonna make it rain”. Your laughter is loud now, capturing president attention who slows down to reach your window.

“It's everything ok, uh?” He shouts over the sound his motorbikes does.

“I hope he has a good aim, 'cause he couldn't work as singer!” You say in laughs.

“He's a veteran Marine, kid! What do you think?” Bishop accelerates to return to his place, while you turn to the driver, truly surprised. He has a triumphal smile on his face and his gaze in front.

“These motherfuckers discharged me because I used a rifle to shoot a cigar out of an officer's mouth”. He tells you. “I was three hundred meters from him”.

This is amazing and you feel the curiosity growing inside you. Curling your legs on the seat, putting around them your arms, you stare at the Mayan.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“'Bout wha'?” He asks looking at you for a second a little confused.

“About the Marine”.

He frowns, looking at you again.

“You wanna hear 'bout it?”

“I'm not asking you about the Area Fifty One”. You say with a sharp voice shrugging.

“I'm pretty sure that would be a good talk too”.

“C'mon! It's a long travel!” It almost seems like you're starting to beg, but the topic of the Navy and Marine has always interested you.

“It's weird!”

“Why?”

“Cuz' nobody has asked me 'bout it before”. He says with the same confusion you saw on him before.

“So bad is it...?”

“No, it's... cool. Pretty cool”. He replies with a slight smile on his face.

“I wanted to enlist in the British Army, but my mother said it was too dangerous for me. So, I didn't”. Your voice trembles for a second, and he realizes it.

“Sorre' 'bout your mom, Chibs told us”. He says after a moment in silent. “I killed mine”.

Your face shows a similar gesture of horror, he shrugs exaggeratedly.

“That bitch hit my daughter, and hurt her so bad. She also forced her to have a ‘bad life’, 'you know what I mean. She deserved it”. The calm with which he explains overwhelms you.

You're starting to think he hasn't had a good life. But who in their right mind would work for an MC? Not you, neither does he.

“And your mother hate you so bad that she called you ‘Coconut’?” You try to finish the tension installed inside the van with somewhat bad joke.

“The fuck told you that's my name?” He breaks in laughter, shaking his head, accidentally giving a flywheel.

“Oh, shit”. Both say in unison. The charter looks back.

“My bad!” He shouts sticking his head out the window for a moment.

“Then? What's your name?”

“Johnny Cruz. And everyone calls me Coco”.

“Why?”

“We're not in that level yet, mami”. He imitates the sharp voice you used before.

“Ok, but, are you gonna tell me about the Marine?”

He sighs rolling his eyes, before showing you again his smile. So, there you are, lying on your seat stretching legs crossed on the dashboard of the van. He starts to talk, of course with the funny story of how he enlisted and all the chaos he created, compensating for it with his good aim. His voice is so calm, that if you close your eyes, you could think is one of those podcast people use to sleep; without the part of shooting, murdering, and all the bloody stuff.

Actually, you did. You closed your eyes, opening it when the night has fallen. You yawn, putting your legs on the floor of the van.

“Sorry, I didn't sleep last night”. You apologize with flushed cheeks, rubbing your eyes.

“It's ok, mami. Te ves bonita mientras duermes”. (You look pretty while you're sleeping). He says.

“What did you say?” You ask, pretending that you don't speak spanish, but the truth is that you studied it for three years while you were living in Scotland.

“That you were drooling everything”. He lies so bad that he's a little nervous. “We're almost reaching to Santo Padre”.

“Great... Home, sweet home, isn'it?”

#mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #johnny coco cruz x reader #coco cruz x reader #here we go coconut

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saharamae21 · 4 years

Text

Vapor (Part 3)

Hey guys! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! I’m glad people seem to be enjoying it! I actually really like the story line I decided to follow. It’s a bit darker, and more emotional in a different way. I’ve been wanting to branch out and make something that I’m really proud of and I think this could be it.

WARNING: THIS FANFIC MIGHT CONTAIN CONTENT THAT CAN BE TRIGGERING TO SOME Mentions of kidnapping

Get Added To The Tag List!

_____________________________________________

I stayed out there the rest of the night. I couldn’t sleep in the slightest. I couldn’t get the thoughts out of my head. I wanted to see JJ. I wanted to know if he remembered that day the way I did. I got ready for the day and skipped down the steps, into the kitchen. I grabbed a bowl and some cereal, making myself the laziest breakfast I could possibly have. I took a seat at the table and heard my dad on the phone. He was on a business call but came over to me when he saw me. He kissed me forehead and smiled as if telling me to have a good day.

My dad and I have always been close. Ever since I was little, I felt like it was me and him. I couldn’t have asked for better parents. I finished up my cereal and put my bowl in the sink before heading out. I stopped at my mom’s bakery and walked inside. Everything looked delicious. I breathed in the sweet scent of frosting and reached down to grab a cupcake. Not just any cupcake though, a salted caramel cupcake. My mom grabbed my hand before I could get to it and told me it was too early for sweets. I sighed, knowing she was probably right.

“Hey mom,” I said. “Can I take some muffins? I’m visiting an old friend and don’t want to come up empty handed.”

“Who are you seeing?” she asked, opening a decorative box. I didn’t want to tell her, but I could come up with an excuse not too.

“JJ Maybank,” I said. She set the empty box down on the table. She knew how much he had hurt me when he decided not to be friends anymore. She knew what path he had taken.

“Honey,” she said. She was giving me the look. Every mom had a certain look that she’s branded. Whether it was a look of disappointment or shame, every mom had one. I bit my lip and shrugged my shoulders. “What’s this about, A?”

“I’ve started having dreams again,” I said. Her face dropped. She knew exactly what I meant by that. She began to pack up muffins, packing more in than she normally would do. She told me that I should consider telling one of my friends what had happened to me as a kid. She told me I should tell Topper. She knew how important Top had gotten to me in the past few months, but there was no way I could bring myself to tell him. JJ was the only one who knew. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone else. I can’t bring myself to talk about it to others because then it becomes real. Too real. “I’m okay mom. I just want to talk to him.” “Be safe,” she said, handing me the muffins. I smiled and thanked her. I told her I would see her at home for dinner. I walked out the door and drove over to the Maybank household. I didn’t see JJ’s bike which worried me, but I still went up and knocked on the door. I held the muffins in my hand as Luke answered the door. He looked in rough shape and smelled like whiskey.

“Addie?” he asked. I gave him a big smile and said hello. I asked if JJ was here and he said no. I frowned and asked if he knew where he was. “He hasn’t been home in a while. He’s probably staying at a friends house.” I knew exactly what that meant. I would have to head to John B’s. This was a lot of mental preparation, aka a nice high. I hotboxed in my car before driving all the way to the chateau. Seeing the Pogues made me anxious like nothing else. I walked up and tried to control the constant shake my hands had whenever I stressed out. I walked up and saw Pope and Kie chilling next to the house while JJ and John B gathered in the yard. They looked like they were talking about something pretty serious, but I was too far away to catch what it was.

“What brings you here?” Kie asked with a smile.

“You’ve stayed away for too long, A,” Pope added. At the mention of my name, JJ’s head flung around. His eyes met mine and there was no turning back now.

“Got a minute?” I asked, never breaking eye contact. He nodded and shoved John B towards the marsh. I walked over and put the box of muffins on the table almost as a peace offering and waited for JJ to make his way over. He grabbed out a chocolate chip muffin and it was in his mouth before I could even say a word. “Jesus, JJ! There’s like 12 muffins in there. Slow down before you choke!”

He coughed a little bit from all the dryness of him putting the whole muffin in his mouth. I rolled my eyes and held out my hands like I used to do when he would eat baked goods too quickly at our house. He spit some in my hands and I dramatically gagged.

“You guys seem on better terms,” Kie said, questioning me with her eyes. I had spent the past two years complaining about JJ, and somehow now we were behaving exactly like we used too. How is that possible? I threw the muffin bits on the ground and wiped my hands on his shirt.

“C’mon, there’s something I gotta ask you about,” I said. We walked down the yard and sat on the dock. I sat there and looked at him for a second. He’s changed a lot in the past two years. He’s gained muscle mass and he’s gotten really tall. I observed him for a second before opening my mouth. “Do you remember when we were little?”

I asked a vague question because I knew I didn’t really want to talk about it. It’s been two years since I spoke of it last. Maybe that’s why it’s bothering me now. I can finally make sense of it all, but I can’t express it. I’ve bottled it all up.

“You mean that day?” he asked. “Of course I remember it. It was the worst day of my life.” “What?” I asked. We had to be talking about different days. Maybe he was talking about the day his mom left or the day his dad started beating him. There were so many horrible days that my day couldn’t be the worst one of his life as well.

“You could’ve died,” he said. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring out across the water as he thought about the events of that day. “You and your mom were always so accepting of me. I thought of you as family. Then I took my eyes off of you for two minutes. Two minutes was all. Then, you were gone, all because I wanted to play on the playground. Maybe if I had gone with you, I could’ve fought off that guy long enough for you to get help.” “We were eight, JJ,” I said, pulling out my vape and taking a hit. “There was no way you were going to fight that guy off.”

“It would’ve been harder to take two kids,” he said, looking miserable. I never knew he blamed himself. I never knew that he felt so strongly about this. “You didn’t hear the night terrors you had after that.”

He was right. I didn’t witness myself screaming throughout the night. I didn’t listen to the cries and the gasps for air, but he did. He was always first in the room to give me a hug. He helped me get through it. I was lucky that he was staying with us during that time. His mom had left and then I also left too. I watched as he took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and put it back on.

“I’m sorry,” I said. His head turned to look at me for the first time since we started the conversation. He asked me what for and I let out a big sigh. I stood up, getting ready to take my leave. “For leaving you here alone. For becoming a Kook. For letting you down.”

I turned to walk back up to the house, but he caught my arm and pulled me into a hug. Shock took over my body as I inhaled the familiar scent of weed and mint. My arms slipped around him like it was the most natural gesture in the word and my heart began to swell.

“You can’t just say that and walk away. It’s isn’t fair,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have bailed on you.”

Hearing him say that broke my heart. I pressed the side of my head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heat. I used to do this as a kid and it always eased my nerves. I always found it calming. I felt his hand run through my hair as we hugged for a little too long. The truth was that we both missed each other, but I wouldn’t allow myself to love him again. We weren’t the right fit for each other as time has told us.

“So does this mean we can be friends again?” I asked, moving away from him. He stared down at me and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sure, A,” he said.

Just like that, we were sort of friends again.

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Tag List : @jjmaybangme @thebendslikebendover @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @prejudic3 @jjtheangel @jiaraendgame @obxmxybxnk @waywardbarbie @talksoprettyjjx @obbx-tings @agirlwholovescoffee @thoughtsofthestars @outerbankslut @potterheadhollander @baby-pogue @lindzaylove @obxlife @queenofthebees003 @rockyyc77 @beth-winchester21

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tastingmellow · 4 years

Text

Wretched In The Depths

A/N: So, I decided I wanted to try something new. This is gonna deviate from my usual fluffy fics. It’s still an Au but I was thinking maybe having it be a part of a horror universe. Yes, I am considering making a Horror AU series for all your favorite MCU babies and so on. I’m personally a huge fan of horror but I know others aren’t so I’m not gonna be using my usual tag lists. With that being if you would like to be tagged in my horror au then just comment under this and I will gladly add you. Another note, I will still be finishing certain series and creating my regular ole fics, I just wanna branch out a little bit. I’m very proud of this fic. :)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Black!Reader

Summary: You, Steve, and your children move into a new home when you start acting strange.

Warnings: Attention! Please do not read if you aren’t comfortable with description of possessed individual, character death, death of animals, loss of child, and injuries. KInda angsty. Little bit of language in there.

Word Count: I don’t know, LET’S GET SPOOPY! This bitch long though! Also, gif not mine!

“Honey, please don’t put that in your mouth.” You reached behind Steve’s seat while he chuckled. You gently tugged the dog’s blanket from your 3 year old’s mouth and she giggled while you blew a stray curl out of your eye. You looked at your youngest daughter, her eyes catching your eye as she giggled and blew you kiss. You smiled, catching the kiss and placing it over your heart before leaning back in your seat.

“How long until we get there, Pops?” Your 12 year old son, Ollie, called out to your husband. “Not too far. buddy. Just another mile or so.” Steve responded and your 16 year old daughter, Marina, spoke up. “Ma showed me pictures of the house. I did some research on the house and did you know that the past 3 families that lived there died in random, gruesome deaths?”

You nodded and turned to look at her. “Yeah, i read about that. Lots of people were saying it was cursed by an old witch who led some weird cult hundreds of years ago. Spoooooky.” You and Marina giggled while Steve rolled his eyes. “Daaaad, do you have to let them talk like that around me?’ Your son spoke up and you turned to face him.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I know how much you hate that kind of talk.” You gently patted his knee and gave a sympathetic smile while Marina sat back. “Sorry, Ollie. It’s just really interesting, ya know?” Ollie huffed as he rubbed your Golden Retriever’s head. “I guess...” He mumbled and Marina frowned a bit. “Don’t pout on me, man. Look, when we get there and we’re all settled how about we play a few rounds of Mortal Kombat?”

Ollie immediately smiled wide, a grin you loved to see. “You’re on!”

“We’re here. The movers aren’t too far behind us.” Steve spoke as you pulled into the driveway of the house. It stood tall, a little dirty but nothing that couldn’t be power washed. Everything looked to be in good shape, windows in tact, shutters as well. A small swingset stood off to the side of the yard near a small lake. “I’ve seen the pictures but Steve...this beautiful.”

Your youngest daughter, Sommer, held onto Marina’s hand while Ollie and your dog, Piper walked around the trunk of the car to get their bags. “Duckie!” Sommer called out and you giggled, clapping your hands at her recognition. “Yes! That’s a Duckie!”

Steve walked around the back of the car and grabbed a few bags with very little strain while your son attempted to hide his strain. “You guys should start putting me in lifting classes.” Steve huffed out a laugh and looked down at his son. “You’re a little too young, kiddo. Let’s wait until 13 and see if still feel the same.”

You gently grabbed a bag from Steve’s arm and he gave you a look. “What? I’m not gonna let you carry all this on your own.”

Marina quickly tugged the bag from your hand and you scoffed. “Your 8 and a half months pregnant. Let’s not induce your labor just yet.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, huffing as you grabbed Sommer’s hand. “I’ll unlock the door then. Wasn’t even a heavy bag.” You mumbled that last part and Steve sighed as you waddled off to open the door.

“What are we gonna do with her, dad?” Marina spoke and Steve shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I have no clue, doll. But enough stalling, let’s get these bags in so you guys can pick your rooms.”

That got the kids moving faster!

______________________________

The first few days were quiet, nothing really going on since you all had moved in. The kids helped unpack while Steve did most of the brunt work. He and the kids, however, would not let you on your feet for more than 10 minutes. Even Sommer chimed in one time with a surprisingly stern “Mommy, sit.”

Steve decided to leave his company’s work up to his best friends, Bucky and Sam, temporarily since you were due any minute now.

The house was dusty considering no one had lived in it for over 50 years, needed a few renovations but nothing your Stevie couldn’t fix.

Today was particularly quiet, Steve had ran out to pick up an extra can of paint and Marina and Ollie were at school. Sommer would have been home with you but Steve’s mom insisted on giving the two of you a break, especially you so she had taken your youngest for the week.

You gently hummed along to Anita Baker’s Sweet Love, softly singing the lyrics to yourself as you swayed. You were making dinner for the night, baked fish, grilled asparagus, and homemade mashed potatoes. You made triple what you really needed because Ollie and Steve alone could eat you out of a house.

As you mashed the peeled and boiled potatoes you saw something dark quickly pass through your peripheral. Your head snapped up, your eyes immediately glancing at the doorway. “I think these floaters are getting worse.” You sighed and turned back to the small, steel, blue pot, seasoning the potatoes and mixing the dish before adding a bit of milk and letting it sit on low heat.

You moved to check your fish before a thud from upstairs caught your attention. Your head snapped up. You quietly turned off the heat and wiped your hands before glancing out the window into the driveway. Steve wasn’t home yet so what the fuck was that?

You quietly grabbed the butcher knife the drawer and made your way towards the stairs. You huffed, calming your nerves before taking a step forward. you clutched the knife tightly in your hand as you took each step quietly. You were near the middl when the door opening startled you. You jumped and turned around, knife still in hand.

“Honey, I’m ho--...i know your hormones are fucked but are you really about to stab me?” He spoke, a smirk on his lips as you rolled your eyes and came back down the steps. “It wasn’t for you. I thought I heard something upstairs. It was honestly probably just the house settling.” Despite the words you were saying you felt a cloud of unease engulf you. You rubbed your rounded belly for comfort as Steve rubbed your arms. He noticed the shaking in your words.

“Hey, hey. I’ll go check everything out up there and you just sit and take a moment to relax.” You nodded as he kissed your forehead and made his way up the steps quietly.

You sat the knife down in the kitchen. You leaned over the counter, taking deep breaths as your anxiousness continued to rise. Another loud thud caused you to flinch. You looked up at the ceiling before making your way back towards the stairs. Another thud made you jump, you were becoming even more weary by the second. “Steve?” You called out and it was silent for a moment before he made his way into your view.

You took a breath but once registered his state you giggled. “I think I found what scared ya, doll.” His shirt was scratched across his chest and there were a few scratches on his hand but within it he held a raccoon. You giggled and he sighed, coming down the steps. “What were you doing up there little fella?” You spoke to the animal while following Steve as he took it to the tree line near the house.

“Alright, go on.” He gently put the animal down and it scurried off into the woods. You sighed and walked back to the house, Steve following.

Once inside you went back to your mashed potatoes, adding some shredded cheddar and parsley. Steve reached out to grab an asparagus and you smacked his hand. “I don’t think so. Go wash your hands and watch the game or something.”

“Excuse you, I prefer the design channel.”

“And that’s why I said or something.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.” He smacked your behind before going to wash his hands. You chuckled, mixing the potatoes as the bus pulled up in front of your house.

____________

“Why didn’t you keep it?!” Ollie screeched at the dinner table and you smiled. He had always loved animals.

“Because it was wild which means us keeping it as pet isn’t exactly ideal.” You spoke and Steve nodded in agreement. “I don’t know, a pet raccoon sounds kind of cool.” Marina chimed in.

“See!” You giggled and shook your head. “Finish your food and we’ll talk about a pet raccoon.”

Immediately, Ollie stuffed his mouth full of the salmon and mashed potatoes he had laughed. You laughed and grabbed your plates, standing to your feet. Steve gently grabbed your wrist. “I told you i would handle the dishes, darling.” You rolled your eyes and leaned down to kiss his lips. “I’m just gonna put them in the sink and soak them in some warm water and soap. Make it a little easier for you.”

Steve sighed giving you a smile before letting you go. “Gross.” Ollie spoke up and Marina smacked him in the chest lightly. “it’s not gross. It’s sweet. Dad’s completely in love with mom and she’s the same with him.”

Steve nodded. “Exactly. You’ll be there soon enough. You’re gonna see the prettiest dame you’ve ever seen in life and then you’re gonna be stuck on her.”

You chuckled softly at their conversation, turning to the sink and placing the dishes in after stopping it up. You poured a bit of soap onto the m before turning on the water. You grabbed the sprayer hose and held it over dishes. You waited for a few seconds, casually glancing around before your eyes landed outside. You squinted, think you’d seen someone out there. You blinked and it looked like a body was hanging from the large oak tree outside.

Your hands shook, your breathing beginning to come out in short bursts. You tried calling Steve but his name wouldn’t come out. Within seconds the figure appeared in front of you outside. You saw Marina, face pale and bruised, blood running from her mouth as she gave you a sinister smile. She reached out towards you, her eyes rolling back while she twitched violently.

You managed to let out a blood curdling scream as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your heads clutched your shirt tightly as your eyes fell closed. Your screams got louder and soon you were wrapped in someone’s arms. You don’t know when but apparently you had sunken down to the floor. You were pulled tight against a broad chest with a voice oddly familiar whispering to you that you’re okay.

Your body continued to shake as you sobbed. “No, no, no, no. Marina!” You sobbed out and cried harder. You felt soft hands on your face. “Mom, open your eyes.” You shook your head. “No, please not my Marina...” You whispered out, still sobbing until a cracked voice finally brought you back to Earth.

“Mom, please! I’m right here, I’m right here.” You opened your eyes slowly. A wail escaped your lips as you saw your oldest, perfectly fine aside from the tears running down her face. You gathered her in your arms and hugged tightly. You shook, holding her tightly.

“Baby, what happened?” Steve asked as you pulled away. You sniffled and shook your head, not able to describe what you had seen.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just go to bed. Kids put the food away.” Steve picked you up in a fireman’s carry before making his way up the stairs and into your bedroom. Your shaking had subsided by now, thankfully and your breathing was back to normal.”Angel, what happened?”

You shook your head and grabbed his hand. “I can’t...Steve, it was so horrible.” Your eyes welled up with tears again before Steve quickly climbed in beside you and wrapped you in his arms.

“Okay, okay. It’s alright. Marina’s okay, Ollie’s okay, Sommer’s okay. They’re all okay.”

__________________

The next morning, Marina had given you an extra tight hug and so had Ollie. Sarah was gonna drop Sommer off a little later so you had some time to yourself. You sat on your couch, eating a chocolate bar dipped in melted peanut butter. Steve plopped down beside you, resting his head on your shoulder while his hand fell to your belly. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You shrugged. “I’m fine. Feeling a little tired but otherwise, okay.” You rested your head on top of his while he gently pulled your shirt up. He sat up at the dark bruise that had appeared on your brown skin. “What’s that?” You looked down and set down your treat. “I have no clue.”

“Does it hurt?” You shake your head and rub your belly. “Not at all.” Steve’s eyes shifted to your neck. The top of a dark bruise appeared there. He gently tugged down your collar and you glanced down, eyes widening at the bruise. “What the hell?” You spoke up and Steve sat back. “We should get that checked, babe.”

You eyed the bruises and nodded. “Yeah, but it’s just two. And they don’t hurt so.”

“But they’re bruises, Y/N.” Steve gave you a hardened look and you sighed.

“I’m fine. I promise. Besides we have a check up next week. We’ll ask about it then.”

Steve opened his mouth to rebuttal before the doorbell sounded. You immediately got up and answered, seeing Sarah and Sommer. “Mommy!” You giggled as she jumped in your arms. “Hey, baby. Hi, Ma” You leaned in and gave Sarah a kiss before inviting her in. “Oh, this place is lovely. Where’s Steven?”

“Right here, ma.

Sarah immediately moved to give him a kiss on the cheek. You always loved seeing them interact, especially since Sarah seemed so small compared to Steve. He always had to strain his back to even give her a proper hug. “Oh, I feel like I haven’t seen you two in ages. Where are my other babies?”

You handed Sommer to Steve and she giggled as he covered her face in kisses. “They’re at school, you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Oh, darling, it was a part of the plan anyway.” You chuckled and sat down as Steve went o grab a snack for Sommer.

“So, how’s my fourth baby?” Sarah asked as she sat down near you. “He’s fiiiine. A little rowdy.” You rubbed your belly and Sarah looked at you, something soft in her eyes. “And you, hon?”

“I’m...okay.” You gave her a poor attempt at a smile and she gave you a look before you sighed. “Well,I keep having these weird like...visions. I had the worst one last night after dinner. And then not even five minutes before you got here Steve found these random bruises. They don’t hurt but it’s like they just appeared out of thin air. God, I sound like I’m insane.”

You sighed and Sarah patted your knee. “No, darling, you don’t. This place is beautiful but it’s something off about it. I don’t know about things like this but I know someone who does. His name is Johnny Blaze. Get in touch with him and tell him everything you told me. He’ll know what’s going on.”

You looked at her and sighed. “I’ll think about it but it’s probably just my mind fucking with me.” Sarah gently kissed your temple, rubbing your back softly.

__________________

That night you grabbed your laptop and searched up Johnny Blaze. Apparently he was a sort of seer and had a gift to see through another side of our world. You weren’t too keen on calling him just yet so you favorited his info before shutting your laptop for the night. Steve climbed in bed shortly after, his hands immediately going for your tummy.

A sigh passed through your lips, catching Steve’s attention. “What’s on your mind, Sugar?” You shrugged, gently carding your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. “I don’t know. All this weird, scary shit going is getting to me.” Steve chuckled and gently grabbed your hand before placing gentle kisses from your palm up to your shoulder.

“It may just be stress, darling. Tomorrow I’ll take you, Sommer, Piper and our growing bean to the park. Maybe go for some ice cream? How’s that sound?”

You gave him a soft smile before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sounds perfect.” You leaned over to turn off your lamp before sinking into the warm comforter, Steve wrapping himself around you.

You stood quietly on your front porch, watching Ollie run around with Piper trailing behind him. Marina and Sommer sat under the large oak tree in your yard coloring together while Marina played music for the two of them. Your hands gently grazed over your rounded belly, a smile gracing your lips as felt your baby kick. A sigh passed through your lips as you turned to go back inside but you were immediately met with cold, dark, and dialated pupils.

Your breathing got stuck in your throat as the face of this...thing twisted into a menacing grin. Teeth dirty and rotten, saliva black and dripping from it’s mouth. You clutched your belly tighter as it began to speak. “I’ll take them by your hand.” It spoke, it’s voice low and gravelly. You opened your mouth to scream and it took the opportunity to force it’s hand down your throat.

Your scream was immediately silenced as your hands attempted to claw at the thing standing in front of you. You felt a searing pain, like they were ripping something from you before it began screeching at you in a grating voice.

“WAKE UP.��

You became conscious to the fact that something was shaking you, gently but urgently. You heard feet padding around the room and seemingly distant pleas for you to wake up. Then you became aware of the screaming. Who the hell is screaming like that? Your eyes snapped open and you finally completely registered your surroundings and that you were in fact the one screaming.

Your eyes darted around as your screams died down to short bursts of air. You noticed your children, then Steve, and finally a warm, wet sensation underneath you. “Y/N, baby! What happened?”

You don’t answer, just rip the sheets from your body. You immediately recognize the fluid currently making your sheets see through, a large pool of it forming under you. Your bottom lip shakes as you grip Steve’s hand when his eyes finally see what you’re staring at.

You groan as a sharp pain sears through your abdomen, tears immediately forming. You vaguely hear Steve telling Marina to grab towels and put them in the car. You hear him telling Ollie to take Sommer back to bed as he picks you up and leads you down the steps and to the car.

“Call your grandmother and tell her your mom is in labor. Do not open the door for anyone, she has a key. Get back inside.” Steve rushes out before putting you in the car and kissing her head. Another wave of pain hits and you wince, trying to breathe through it. You weren’t supposed to be feeling contractions this close were you?

___________________

Steve rushes down the highway as fast, yet safely as possible. He strokes your head and tells you encouraging words as sweat beats down on you and you try to contain the pain you feel.

It feels like hours before Steve is finally ripping your door open and carrying you into the emergency room. “Help! My wife’s in labor!” He yells out and it immediately catches the attention of nurses. The grab a gurney and Steve places you on it before he follows you and the multiple nurses pulling you to the nearest delivery room.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction rips through you, squeezing the hand of whoever was beside you. You couldn’t focus, the pain was intense and the bright lights made it no better. You vaguely hear someone over the intercom paging a doctor.

Your body is lifted and you’re shifted to a more stable bed as a woman rushes in. “How far are the contractions?” You groan as another one hits you and the nurse replies but you can’t hear. All of a sudden a masked face is hovering over yours, stroking your hair. A soft voice speaks, “Alright, Mrs. Rogers. I know this is soon but you need to push.”

A sob racks your body as another excruciating pain rips through you. You listen as best you can, pushing and stopping when they tell you to. Steve is right beside you, speaking sweet, encouraging words in your ear as you struggle to compose your pain vocally.

Finally, the stretching, the burning sensation, the pain all stops and you’re panting. You smile, you did it. You relax back into the bed before your eyes snap open. Why isn’t your baby crying? You sit up and you blink as your doctors roll your baby away. “Wait...wait! Where are they taking him!? Why can’t I hold my baby?”

Steve attempts to try to calm you but you don’t care. Where is your baby? Why won’t they let you see him? You start to thrash, vehemently trying to get up to follow but nurses hold you down. You feel a soft prick in your arm before you’re suddenly losing consciousness.

________________________________

When you come to Steve is there, his eyes rimmed red and clutching your hand as he sniffles. You groan, looking around the room slowly becoming aware of where you were. Oh, you had your baby! Where is he/she? You turn to Steve, gently squeezing his hand. He looks up and you frown at the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Where’s the baby?” You mutter softly and Steve sits up straighter, gripping your hand in both of his.

He gives you a sorrowful look and you blink at him. He starts shaking his head and trying to find the right words to say this to you but you already register it. You remembered what happened after you have birth. You look at him in disbelief, shaking your head. “No, Steve...” You call out for him but his eyes fall to the ground. You start to shake, your mouth opening and closing, forming into a grimace as you feel unimaginable pain rip through your chest. “No, please, no....” You stutter, your breathing picking up as Steve stands, pulling your hand to his chest. You fight him, tears rushing down your cheeks as screams of sorrow escape you.

You fight Steve so hard he has to climb into your hospital and tightly wrap his arms around you while laying his weight on you. You let out a gut wrenching howl of agony into his chest. Steve just holds you tighter as nurses rush in. They stop at the sight, understanding your pain since they were the ones who helped deliver your still born.

____________________________

You’re released from the hospital a few days later but you’re not the same. when you get home you don’t acknowledge your children who come rushing towards you. You don’t acknowledge Sarah as she gives an understanding, pain filled look. You just walk inside and immediately go to your bedroom.

Steve explains what happened to the kids, explaining it a bit differently to Sommer since she was only 3. When he speaks to his mother, her face twists in horror. “I’d never seen her like that, Ma. She was so hurt and in pain. The doctors were even considering keeping her and putting her on suicide watch.”

When Steve goes upstairs that night he hears you sobbing, he joins you. His arms are tight around you and he’s holding you tight as you shake. He’s comforting you but there’s an unsettling pit in his stomach and he doesn’t know why.

Things get worse over the next month. You had barely spoken a word since. You’ve barely showered on your own. Your kids have become weary of you. Marina tries to talk to you when you’re downstairs but you just stair off into space. Ollie attempts to get you to play with him and Piper but you ignore him. Poor Sommer keeps showing you her art but you don’t care. Steve tells them to give you time but they’re worried, scared even.

Steve’s scared too. More bruises keep appearing. Every time the dog comes near you she barks and you damn near growl back at her, sending her scurrying away. Your usually glowing deep, brown skin has become dull, lifeless. Your curls would usually be messy but full of life and always had a purposeful place in your hairstyles but now he began to notice areas beginning to become matted. You didn’t let him touch you in anyway whatsoever.

One day Steve goes to pick up dinner while you’re home alone. The kids are at school and Sommer tagged along with Steve. You’re sitting on the couch, in a old Howard University sweatshirt when Piper rounds the corner and begins barking at you. You ignore it as Piper begins to turn her attention elsewhere and then she begins barking at the corner.

You sigh and get up, opening the front door and she runs out. You silently make your way back to the couch and sit. You hear a whimper and a loud crack but you ignore it.

________________________

Ollie discovers the dog. Its neck twisted in a sick way and blood oozing out. Steve nearly loses his lunch. The next day, they bury her under the tree out front. When Steve turns, rubbing Ollie’s back he sees you staring out from the kitchen window. You turn silently and walk away but he doesn’t expect to see a pale woman, teeth black giving him a sinister grin before he turns, not realizing he had stopped breathing.

A week after that he wakes up to Sommer screaming bloody murder in her room. He rushes over and sees her thrashing under the covers. Marina rushes in as Steve picks her up and holds her tight while she cries into his shoulder. When he turns towards the door he sees you just as you turn to go back to your shared room. Sommer begs him to protect her from the scary lady with no teeth that night and he does.

Marina, unbeknownst to Steve, had seen the woman too. She had seen her the night you had your breakdown in the kitchen and since then she’s been doing her research. She talked to her grandmother the night you went to the hospital and Sarah had given Marina the same advice she had given you: Call Johnny Blaze.

The following morning after Sommer’s incident, Marina sits across the table from Steve as he reads. “Dad...” Steve looks up, placing the paper down. “Yes, sweetheart?’

“I’ve seen the lady. The lady with no teeth...I’ve seen her too. Except she’s not toothless it just looks like she has tar as saliva..”

Steve pauses and sighs, grabbing his daughter’s hand as she continues. “I think that’s why mom is being so weird. I did the research on this house and mom was right. A witch did curse this place and I think she’s coming after mom.”

Steve chewed his lip before sighing. “Marina...” He begins but she stops him. “Dad. please. I even looked up the stages of possession. Oppression, break down the victim. That thing has been terrorizing mom since we got here. Obsession, consume their life. All of us has seen that woman, even Sommer and Ollie. And then possession, I think it’s in the process of that right now with mom. I think...It’s plan is to kill all of us.”

Steve scoffed and Marina shook her head, frantically trying to make her dad listen. “I know you’ve seen the way Piper acted around mom. Dogs are good senses of characters and spirits. She loved mom, why would she just turn all of a sudden. And...And...I’ve caught mom standing over Ollie’s bed, just staring. I even caught her staring at me once at night, growling at me.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this?”

“I was scared! I wasn’t sure if I had just dreamed or what but...I think she tried to get Sommer last night and when you stopped her she was pissed so that’s why we--”

She was cut off by Steve dragging across the table as a chair was launched in her direction. She screamed as Steve immediately dropped to the floor. “We need to call Johnny Blaze.”

_____________

The next night Johnny was there, he greets Steve and the children. He steps into the house and winces. “Ah, I think it’s best if you’re children leave. As soon as possible.”

Steve nods and grabs his phone to calls his mom as he rushes the kids upstairs to grab a set of clothes for the night. He tells Sarah to come immediately and she’s already on her way out the door before he hangs up. He turns towards Johnny, wringing his hands together, “Can you really help my wife?”

Johnny nods, looking around the house. “I can but she has to work just as hard to fight whatever it is that’s attached itself to her and is trying to crawl inside.” Steve nods and opens his mouth to speak before a scream from up the steps catches both of their attention.

Both men rush up the stairs to see you holding Sommer by the neck with a pair of scissors trying to come down into her chest. Marina is holding that hand back while Ollie is shaking in the corner. Steve grips him by the shoulders. “Go outside, your grandmother will be here. Do not come back in this house!” Ollie follows, rushing down the steps.

Johnny manages to pry the scissors from your hands and Marina is wrenching your hand from around her little sister’s neck. When Sommer is finally free she runs as best as her tiny legs can, taking the same path as Ollie. Steve tackles you to the ground when you attempt to chase after, pinning his body weight on top of you.

“Marina, go!” Steve yells towards her and she hesitates before leaving the room as well. You’re growling like an animal and Steve finally gets a good look at you he cringes. Your pupils are dilated and tiny. Your face is sunken and there’s cuts covering it, you smell awful and your skin looks lifeless. He feels tears forming in his eyes while Johnny is speaking some words in a foreign language. You twist and howl beneath your husband as he continues. He watches as your back arches, a loud crack threatening to send bile up his throat. “What are you doing?! You’re hurting her, stop that!”

Johnny ignores him and continues as Steve watches you claw and scratch at his hands, you’re screaming but your voice sounds distorted, like yours and someone else’s were mixing. Then he heard you, your voice calling him. “Steve, please!” You yelled out and Steve panted, shaking his head before leaning down and whispering how much he loved you and how strong you were in your ear.

You sobbed as Johnny continued his chanting, only being able to assume he was trying to get this witch out of you. When he sat up to look at you he was taken aback, seeing the woman with tar in her mouth grinning at him. She spoke to him, her voice gravelly like someone had taken a cheese grater to her vocal cords. “She screams for you, Stevie. Come get her, Stevie. Come get her!” The woman taunts before letting out a laugh.

Suddenly, you’re yanked from underneath with such force he couldn’t hold on. “Y/N!” You’re tumbling down the stairs before you’re on your feet and yanking the front door open. “She’s going for the kids!” Johnny yells after Steve. Steve’s almost to you when you’re suddenly running, dragging Ollie behind you as you make your way to the kitchen in haste.

Ollie screams, grasping your wrist as you laugh loudly, sinister smile on your lips. You grab the nearest knife and turn, smiling at Steve as Marina, Sommer, and Johnny rush in. “I’m gonna take all this bitch’s children one by one then I’m gonna take her.” The woman’s voice rings out and Steve rushes forward to grab your hand. You’re struggling enough to have to let Ollie go, trying to fight off Steve.

“No! Y/n, I know you hear me. I need you to fight this thing, you have children who need you. I need you.” He pleads and the witch laughs. “She’s weak, Stevie. And I’ll take her and all you bastards down with me!”

“Mom, please!” Marina calls out and you pause, almost as if the got through to you, the real you. “I need you, mom. Please, Ollie and Sommer need you!”

Your lip quivers as you stare at Steve. “Y/n, you have to keep this thing under control while i do this.” Johnny reaches to place a hand on your chest and you shake your head. “No, no. She won’t let me go, she won’t.”

Johnny shook his head. “Yes, she will...” You smile at him. “She’ll terrorize us...them. Thank you for helping my family as best you could but she’ll never let them go.”

You look at you children, giving them a teary smile before mouthing ‘I love you.’ You turn to Steve and stroke his cheek with your free hand, “I love you so much, Stevie. You were first and only love. I need you to take care of my babies for me.”

Steve shook his head. “No, Johnny is gonna get that bitch out of you and you’re gonna take care of them with me...” His voice shakes and you shake your head, gently kissing his lips. “Take care of my babies and move on...for me.” You smile at him, sadness and light in your eyes before you rip your hand from him and plunge the knife into your chest. You vomit immediately afterwards, black liquid escaping your mouth and spilling onto the floor. When you finished you still went limp slightly shaking as clutched onto Steve.

You gasp, sinking to your knees while still clutching the knife. Steve called out to you frantically, sinking with you as he held your face. Your children rushed over and Steve tried to shield them from you but Marina reached out, touching your cheek.

“Look after your dad for me, baby. T-tell Sommer that i l-loved her...every day.” You whispered and Marina nodded, kissing your hand as you turned, looking uo to see Ollie. He was confused, you could tell so you turned to Steve. “Remind him how m-much i loved him...”

Steve sobbed, letting his tears fall onto your face as he shakily kissed your lips. You looked at him, giving him a final smile before you let go. Steve watched the life leave your eyes, held you tight as you went limp in his arms. He sobbed into your chest, letting shaking his head as he screamed into your chest.

You weren’t coming back, you couldn’t come back.

_______________________

Your funeral wasn’t big, just with close friends and family. The immediate family released yellow butterflies in your honor once you had been lowered into the ground while your friends released white butterflies.

Steve held your children close, hugging them tightly and then he noticed something. Sommer’s butterfly refused to leave its jar. He tried to coax it out but it just backed deeper into the jar. He felt tears slowly rolling down his cheeks as he smiled, knowing that it was indication that you were gone but you’d always be right there.

_________________________________________________

A/N: Yes, I ended on a corny sappy note because i WANTED TO. Hope ypu enjoyed! :)

#steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #Bold’s fics

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kevintor · 5 years

Text

I Watch a Movie I Should Have Seen: “The Outsiders”

All I knew about this movie was the name “Ponyboy” and that the cast was jam-packed with 80s beefcake like a savory Great British Baking Show pie I wouldn’t want to eat. I wish I could remain in that blissful, pre-watch state.

My thoughts:

The opening credits are "sands in an hourglass” away from being the start of a soap opera. I kept waiting for my mom to fast-forward the VCR to get to Luke and Laura.

Ralph Macchio can’t run very well. I don’t know what the excuse is. This is long before his leg is swept.

Matt Dillon asks Diane Lane if she’s a real redhead. It’s followed by two separate, but way-too-long, instances of assault. I think Matt Dillon’s character is a metaphor for how awful the movie is.

Ponyboy is the guy’s real name. It’s what’s on his birth certificate. His brother is Sodapop. They said the dad was “original.” Maybe he was having a four-year-long stroke.

The Drive-In: Where everything comes in a cup!

In the 60s, if you fought over women, you had to break a bottle or pull out a butterfly knife. I get it. I got my wife because I broke…out my affection for her and her affection matched mine so we mutually decided to start spending time together.

This is filmed like a bad after-school special or a middle school play. Give the editor credit that not a single scream of “LINE!” made it into the final cut.

The Karate Kid killed a guy! He stabbed Leif Garrett to death! This must have given Tiger Beat magazine months of covers.

Matt Dillon lights a match using his necklace. It’s sorcery.

Ponyboy and Karate Kid stow away on a train. They take it to an abandoned church to lay low until the murder heat dies down. They prove it’s abandoned, not with rats, but with shots of two rabbits. “Mr. Coppola, I know when I talked you out of putting a rabbit’s head in the guy’s bed in ‘The Godfather,’ you said, ‘Next time I get two rabbits,’ but…"

Ponyboy and Karate Kid cut their greaser hair to lay low. Karate Kid looks like shorter-haired Karate Kid and Ponyboy looks like He-Man’s alter-ego.

Ponyboy reads “Gone With The Wind” to Karate Kid. They share so many tender moments while they’re on the run, but not actually moving. This movie would make more sense if this was a love story between them.

Matt Dillon takes them to Dairy Queen. Some kids come ask for fifteen cents. Matt Dillon hides his face and shouts at them to go away. Then he says, “That was close.” Does he think the 10-year-old girl and 6-year-old boy were undercover cops? Is Matt Dillon "age blind?"

Ponyboy, Karate Kid, and Matt Dillon return from Dairy Queen to find the abandoned church on fire. Even worse, it’s apparently the day of the local school’s field trip to an abandoned church and some kids are stuck inside! Ponyboy, Karate Kid, and Matt Dillon save the day!

Side note: One of the school teachers says to the other school teacher that she thinks some students might be inside the building. The other teacher responds that she’s probably wrong. No need to check. As a chaperone, I, myself, have an 80% student return guarantee due to similar laziness.

Emilio Estevez’s name is Two-bit. His diet consists of chocolate cake and Budweiser and he wears a sleeveless Mickey Mouse t-shirt. And, for some reason, we get way more screen time of Matt Dillon?

Ponyboy has a deep conversation with the head of the Socs about the impending rumble. The sexual tension is palpable. Guys just open up to Ponyboy. Does he put out pheromones that bring all the boys to the yard? Damn right!

We have a heart-wrenching scene where Karate Kid and Ponyboy talk in the hospital. Pony boy tells him he’s going to be okay as Karate Kid repeatedly tells him he’s not with medical evidence as support. Ponyboy: “You’re going to be okay.” Karate Kid: “The doctors say I’ll never walk again." Ponyboy: “It’s going to be fine.” Karate Kid: “It’s not. My spine was crushed. The cord was actually severed.” Ponyboy: “I have a good feeling about this.”

We end with a mud-wrestling rumble between the Greasers and the Socs. Jeans vs. Khakis. Gross hair vs. Weird hair. Someone has to win and it definitely won’t be me.

This movie was terrible. I can’t think of a moment I enjoyed in it.

Somewhere in the middle, I wondered if maybe Karate Kid was just a figment of Ponyboy’s imagination like in “Fight Club.” How cool would the movie have been if, at the end, Sodapop said, “What are you talking about, Ponyboy? YOU stabbed Leif Garrett. Who’s Karate Kid?” Then we quickly flash back through various scenes of the movie showing Ponyboy doing the stuff Karate Kid did. Mind blown.

Instead, it is one of the worst things I’ve ever watched. And we still have no idea if Diane Lane is a natural redhead!

#i watch a movie i should have seen #the outsiders #ralph macchio #rob lowe #tom cruise #leif garrett #matt dillon #patrick swayze #80s movies #The 80s #80s #comedy #funny #blog #Movie Reviews #ponyboy #stay gold ponyboy

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anari3l · 5 years

Text

With a Little Luck and Grace ch 3

Words: 1746

Pairing: Shay Patrick Cormac x Reader

Warnings: slight NSFW

Leaving Mister Murdock to his own devices left a sour taste in your mouth for the first few weeks until you had settled into your new duties. Your mother had hated the idea of you leaving and going to live with some random strangers who promised you a job, but you had reassured her numerous times that this was the right thing to do -- you couldn’t help your parents keep their inn without more of an income. Achilles Davenport himself, had even stopped by the Inn in Boston and met with you, and your mother to assure you were being offered a steady job.

Mister Murdock’s shop didn’t last. By the end of two months he was so far in debt that he had to sell the shop, and you heard from Shay that Murdock himself was living pretty much in a tavern near the docks now.

Your duties at the Davenport Homestead were simple, cook breakfast and supper. You had the freedom to bake whenever you felt like it or when supplies allowed, and you were given a decent room that overlooked the bay and the boats docked there.

The group of individuals living at the homestead were still rather strange, however. Although, a budding relationship was starting to grow between you and Shay.

You found you actually liked the man’s presence while you talked in the kitchen over a batter bowl or pot of rabbit stew. He made you smile and laugh. You picked up on his flirtatious undertones about the second day you had met him, and as the weeks wore on, became more confident in your abilities to challenge his flirts with your own.

And it had worked. Too well, in fact.

You and he had shared a rather intimate night after everyone had been celebrating. You had been given the day off, as some of the hunters had brought down a large elk to be cooked over a large fire in celebration of something. Shay had asked to dance at one point, and his hands had wandered as the two of you swayed to the fiddle. You had your first kiss behind the stables, the sounds of revelry carrying on without you. You had tumbled in the hay loft, his kisses sweet, and his hands strong.

For close to two weeks now, however, you had been avoiding Shay, the memories of that rather heated moment in the stables still ever present in your mind. Each time you thought about it, a hot blush crept onto your features. Remembering how he had held you, and how his lips had tasted against your s, how he had rested above you and spoke softly, his accent thicker with drink and arousal …

Shay laughed as he leaned against the brick oven, watching as you cleared away the rest of the dishes from supper. Folding his hands in front of him, he smiled down to you as you turned to remove the muffins from the oven. “Those smell lovely, lass.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, folding the linen towel into the waistband of your apron. “You can only have one if you do me a favor, though,” you started, turning to Shay.

Shouldering away from the wall and taking a step towards you, Shay held your gaze as he came forward, only to step around you and lean into your back as he wrapped his hands around your waist. “And what would that be?” he asked, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Fighting the urge to fall into Shay’s arms, you steadied your breathing. “I … I need some eggs!” you started, stepping away from Shay and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in hopes of ridding the tingling sensation from your skin. “Jacqueline never returned with them …”

Shay’s gaze flicked to the window, where the stars shone bright behind the few clouds in the night sky. “Eggs,” he nodded.

“Please,” you repeated, smiling as Shay stepped closer to you. “A dozen of them, I think, should do.” Your gaze met Shay’s and your smile grew. “They’re for breakfast, in the morning.”

“Lass …”

“Unless,” you interjected, continuing your rambling, “There’s salmon coming in from the rivers tomorrow mornin’ … We could have fish for breakfast.”

Smiling, Shay relaxed against the counter as you carried on cleaning your work area, mind running too fast for your words to actually make sense. He smiled as he noticed how flustered you were becoming, blushing and keeping your head down.

“We had fish yesterday,” Liam started as he rounded the corner into the kitchen from the back hall. “This kid’s not botherin’ ye is he?” he smirked, slapping Shay’s shoulder.

Jumping slightly as Liam spoke behind him, Shay moved away from the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. As Liam stepped to his side, Shay nudged his shoulder into his side in response to the slap. “Just tryin’ to get a fresh muffin.”

You plastered a large smile on your face as you turned back to the men, picking up one of the fresh muffins on the counter and holding it out to Liam. “Would you like one, Liam? Late night snack?”

Out of the corner of your eye you could just make out the feigned shock expression Shay wore. Liam, however happily reached for a blueberry muffin, raising it in thanks. “Don’t mind if I do,” he smirked. “Keep at it, lass. These are the best muffins I’ve tasted.”

You smiled, turning back to your work. Shay took the opportunity as Liam left to reach for a muffin himself. You slapped his wrist and pulled the basket away from him. “Eggs, please.”

***

It had been almost month since the romp in the hay loft with Shay. The love marks he had left on your skin had faded, though his flirtations had not. He had not given up his quest to make you blush, and would offer to help you at any chance he got. But, you began to watch Shay during his daily routines in the yards, as he threw those same smiles, winks, and flirtatious comments to Miss Jenkins, who seemed to throw them back harder with a large smile.

Shay and Liam were usually seen sparring in the early morning, before breakfast, and in the afternoons, they were usually joined by a Native man and sometimes even a Miss Jenkins herself, dressed in a beautiful, although shorter than respectable, dress with trousers.

“Who are these people?” You caught yourself musing aloud one afternoon as you sat, peeling potatoes with your roommate and newest friend, Jacqueline, at your side.

Jacqueline couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and worked as a maid in the main house. You shared a room with her, and found her sunny outlook on everything refreshing after living in the city for so long. She had told you she had been born in Louisiana, but had traveled up here with her merchant father. When he had died, Achilles had taken her in. Apparently, she said, he had known her father well, even called each other friends.

That still did little to quiet your thoughts.These people were strangers. You had watched Shay and Liam kill a group of men the first night you met, neither of them seeming fazed by their actions. Achilles seemed distant, yet respected and confident as he trained the men and women on the homestead.

You sighed, getting back to work. “Come on, then, we’re having more for supper than usual.”

Supper, usually, was a raucous time. Little to no decorum was had on those nights when it was just Achilles, Shay, Liam, and a few other … rowdier folks. When Miss Hope was visiting, however, it was a large affair. The boys seemed to quiet in their jokes, and the large mugs of ale were replaced with glasses of wine from the cellar.

You almost chuckled as you watched Shay trip as he walked into the dining room where you were setting the table. You had grown to expect almost childish behavior from Shay and Liam, and had grown fond of watching the two men act as if they were brothers.

“Don’t tell me you’re already drunk,” you sighed, eyeing the Irishman from out the corner of your eye. .

“Not near close enough,” he said simply.

“Does Miss Hope scare you?” You chuckled, turning to face him. “You, the man I saw kill five men the night we met?”

He glared at you, but there was an underlying smirk. “She doesn’t scare me, lass.”

A bark of laughter from behind you had both you and Shay turning. Liam stepped in from the kitchen, clutching his stomach in an exaggerated laugh. “Hope could send you flying with a pretty smirk. He ain’t scared of, her, he’s far from scared!” Liam laughed.

“All this talk,” Hope’s voice came from behind Liam, her hand curling around his shoulder as she walked past with an ever calm demeanor. “Perhaps we should be a tad harder on Cormac. What say you, Liam?” She smirked. “It would do me great pleasure to see you eat dirt twice during my visit,” she smiled, winking over to Shay as she sauntered towards a chair near the head of the table.

After dinner, you were finishing up the cleaning in the kitchen, replacing dishes and flatware in their rightful homes. You had spent most of the meal listening in on the conversation being had. Hope and Achilles had been talking animatedly about a Benjamin Franklin, while Liam and Shay listened more than spoke. As the meal wore on, was when the pang of jealousy had seated itself in your heart. Hope, Liam, and Shay were undoubtedly close friends. And Hope and Shay you guessed, had been close … like you thought you were with Shay.

Elbow deep in soapy water, you smirked as you felt Shay’s hands wrap around your waist. “Delicious supper as always, lass,” he hummed.

“There are leftover muffins in the basket,” you hummed. “If you want.”

“And what if I don’t? What if what I want is sweeter … warmer …” he hummed, kissing your neck.

You laughed, relaxing back into his embrace. “I have to finish these chores before turning in, Shay,” you hummed, looking up at him as he moved away from you.

Shay leaned forward, hand on your cheek and pressed his lips to yours with no preamble. “Meet me when you’re done.”

#shay patrick cormac x reader #reader insert #shay cormac x reader #ac fanfic #ac: rogue fanfic

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years

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:TW for major dysphoria and some self-harming behaviorsSting’s life has been a mess ever since he was eleven years old and Rogue told when he’d promised to keep a secret. Now Sting is an adult, and the only way he knows how to cope is by getting drunk and forgetting the world. When drinking nearly kills him, he gets a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the kind of man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting's slowly adjusting to his new life with Uncle Wes, but he's still not who he wants to be.

Chapters (7/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe & Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**TW for major dysphoria and some self-harming behaviors

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dys·pho·ria | \ dis-ˈfȯr-ē-ə noun : a state of feeling very unhappy, uneasy, or dissatisfied

v autumn age eleven

Kelly comes by a few days after the hospital, like she said she would, and she and Sting sit out in the back yard on the porch swing while she asks questions Sting doesn’t want to answer. She talks a lot about big things like court and guilty pleas and prison, and Sting just nods and picks at his nails.

“Do you like staying with your Uncle?” Kelly asks. Sting doesn’t answer at first, just kicks his feet under the swing. “Do you feel safe?”

As soon as Sting nods, it feels like a betrayal. He knows his dad is far away and part of his heart hurts because it’s his fault. No matter how many times Kelly and Uncle Wes tell him it’s not, he doesn’t believe them.

If he’d listened, he’d still be with his dad.

Sometimes, Sting wants that. He misses his bedroom, the view of the garden, the path he took to get to school. He misses his favorite teacher, Mrs Dempsey, and the way she would let him stay after school to help her shelve the books when he didn’t want to go home.

Mostly, he misses Rogue. He’s tempted to ask Kelly if she can talk to him, but every time Sting thinks about it, all he can hear is Rogue telling his mom when he promised he wouldn’t.

Something’s wrong with her.

Her dad’s sick again so she had to sleep here.

I don’t understand why.

“I know this must be confusing for you,” Kelly says gently, and she doesn’t mention it when Sting shuffles over and leans against her. “It’s a big change. Is there anything you need to make it easier?”

Continue reading on AO3

Sting shrugs. Uncle Wes took him shopping yesterday and they bought new clothes that fit and don’t have holes in them. At first Uncle Wes had pointed out things like patterned leggings and bright shirts, but when he’d seen Sting looking over at the boy’s section, he’d smiled and guided Sting over to the jeans and hoodies.

Watching the price go up and up at the till had made Sting’s stomach hurt. He’d spent the afternoon thinking about the piggybank he left at home where he’d saved up his money from taking dad’s bottles to the depot.

“I don’t have my money,” he says quietly to Kelly. “Uncle Wes paid lots for my clothes.”

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Kelly says. “You don’t have to pay for your clothes. That’s a grown-up job.”

“But…” Sting sighs in frustration, dropping his forehead to his knees. “I feel stupid.”

“How come?” Kelly asks, and Sting shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging his legs closer to his chest. “You’re not stupid, Abbey.”

Don’t call me that, Sting thinks. It hurts when she says that name, but he doesn’t know how to tell her that it doesn’t fit.

“I know things are different here,” Kelly continues, leaning back against the swing. Sting peeks up at her, then leans his head against her shoulder. It feels safe here. Safer than anywhere else, anyway. “You don’t have to worry about things like that anymore, okay? Money, or food, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” Sting says, rubbing his eyes.

Kelly sighs, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “I know, kiddo,” she says. “But I promise it’s going to be okay.”

Living with Uncle Wes is strange at first. He’s always awake when Sting gets up, drinking his coffee and doing his crossword in the kitchen, smiling and asking Sting how he slept. There’s always food in the fridge, and Sting is allowed to have it any time he wants. When he tries to clean, Uncle Wes helps him – sorts the clothes, puts the dishes away, mops after Sting sweeps.

“I can do it,” Sting says quietly one day while they’re folding laundry. Uncle Wes just smiles him and takes the next shirt out of the basket.

“I know you can,” he says. “But I can help you.”

Sting frowns at him. It doesn’t feel right. “I don’t need help,” he insists. “I can do all of it, you don’t have to…” He trails off when Uncle Wes raises an eyebrow. “I can cook stuff, too,” Sting says quickly, and he can’t figure out why his hands are suddenly shaking.

“Abbey,” Uncle Wes says gently, setting down the shirt and sitting down at the table next to Sting. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“But…” Sting stares at his hands. He can do it all – cook food, do the dishes, use the washer and dryer. He’s good at those things, and he doesn’t understand why Uncle Wes won’t let him do them. Maybe Sting’s not doing it the way Uncle Wes likes.

“Having you around is wonderful,” Uncle Wes says, reaching out and taking Sting’s hand. Sting tenses but doesn’t pull away. “And I’m very proud of you for being able to take care of yourself so well.”

“Then why—”

“Abbey, you’re eleven,” Uncle Wes says. Sting wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why.

“I’m not a baby,” he whispers. He’s not. He can get stains out of the laundry, and cook scrambled eggs, and unload the dishwasher without making any noise.

“I know you aren’t, sweetie,” Uncle Wes says, shaking his head. “You’re so grown up. But you don’t always have to be. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

Sting’s cheeks flush hot and he holds his breath to keep himself from crying. He doesn’t need anybody to take care of him – not his dad, not Kelly, not Rogue’s parents, not Uncle Wes.

Sting doesn’t need anybody but himself.

Schools starts two weeks after the hospital. The cut on Sting’s head is still healing and his arm’s still in a cast, and when the kids in his new class ask what happened, he tells them he fell off his skateboard. The boys all think it’s cool that a girl skateboards, and all Sting can think is, I’m not a girl. I’m like you.

Despite that, things start to get better. A month goes by, then two, then six, and Uncle Wes doesn’t yell or drink or throw anything. When he finds the hoard of food that Sting has hidden in his dresser drawer, he doesn’t get angry, just reminds Sting that he can take food from the fridge or pantry any time he needs. When Sting insists on cooking supper, Uncle Wes thanks him, then helps do the dishes afterward.

Eventually it starts feeling normal. They do things together like going to movies and riding bikes, and Uncle Wes even gets Sting a laptop so he can play Minecraft with his new friends from school. Uncle Wes is there every day when Sting gets home, smiling and asking how Sting’s day was while he helps Sting with his math homework.

When Sting turns twelve, Uncle Wes bakes him a cake and takes him out for dinner, just the two of them, at a fancy restaurant. When they get home and Sting starts to cry, Uncle Wes just hugs him and tells him that he loves him over and over again.

And then, just when Sting’s finally starting to feel okay, it all falls apart.

A month after Sting’s twelfth birthday, he wakes up to his sheets covered in blood and a sticky feeling between his legs. It takes him a minute, but when he realizes what’s going on, he feels like he’s going to be sick. He knew it was going to happen – they had health class at school and had to watch a stupid movie about bodies and changes and all the things that terrify him. But he’s not a girl, doesn’t want to be a girl, and this can’t be happening to him.

He tries to hide it from Uncle Wes, but he can’t. Uncle Wes is calm and kind, washing Sting’s bedding and buying him pads and giving him a heating pack when it hurts so much he thinks he’s going to puke.

That afternoon, Sting barricades himself in his room, pulling his dresser over to block his door so Uncle Wes can’t get in. He hides in the closet, pressing himself back into the corner and crying. It starts out as small whimpers, but works up to loud, wracking sobs that tear through his body and ache, deep in his chest. He’s wrong, this is wrong, and he wishes and wishes for another body that fits.

Eventually he throws up from crying so hard, but that just makes it worse, and after that Uncle Wes takes the door off its hinges so can get into the room. He sits down on the floor near Sting, not saying anything, just crossing his legs and waiting patiently. Sting presses himself further into the corner and shakes his head, digging his nails into his arms until he feels blood under his fingertips.

“Abbey,” Uncle Wes says gently, moving closer to the closet. “I don’t want to touch you if you don’t want me to, but I can’t let you hurt yourself.”

“Go away,” Sting whispers, jerking his head up and wincing when he hits it against the wall. Pain sparks through to his temples and clears the frustrated haze in his mind, so he does it again, and again, until Uncle Wes pulls him close and wraps a hand around the back of his head. “Stop it!” Sting yells, pushing hard against Uncle Wes’ chest. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

“I can’t,” Uncle Wes says sadly, hugging Sting tightly to his chest. “Part of me loving you means I have to keep you safe, even from yourself.”

“Let me go!” Sting shouts, twisting desperately in Uncle Wes’ arms. He hits Uncle Wes’ chest and tries to kick at him, but Uncle Wes just holds him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his cheek to Sting’s hair. “I want to help, sweetheart. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“No!” Sting screams, shoving harder at Uncle Wes’ chest, but he’s too strong and Sting is so small and stupid and wrong, wrong, wrong. “I hate you, let me go!”

“Abbey, it’s—”

“Don’t call me that!” A loud, aching sob bursts from Sting’s throat and he gives up, slumping against Uncle Wes’ shoulder and crying. “Don’t… it’s n-not, pl-please, I don’t want… I c-can’t…”

“It’s okay,” Uncle Wes says, loosening his hold on Sting and rubbing his hand up and down Sting’s back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not right,” Sting whispers, hot tears dripping down his cheeks and leaving dark, damp circles on Uncle Wes’ shirt.

“What’s not right?” Uncle Wes asks, and Sting can’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m not a girl,” he says, voice breaking, and when Uncle Wes doesn’t freeze or flinch, Sting grips his shirt tightly and doesn’t let go. “I’m not, I don’t w-want to, I’m a b-boy, pl-please—”

“Okay,” Uncle Wes murmurs, kissing Sting’s temple and pulling Sting into his lap. He’s warm and gentle and safe, and Sting is suddenly exhausted.

“Okay?” he repeats uncertainly through the tears as the tight, hot knots of anger dissolve into a heavy weariness.

“Yes,” Uncle Wes says gently, “yes, of course it’s okay. You’re okay. I love you. You’re safe.”

Everything Sting’s been holding in his body suddenly dissipates – years of tension and fear and uncertainty rushing out of him and leaving him feeling like wet paper, ready to tear at the smallest touch. He trembles against Uncle Wes, who holds him gently, kissing his forehead and reassuring him that it’s going to be okay.

Sting’s not sure he believes it, but he’s too tired to be afraid.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #nbm2019 #nonbinary month #stingue #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #trans character #fanfic #new chapter #update #tw: dysphoria #my fic

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eremikaweeks · 5 years

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Part 1 of 2 of my Eremika gift to Sonderous Opia

-The oven was brooding with heat, the oven held sweet chocolate chip cookies for Eren and Mikasa. It’s their first Christmas together since the Jaeger household took Mikasa Ackerman in from when her parents were murdered, and Eren promised to make her smile tonight on Christmas Eve. Eren’s mother, Carla Jaeger and Mikasa were pitching in on making the second batch of cookie dough while Eren and Grisha were setting up the last of the wrapped presents. Carla has been kneading the dough while Mikasa rolled the cookie dough into little bits of clumps for the oven.

“You’re really good at doing that, Mikasa.” Carla commented.

“Thank you, Carla.” Mikasa muttered lightly.

Eren noticed across the room that she’s still grieving. Even Carla could see it, but she can tell she’s still healing.

Ever since, Mikasa became a member of the Jaeger household, she’s been quiet. To Eren it’s understandable, but he was hoping he could make her smile again, after all it’s been almost seven months since that day, and the memories still haunt her in her dreams.

Eren finally hauled in the presents he could carry and placed them under their tree. The intoxicating smell of fresh baked cookies linger inside Eren’s nostrils, which lures him towards the kitchen like a fish on a line.

“Hey Eren.” Carla Waved as she placed the hot tray of cookies on the table layered with a thick to avoid the table from burning.

“Here Mikasa, this is a treat for helping me with the cookies.” Carla handed Mikasa a good fresh cookie that was covered with lots of chocolate chips.

Eren reached out for a cookie of his own but Carla smacked his hand away from the batch.

“No cookies for those who don’t help with the baking.” Carla nodded.

Eren wanted to explode with anger and yell at his mother, but before he could attempt, he saw Mikasa walk towards him, and she broke off half of her cookie, and gave it to Eren. Mikasa may have been robbed of her parents and a special part of her childhood, but deep down she’s as kind as she ever was. Eren looked at his mother to see if it’s okay with her. She smiled warmly and pretended to look away to get the rest of the raw cookies in the oven.

“Thank you Mikasa.” Eren took the second half of Mikasa’s cookie and they both chowed down on their split cookie.

“Eren?” Mikasa spoke a tad more loudly than before, “Do you have any milk?”

“Ugh… Yeah, it’s over here.” Eren went over to the pantry in the back of the kitchen to find a small glass bottle of milk.

“There’s not a lot left, maybe for one cup.” Eren said as he was observing the amount of milk left in the bottle.

“Can’t we split it again?” Mikasa asked.

“Yeah sure. I think.” Eren said.

“Here.” Eren handed Mikasa the bottle of milk while he went to the cuppard to get two glasses

Eren grabbed two small glasses from the shelf and poured what’s left of their milk.

“Alright you two, share it evenly, okay Eren?” Carla brought over a plate of her cookies and left them to devour it all.

“I promise.” Eren swore. “Wait, why am I being singled out?”

“Because you can eat two whole plates of these cookies. Save a good half for Mikasa, okay?” Carla explained.

Eren looked down for a moment as the realization hit him, “Okay, mom.”

Mikasa placed a hand on Eren’s shoulder, hoping it would cheer him up a little bit. Eren could feel a sense of warmth in Mikasa’s gaze, and for that he gave Mikasa another cookie. She accepted Eren’s cookie, dipped it in her glass of milk, and took a big bite. The delicious chocolatey taste surrounded Mikasa’s taste buds in just a brief moment, and her entire body melted to it’s warm texture. For just a moment Eren could see Mikasa smile, but it died quickly when she saw him looking at her. Eren looked away himself and took another cookie for himself.

Later in the night, after midnight. Eren can call this day a victory, he may not have made Mikasa smile for as long as he was hoping, but he got her to smile for just a quick moment.

Mikasa lays quietly asleep next to Eren, who is wide awake. Ever since she came to stay with the Jaeger’s she wouldn’t sleep by herself due to her nightmares. She laid still snuggling with Eren’s right arm. Every time he looks down at her, she can see her rest well, but every time he tries to nudge off of her, she clutches back to his arm. Or worse, the risk of a nightmare. They were less frequent these days, but Eren does fear they could happen again. On the other side of the room, Eren can see snow fall down from his window. He wants to go see the snow landing on the ground, but he doesn’t want to leave Mikasa on her own. So he decides to take a risk.

“Hey Mikasa, wake up.” Eren nudges Mikasa awake.

She’s slowly coming to her senses, and when she finally notices where she’s at, Mikasa finally opens up her eyes and notices the window and it’s view of falling snow.

“Wow.” Mikasa is mesmerized.

“C’mon, let’s go see.” Eren offers, getting out of the bed, he gives her a hand to hold. She gladly accepts Eren’s hand and they go see what’s out on the front yard.

The entire front yard is completely layered in a thick blanket of snow.

“Hey! You wanna go out and play?” Eren offered, but Mikasa hesitated.

“But it’s late out there.” Mikasa responded.

“Yeah, but c’mon, look out there.” Eren pointed out there.

“Hmm, yeah alright.” Mikasa gave in, it wasn’t hard considering how nice it looked out there.

Eren and Mikasa snuck outside with their warm clothes on and started playing in the snow to their heart’s contempt.

Eren and Mikasa were having loads of fun, given how much there’s to do around. An idea hit Eren with a sly smirk on his face; he scooped up a pile of snow and rolled it into a ball, and threw it right at Mikasa. She looked at him with a pouty face and returned the favor with another snowball. Direct hit to and from both of them. Eren took cover from the nearby barrel while Mikasa took cover from the wall of their home. Eren landed an even amount of hits and hurts from eachother and once Mikasa was out of snow, Eren snuck from around Mikasa and surprised her with a tackle in the snow. They both couldn’t take the excitement anymore and began to laugh their hearts out. Certainly the whole neighborhood could hear them at this point. Eren and Mikasa looked at each other for a moment and both of their faces began to warm up from the inside. Mikasa nudged up closer to Eren who was on top of her and rubbed the tip of his nose with her own.

“Thank you, Eren. For everything.”

Eren blushed deeper in the red and couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“You’re welcome, Mikasa. Y’know I never did thank you for saving me too that day… Thank you Mikasa.” Eren responded.

Mikasa smiled big this time with a large tear coming from her right eye.

“Let’s go inside.” Eren offered and took Mikasa’s hand.

Eren took Mikasa inside, into their home. For once Mikasa felt safe again. Safer than she’s ever been.

The following morning two hours after dawn, Armin showed up at Eren and Mikasa’s front door.

“Hey guys, they’re caroling a few blocks from here, you wanna go watch?” Armin offered.

Eren and Mikasa gladly accepted.

(Sadly the fanfic was 1308 words instead of 1500, so I added an AMV to the gift, link below!) @elivra-fanfiction

http://doctorarchangel.tumblr.com/post/181587908899/part-2-of-2-of-my-eremika-secret-santa-gift-for

#eremika #eremikasecretsanta #eremikaweek #submission #fanfiction

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rhiannon-a-christy · 6 years

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If Tomorrow Never Comes ::: Part 1

The world around Darcy was silent but for the chirping of birds and the distant roar of cars traveling down the old dirt road. There was a chill in the air that wasn’t just from the dense fog hanging heavy over the field. Darcy pulled her jacket tighter around herself, hoping that the old leather would somehow block out the cold and despair filling her up.

Jane watched from the car, her back pressed against the rusted metal. She sighed as her friend trudged through the tall weeds in a pair of worn blue jeans.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Jane had tried to talk the younger woman out of coming, but Darcy would hear nothing of it.

“I have to see it… I… Jane you don’t understand, I just have to.” Darcy had spent weeks trying to explain this to her friend after she had returned, but how could Jane ever understand? She hadn’t been the one to go, she hadn’t been the one to lose her heart… and lose everything.

Ignoring Jane, Darcy walked the last few yards. The toe of her boot tapped against the edge of a stone sticking up from out of the weeds. She swallowed down the lump forming in her throat and crouched down to run her fingers over the stone. It had once been swept clean, the weeds curling around it plucked away. But over a hundred years had whittled away at the rock, now she could barely make out the two names that had been roughly carved into it.

Forcing away the tears she stood and walked around the house. The years had not been kind to it, the roof had fallen in long ago and the thick wood walls had pitted and splintered with age. What windows were still intact, were encrusted with a thick layer of grime. She desired nothing more than to step beyond the threshold and walk the steps of a life long ago, but she knew the floorboards would be just as rotted as the roof.

Rounding the side of the house she came to a stop. The window, built a bit lower down than the others, led into the kitchen. It had been one of the busiest rooms in the house, always filled with the aroma of fresh baked pie and bread. He used to come in after a long day on the ranch, make teasing comments about the heat and the lack of a need for clothing, steal a biscuit and plop himself down at the table.

Darcy pressed her hands into her eyes, willing the images to stop. Maybe Jane had been right, maybe this had been a bad idea. Instead of hightailing it back to the car as she should have, Darcy leaned into the wall and ran the sleeve over the window.

Through the now dirt smeared glass she could make out several bundles of roses hanging from the ceiling. It had been a habit that had formed during the years. He would bring her flowers from the sparse garden and she would hang them in front of the window to dry. Her favorite blooms would be cut from the brittle stems and placed inside a crystal cut glass box he had brought back from a trip to Boston. She figured the box was probably still sitting on the vanity top in their room. It was where she had left it when… when…

Darcy pushed away from the wall and rushed back to Jane. After rounding the house her foot caught on the marker stone and she went tumbling to the ground. She stayed in the dirt, her knees burning from the fall. But any pain it caused was nothing to the one she felt in her chest. She took in huge breaths, tears falling without her permission. For the world it had been over a hundred years, but for her it had only been three months.

What had been the point of it all? Why had this happened to her, why when this was the outcome?

Since she returned she had often wished that none of it had ever happened. Over and over she had tried to think on how she could have avoided it all. The pain, the heartache.

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It had all started when she had agreed to spend the holidays with Jane’s family. Of course, Jane hadn’t told her that meant staying in an almost two-hundred-year-old house in the middle of nowhere. The woman conveniently left out her uncle’s old family estate.

Darcy had been left to her devices for much of the time, what with Jane trying to deal with all her cousins. To alleviate some of her boredom she had gone exploring. This was her first mistake. In the movies wasn’t it always the people that explored old houses on their own that disappeared?

Her exploring brought her to the upper most room. It had been closed off, everything inside covered in dust and cobwebs. She had marveled at the pretty little trinkets laid out atop an old dresser. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Victorian ages.

She had run her fingers through the dust, taking time to pick up one item or another. Finally, she came to the closet. Slowly she opened the door, expecting to find old clothes. Instead there was only a lone bundle of dried roses. Behind the brittle flowers was another door. This one bolted shut. For a moment she felt like she had been transported inside one of her favorite books. There was the insane thought that if she stepped through that door she would find herself in Narnia.

Laughing at the absurdity of it, she reached for the lock. The rusted metal broke apart and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. She had no idea what she expected on the other side, but she was disappointed when all it revealed was a dark, empty storage area.

She took a step back, turned, and nearly fell on her ass when she noticed the room around her. Everything looked the same as before, only every speck of dust and grime was gone. The whole room looked fresh, as though it had just been cleaned. Impossible of course, or at least that was what Darcy kept saying to herself whenever a new thought rushed through her head.

From downstairs she could hear laughter and the faint sound of a piano. She blinked. She had remembered an old piano stuffed in the corner of the drawing room, but Jane had said that it hadn’t worked in years. Actually, her uncle had gone off into a story about the damned thing. According to him the last time the piano had been played was back in 1885. It had been at the wedding of a family friend that the piano had been broken, or really shot. The groom had made some rather dangerous enemies, ones that didn’t care about hurting innocents as long as they got their man. Darcy remembered seeing the bullet holes, she had even made an inappropriate joke about holy music.

The piano music grew louder as the door opened. Darcy blinked as Jane appeared… dressed in a rather frilly dress with her hair piled up in curls atop her head.

“Oh Darcy, what are you doing hiding away up here? I know you dislike dances, but Papa went out of his way. The least you can do is show up for your own birthday party.” Jane stood in the doorway, gloved hands pressed against her hips.

Darcy blinked again. Nothing about what just came out of Jane’s mouth made sense. Her father had died years ago, and Darcy’s birthday was months off.

“And what are you wearing?” Jane looked Darcy up and down, her mouth thin. “You have got to stop stealing the farmhand’s clothes. People will talk. Come on, I’ll help you get ready.”

Darcy remained silent as Jane dressed and groomed her. She was quiet as the other woman pulled her out of the room and down the stairs. She said nothing as Jane maneuvered her from room to room. But when she was finally pushed into a room filled with various dancing couples she found she could no longer hold her tongue.

“What the fuck?!”

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Author’s Note: So, like I really needed to do this. I have so many work in progresses it isn’t funny. But I’ve had a been several weeks and I needed a western au. And so here it is, a different kind of western au. I also might be stuck on the whole Darcy gets transported back in time thing, so have one where she gets sent back to the old west.

This will not be a long story, maybe three or four parts, and I’m thinking it will be Wintershock, mainly cause I just really want some Wintershock right now. Plus, Cowboy!Bucky! Come on!

And the part at the beginning with the old house and roses is inspired by a story my grandfather told me. When he was younger, back during the Depression, his family lived with an aunt and uncle of his on their farm. It had been his favorite place, and his favorite aunt. Because of different things they were forced to move. Years later after he was married he returned to the old farm house and looked in the kitchen window. Hanging from the ceiling were two bunches of tea roses. Every year his aunt would gather a bunch of tea roses from the bushes outside the house and hang them in the kitchen and let them dry. They would stay there all year and she would replace them in the summer. The house was all worn down and falling apart as no one cared for it after his aunt and uncle died, but years later those roses still remained in the window. I admit, I cried when he told me the story. I still do.

This is also inspired by the scary doors in the back of my closet that leads to a creepy dark storage area. Too bad all they actually lead to is lots of wolf spiders and not Cowboy Bucky.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

#darcyland #darcy lewis #wintershock #western au #pre wintershock #cowboy!bucky #timetravel au

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r-estlessness · 7 years

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I picture October. We’re standing outside and it’s chilly, there’s a breeze and it’s light enough to not disturb us, yet powerful enough to send some of the leftover, autumnal leaves shaking off of the trees and falling before us, landing in my hair and landing on some of the guests sitting around us and our friends standing beside us. There’s a flower crown on my head, an assortment of seasonal flowers weaved through my hair. My hair is dark raspberry and wavy, giving off a magenta glow in the sunlight filtering through the slightly barren trees. The long dress hangs loosely off my body, my pale skin even paler in contrast to the white dress and the golden glow of the afternoon around us. Underneath the diaphanous fabric, my feet are clad in flat, jeweled sandals, toenails painted in oxblood. The sun sets on us with tears flowing down our cheekbones, leaves rustling underneath our steps, and hands entwined so tightly I’m not sure I’ll ever want to let go. Everyone around us is basking in our radiance, for we are the sunset, the scintillating stars, and the morning’s rising sun. I picture November. I still write about you every day, I’m still in such a giddy state, stealing glances of you from across our dinner table, observing your sleeping figure one last time before I turn off the bedside lamp and lull myself to sleep. In the mornings we wake up to our dog in bed with us, a happy family bundled under the covers as the rain pours outside and happiness flows like a river inside of us. The holidays sneak around the corner and the scent of spices and pumpkin and ginger waft through the house constantly. We go grocery shopping and hold hands while wandering through the aisles. You decorate the front porch with real pumpkins, a fall wreath hangs on our door, you get so excited to celebrate your favorite season with me in our new home and I love nothing more than the hearth of your soul during this time. I picture December. We keep the curtains open and watch the sun rise and set as it comes and goes. I play obnoxious Christmas music throughout the house and we dance around the kitchen while making sugar cookies, licking the batter off spoons and fanning the smoke away when I burn them. There are mistletoes on every door frame and I make every effort possible to take advantage of them from the start of the month until the very end and although it’s annoying, you oblige every time. There’s a large tree set up in the corner, decorated as best we could compromise. At night we snuggle in front of the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate with peppermint liquor in our hands, thick blankets creating a nest around us. I’m wrapped up in this, I’m wrapped up in you, I’m wrapped up in this beautiful life. I picture January. We clink champagne glasses together and kiss at midnight. I think you taste better than the overpriced champagne and I’m more intoxicated from your kiss than the alcohol. We dance with each other surrounded by drunken friends until the party dies down and we’re left alone with confetti and glitter on the ground. I fall asleep with my head on your chest, your hand caressing my hair and your lips on the top of my head, wishing me into yet another new year to spend with you, 365 more days in love with my best friend. I picture February. We deny how romantic we really are, yet decorate the house with heart-shaped throw pillows and leave cliché love notes all over the house. I cook dinner every night while wearing red lipstick, and have a glass of wine poured and ready for you when you come home. We watch bad Hallmark movies and make fun of them before we’re too tired of the horrible acting and decide to retreat upstairs, our dog following us, ready to cuddle between us. I could live forever in this Valentine’s Day. I picture March. Spring is peeking out, the sun begins shining a little bit brighter, snow is melting, and we go regularly shopping for plants. I watch your excitement raise for the pretty flowers soon returning for the season. Together we go for runs in the early morning, our lawn still sprinkled with dew, the light of day not yet returned. We take our dog for walks around the block at night, recounting our days, laughing at whatever ridiculousness that has occurred. When we finally reach our house again, we sit on the front porch steps and watch the stars fall across the sky. I picture April. It’s raining every day through screens of sunlight, but we still love it nonetheless. The weather warms up, we take day trips to random locations, we explore different places. Together we stomp through puddles in big cities and small towns, drying off from the rain inside cute cafés and spacious art museums. Some flowers you’ve planted are beginning to sprout, next month they’ll spring up and you’ll be in your own horticultural heaven. You teach me how to care for the plants you treat as children and I’m in my own personal heaven. I picture May. Flowers burst from the soil in magnificent colors. Our windowsill is lined with succulents and cacti, my hibiscus sits on the front porch proudly, blossomed brilliantly. We spend nearly every day outside— we eat outside, read outside, we even fall asleep under the stars a few times. We lay together on a hammock as lightning bugs fill the air at night, there’s a warm breeze and you wrap your arm around me tighter before I drift off. I never dream anymore because now I’m living my dream and there is no need. I picture June. Summer sends rays of sun streaming through our bedroom windows in the morning, the fan is on full blast, yet we still cuddle underneath the blankets, skin sticking to one another. We travel a lot now— road trips and plane trips, exploring up and down the coast and venturing outside the countries to the places we’ve always wanted to travel to. We toast to one another as we sit overlooking the Amalfi Coast, fireworks above our heads and in our hearts. We backpack through dense European forests, we hold hands weaving through crowded city streets, we rest our heads on the plane rides home. I don’t care where we go because I’ll go anywhere with you. I picture July. We host parties outside and make friends with the neighbors. I attempt to make fancy, mixed drinks and fail miserably at it, but you’re proud of me and drink your slush of alcohol anyway. All of our best friends join us and we laugh louder than any of the Fourth of July fireworks. Everyone brings their dogs and they run around our large yard, chasing one another. At the end of the night you wrap your arm around my waist and pull me in for the grand finale, but while you’re looking at the fireworks in the sky, I’m looking at you instead. I picture August. The end of summer is dwindling, but we still attempt to make the most of it. We spend days at the lake, kayaking around it or laying on the shore. We drink spiked lemonade out of mason jars and pick wildflowers for each other. I catch you looking at me behind your dark sunglasses. You quickly look away, a smirk on your face, before I pull you in for a kiss, your lips tasting like all of our summer adventures wrapped up in one. I picture September. The heat is still there but the nights grow cooler and cooler. You begin decorating early and our house is dressed in maroon and golden hues, transformed into an autumn castle. I bake leaf-shaped cookies and cinnamon rolls to get into the spirit of the season and there’s pumpkin-flavored everything in the fridge. Every night we watch scary movies together, a different one every night, a bowl of popcorn placed in between us. I bury my face in your shoulder when it gets too scary and later we laugh about it. You drink your coffee while staring out the window on foggy mornings and I take candid photos of you because you just look so fucking perfect. We live in these twelve months and a million more. We live so happily with each other, we live forever.

excerpt from a book I’ll never write | #73

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