#i wanna draw her lookin kick ass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hhawks · 2 years

Text

in a world where you could just lie to me

✰ starring: asahi azumane x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: in which asahi tries to say sorry. set post timeskip, ceo of fashion brand azumane asahi hires you to sew for his fashion show. ✰ content: exes that fuck, canon compliant, lots of references to fashion and the fashion industry, bitter reflections on the past, depiction of new york by someone who has never been to new york, kinda angsty but also not quite, kiyoko n yachi are here! along with an oc bc i needed one more person for plot ✰ warnings: thigh riding, fingering, implied exhibitionism ✰ word count: 9.6k (holy fuck u guys) ✰ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASAHI the Best character in hq shut the fuck up if you disagree. i love you my anxious anxious man.

part one of red thread series.

“don’t tell me.”

your new intern looks at you, sweat practically pouring down her forehead. “boss, i’m not sure what to say—”

“then don’t speak. get kiyoko on the line.”

mitsuri shuts the door behind her, and you can hear the way she slumps against the door sighing. you don’t mean to be vicious, overbearing. but this is one thing that you can’t let just slide.

you pull your legs up, hoisting yourself up to sit cross legged in your office chair before picking up the phone. “boss, i—”

“you wanna explain to me what you just did? why i just had to hear what i just heard?” you spit down the line. “mitsuri near pissed her pants telling me.”

“look, i think it’d be a great opportunity. for you and the company.” her voice is sweet, as it’s always been since high school. “he’s not the devil. you can work with him for one season, can’t you?”

you scoff, twisting around in your chair. “you want me to work with him? i can barely stand to even look at his name, let alone sew for him for his entire show.”

“boss, he requested you.” the line strikes a chord in your heart, and it pangs against the confines of your sternum. you wish you hadn’t heard that. “he wants you. look, i don’t know where you guys stand now, but think of us. think of the brand. you work with one runway brand and you’ll be a fashion week regular. it won’t just be his brand asking to work with you.”

“kiyoko—”

“think about it.” you hear her sigh. “it’s all up to you, in the end. but i think you’d benefit a great deal from it.”

a beat of silence. you hear mitsuri chattering outside your office door. the squeak of your chair as you lean back. “fine.” you say finally. “i’ll think about it. when do we have to get back to him?”

“he didn’t say, but out of courtesy i’m gonna need an answer by friday.”

friday. you look at your calendar— wednesday now. “okay. you’re really a stick up my ass.”

“just lookin’ out for you,” she laughs. there’s a chord of graciousness in your sternum that beats louder than your fear. “i’m coming in soon. want a coffee?”

it stares you in the face every time you so much as glance at the contract. kiyoko’d laid it on your table, as gently as her slender hands could, almost trying to comfort the worsening wound in your side. it’s not that you didn’t want to take the offer.

it’s that even his name made your heart pound.

asahi azumane. how long had it been since you even heard it uttered? when mitsuri briefed you about it this morning you choked on your spit, thumping your chest to regain control. “what did you just say?” you spat.

it wasn’t her fault. you groan, making a mental note to apologise to her later. but you thought that you could go the rest of your life without meeting him again. that was the plan, wasn’t it? that’s what he said, wasn’t it?

you kick back in your chair, gazing upon the piles and piles of intricate fabric, of reams of satin. kiyoko said that his designs were in the folder— so you pick it up, hands threatening to tremble, and start to flip through.

the drawings— the sketches, the delicate pencil lines, the bold strokes, the light shading, it’s all him. you can’t think of anything else, can’t look past the little asahi’s in the corners of each sketch, his signature to copyright them, can’t stop your fingers from trailing over every line. it’s all him. they’re all reminiscent of his style, extravagantly simple, silks and velvets and leather. everything you remember working with him on.

you don’t realise you’re crying until a tear smudges a corner of a sketch. “fuck,” you mutter, stretching out to grab a tissue from your desk and dabbing it gently so the graphite doesn’t run. they’re beautiful, his designs. always had a knack for being the most creative person in the room.

“asahi,” you test his name on your tongue. it feels awkward, unfamiliar. like you haven’t uttered it in years. you probably haven’t. but somehow the more you say it the more it feels— not natural, but comfortable.

(like a home made by hand, burying deep in your mouth.)

you thumb through the designs. it feels like the first time he designed, you in his lap, making suggestions and talking him through what works with what fabric. the two of you were a duo; went everywhere together, worked together, loved together. his designs now are different, but you can see the little details that you taught him.

fine. you think. we’ll see how this goes.

“kiyoko?” you call loudly. the walls of your office are thin, so you hear her footsteps padding along until she pushes the handle down.

she smiles. “hey boss. what is it?”

your hand moves before your brain does, grabbing a pen from your mug-turned-pen holder, darting to sign big and loud on the contract. “tell azumane i said yes.”

new york is dreadful. you’ve known this from the day you first stepped into rat-infested subway stations, walking down garbage-lined streets. no matter how many times you encounter a cockroach you will always jump and squeal before stomping on it with your shoe.

but for some reason, life always finds a reason to drag you back here. you breathe in the first gust of putrid perfume concoctions and the unmistakable fried food, and you feel the same you did all those years ago. hopeful, filled with some sort of determination. now just without the man who brought you here, your scarf around his neck, his hand in yours.

“he really has god-like faith in you, huh?” hitoka comments when you step off the plane, sewing machines and sergers in hand. “fashion week is in less than a month.”

you hum. “i’ve never really known him to make important decisions well. he works best under pressure.” kiyoko snorts. “anyway, as long as he’s paying us well i don’t mind working long hours. i hope you guys don’t either.”

“‘f course not.” kiyoko heaves the machine against her hip, and hitoka stretches out her hand in an offer to help. she shakes her head. “i mean, we practically already do that with every client collab.”

“when are we meeting mr. azumane?” mitsuri asks, shouldering the duffel bag of necessities.

“you don’t need to call him that,” you murmur. “he hates being called that.”

“tomorrow morning,” kiyoko answers. “and yeah. he much prefers just being called azumane.”

or just asahi, you think. there’s something about that thought that sticks in your head, burrows itself deep into your subconscious. something menacing, yet sweet. you don’t know if you’re dreading seeing him or if you want to sleep now so you don’t have to be awake without him anymore.

he’d scheduled private hire cars for the four of you, kiyoko tells you, to shuttle you from the airport to the hotel that’d you’d be staying at. it takes a while— new york traffic is as bad as you remember— and hitoka falls asleep on your right shoulder, mitsuri on your left.

“they’re exhausted,” you comment to kiyoko, who’s sitting up front. “i haven’t seen them this knocked out since the day after tokyo fashion week.”

“you would be too if it was your first time flying 13 hours non stop,” she hums gently. “they were all cramped up with the machines.”

“poor girls,” you pat their knees softly, watching as the dim orange glow of the streetlamps illuminated their faces with every stretch forward. you’d forgotten what new york night life was like; how rowdy it is, how lively it is. you’d forgotten how tired just being in the city made you.

you’d forgotten that the only reason you’d ever come here was for him.

the hotel is nice. kiyoko tells you his manager was the one who booked it for a couple of nights while you look at other places with enough studio space to make a hundred different pieces. god, he’s really pushing you for time, isn’t he? “what time is the—”

“the office is about a block away, and the meeting’s at eight,” kiyoko says, letting down her hair, black cascading around her shoulders. she’s still the beauty she’s always been, even after a thirteen-hour flight. “so we sleep now so we’re not late, got it?”

and that’s exactly what the four of you don’t do. the japan-america time zone difference is brutal on your body, tossing and turning in your bed until the ungodly hours in the morning. it doesn’t help that your tummy’s churning with the dread of seeing him again, for the first time in what feels like forever. you wonder if his hair’s still the same length, if he’s changed his glasses. you wonder if he’s seeing anyone. god, you don’t know whether it’s better if he is or isn’t.

you lie there, awake, staring at the ceiling. you count the flowers in the wallpaper, you lean on your side and watch the clouds inch by slowly. there’s nothing to rock you to sleep. you wonder if it would be better if he were here, next to you, tucking you into his chest. “fuck,” you mutter, clutching the sheets between your fingers. “fuck you, fuck this. why am i here?”

you’re not sure when today becomes yesterday, when night turns into day. all you know is that eventually slumber overcomes you, and you tuck yourself under the covers for a good hour and a half before the kiyoko-mandated morning wake up call rings, sharp and shrill, from the hotel landline. you groan, twisting over to pick up the receiver.

“hello?”

“good morning, miss!” the voice is way too chipper for— you glance at the clock— 6 in the morning. “this is your morning wake up call. have a wonderful day.”

“you too,” you grumble, slamming the receiver down before stretching out of bed. god, you’re tired. your shoulders are aching and your chest feels heavy, but the new york outside is starting to wake up and you can’t help but shiver from the anticipation of the city. the sun is pulling horizons of pink and orange behind her, taking her place in the sky.

there’s a knock at the door. “boss? you awake?” it’s hitoka, voice small and muffled by a yawn. “we’re going down for breakfast. want us to wait for you?”

you hum, darting across to your bga for your sweater. “i’ll be out in a sec,” you call, and you hear her grunt in affirmation. the sweater is warm, and you pull it over your head and settle into your sneakers. you’d have to wait till later for a shower. pushing down on the handle, cold metal icy in your hands, you’re greeted by three other sleepy girls, eye bags tightly drawn under their eyes, kiyoko’s glasses pushed over her forehead to keep her hair back.

“jet lag, huh?” she mutters, and you all giggle a little.

breakfast is a quiet affair. it’s your typical breakfast buffet, and mitsuri and hitoka pile their plates with pancakes and whipped cream and make fun of kiyoko eating cereal? you have all these fresh cut fruit and meat and you chose cereal?

“it’s healthy.” kiyoko shrugs. “and plus i don’t feel like eating anything else so early in the morning.”

honestly, neither can you. you push around the food in your plate, eventually opting for just sipping the orange juice hitoka so kindly brought for you. there’s something eating away at you that you can’t quite place. is it him? is it the new city? you’ve never seen so many people talk so loudly this time of the morning.

you think about it more when you shower. you can’t help it; it’s all that consumes your mind. what he looks like, who he’s with. you want to see him again, no matter how much you deny it outwardly. there’s a little excitement, a little flame that burns in your palms. you start to remember the way he touched you, how soft his hands are, the tips of his fingers constantly bruised from volleyball. you remember sitting with him every night, applying ointments and wrapping his fingers and kissing them one by one.

“fuckin’,” you spit, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “stop thinking about that. stop it.” the shower water beats down, scalding and hissing on your back, rivulets of memories and tears staining your skin. stars explode behind your eyelids, and you let go. your vision is blurry, and perhaps it is best that way.

his office is big. that’s the first thing you think when you walk down the block to the building that kiyoko’s leading you all to. he’s definitely upgraded from the small studio space the two of you had rented when you had first moved to new york, cramped and crowded with your piles of fabric and his stashes of messy sketches.

but you two made it work. fit a small bed in the corner and held each other’s hands as you dozed off to sleep. now you stand at the foot of his building and your heart is in your throat, threatening to spill into words that you can never let see the light of day. but you brave it all, shoulder the past and its vicious tongue and walk inside.

the three of them can practically see the tension rolling off your shoulders as you step into the lobby. your sneakers made contact with unforgiving marble, walking up to the reception. “i’m here to see azumane,” you murmur, and she gives you a look. you can’t tell what it says. you decide you don’t care.

she picks up a phone, mumbling something into the receiver before looking back at you. “he’s expecting you. floor 16.”

you nod graciously. floor 16. that’s high. or is it? you can’t really tell what the standard of new york offices are like; you’d only been here a handful of times, and you barely remember them, always buried nose deep in sewing that you don’t even notice the sun going down. you’re twiddling your thumbs when kiyoko whacks you on the shoulder.

“relax.” she says. “you’re practically vibrating.”

she’s not wrong. you’re shaking, trembling even, but as you enter the elevator and press a knuckle against the ridged button that says, 16, you breathe. you breathe and you calm yourself. you knock against racing tides of your thoughts, still whipping winds.

you’re fine. you’re fine.

when the doors open his name is the first thing you see. you almost scoff at the narcissism, but the company is named after him. you flip your sunglasses up to your hairline, heaving a small sigh.

“you got this,” kiyoko whispers.

you nod. “i know.”

and then you venture into what you’ve only ever dreamt about.

floor to ceiling windows. walls filled with rows and rows of model headshots, little sketches and notes hanging under them. sample pieces, headgear, jewelry. it’s your dream, to run a show like this, and now you’re the part it all hinges on.

people watch you as you walk in. whispers. murmurs. is that the tailor? is it only the four of them? we’re so royally fucked. but you ignore them, following behind your supposed tour guide into the main office.

“azumane-san’s been waiting for you,” she smiles gently, and it does nothing to calm your nerves. you pinch your thighs. “i’ve heard loads about you.”

“oh yeah?” you attempt to laugh, and it comes out in a weak exhalation. you come to a stop in front of a glass door, and inside you can see a wall lined with the same sketches you poured over the last few weeks. in front of it, a dark oak table littered with different fabrics, magazines, several accessories, and a gold-plated name plate.

asahi azumane.

he sees you before you see him. because you’re busy watching the people milling around the room, shifting the weight of your bag on your shoulder. you’re looking, looking, with that look on your face he’s always been so acquainted with. the look of awe, at passion and at activity, the flurry of happening that surrounds you. asahi’s known how much you love just being a part of something.

and then you see him. him, here, really in front of you. he looks tired, a little older, but his hair’s still pulled into the same low bun, long strands framing his face. he looks at you and you look at him, and you can’t begin to explain the calmness that overwhelms you. calm? how are calm? how do you look in the eyes of your haunting nightmares, the shadow that’s tacked to the end of your days and feel calm?

“azumane!” kiyoko and hitoka are moving before you do, rushing up to him. you’d told them to do that; take away the attention from your being there by talking to him first. “it’s been years. how’ve you been?”

sometimes you forget kiyoko and asahi are from the same year too. kiyoko takes his hands in hers, neck craning up to look at him. “you look the same. you’d think you would have gotten a haircut by now.”

he laughs. you forgot how light his laughter was, the way it fills the room. “it’s nice to see you too, shimizu.” his voice is the same, deep ochre spilling into the room, smooth as whiskey. “you too, hitoka.”

and then he looks at you.

“hey.” his eyes are soft. you want to gauge them out.

“hi.”

it’s silent for a while, deafening above the chatter of his subordinates. asahi clears his throat. “can i, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck. “can i talk to you privately? there’re some matters i need to run by you before you can start sewing.”

your blood goes cold. “yeah, sure.” you take a step forward, and he jerks his head to everyone else, a low command to “please take your leave, i’ll call everyone back in a bit.”

“it’s been a while, huh?” you start. you try to fit a small smile on your lips. “you must have been desperate if you called me.”

“the opposite, actually.” he takes a seat at his chair, motioning for you to sit next to him. “you were my first choice.” there’s a hesitance behind his voice, in the way his hand reaches for yours and then stops. he pulls a file towards you, flipping it open. “i take it you’ve already looked through the sketches?”

“yup,” is all you can say. your hands are paralysed by your sides. you don't know if you wish he’d just hold it. “they’re really good. your blazers especially.”

“you think so?” he thumbs through the pages, and you watch the way his hands flex and move. meadows of smooth porcelain, dotted with freckles and moles, silver rings adorning his fingers. your breath hitches in your throat.

he talks over his ideas, his intentions, the way he wants things done. “of course, i’d still love for your input on it,” he smiles. “you know best the way fabric works.”

you hum. “you have a lot of faith in the structure of velvet,” you comment, hand running over his dress sketches. “you might want to use a lighter fabric if you want this level of flow.”

“as i said,” his hand finds its place on the little of your back, and suddenly the two of you feel all too close, all too intimate. but even if he notices the way your body tenses, he doesn’t show it. “you know it best. what other revisions did you think of?” too close, too close. he smells the same, you realise. he’s using the same cologne, the one you first got for him the first christmas you really had money to blow on expensive presents. you were fresh out of high school then.

the hour goes by with the two of you making revisions to his sketches, going through colours and fabrics and “do you want it against the grain? i think the drape would look nicer that way.” asahi listens, nodding along as he always has. you’re his little genius; everything he’s ever done only ever went through you before coming to life. he watches you talk, making revisions in your signature pink pencil, sketching over his designs and making notes.

“i’m taking this home with me, by the way,” you mutter as you thumb through the pages. “you can have my blank copy. i need all the notes.”

he laughs. “thanks for clarifying now,” you pull out your copy from your bag, the one with all your little scribbles during your first revision, and hand it to him. “you haven’t changed a bit.”

what’s that supposed to mean? you grit your teeth, flipping through the pages one last time. “i wouldn’t put money on that assumption.”

it’s silent. he looks at you and you’re looking at your notes, studying the little indents in the paper. there are so many questions you want to ask, so many words you want to speak. so much you have to catch up on, so much skin to explore. you want to, you want to. so what’s stopping you?

“the team’s going out for dinner tonight,” he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your skin. you shudder. “should i expect to see the four of you there?”

is this his attempt at making things better? is this his attempt at pretending everything’s normal, like he didn’t leave you for dead years ago? you look at him, and his eyes are soft, filled with mirth. curious brown.

“expect the three of them,” you say finally. “i’m going to look over studios so we can start sewing.”

kiyoko is adamant on staying with you that evening, no matter how much you tell her you’re fine alone. “you’re really gonna leave mitsuri and hitoka on their own? in the big city?” you squeal, laughing as she stands over you, refusing to budge.

“well, they can stay too! right? we can go get dinner downstairs.” she turns back to face the younger girls, who just smile sheepishly.

“actually, shimizu-san,” hitoka starts, her thumbs twiddling. “we actually did want to go for dinner.”

you gesture wildly at them, eyes wide at kiyoko. “you can’t deprive them! it’s their first time here.”

kiyoko groans. “i— fine. but we’ll be back right after to make sure you haven’t, i don’t know, died from neglect.”

“i’ll be fine for four hours,” you roll your eyes. “now get out. i have to rake through air bnb now.” the moment the lock clicks behind them you’re back on your computer, leg hitched up on the chair as you scroll through endless studio spaces. normally you’d work in the studio that the collaborator has, but you specifically requested to scout your own despite the price, just so you wouldn’t have to see him all hours of every day.

“isn’t that going to be expensive?” hitoka asked when you briefed them, hands planted by her sides as she sat cross-legged on the chair.

you waved a hand. “they said they’d pay for it. it’s the same if we got our own place than if we’d just used theirs.”

but the challenge comes with having to find a place. you scroll endlessly, looking for somewhere big enough to house four bodies and twice as many machines, piles and piles of fabric and the mannequins his secretary was nice enough to let you take. you gaze at your notes, the little scribbles he’d left you in black, ones you marked in pink. there’s a little inkling in your heart that tells you, maybe it’s different now. maybe he’s really trying to make amends.

this is a pretty expensive way to say i’m sorry, you think, resuming your scrolling on the site. you bookmark some that catch your eye, good hardwood floors, ample lighting, space enough for all of you. it looks like a bigger version of the first place you had rented when you came here, the same high ceilings, the same earthy undertone that you can never seem to find anywhere else.

you look out the window, back in the same state of mind that haunted you years ago, and again just last night, one that had you counting lit windows in the landscape to alleviate that sick sense of loneliness that consumes you. maybe you should have gone for that dinner.

but airbnb pulls you back into their spiral of overpriced studio spaces cloaked in the surrealism of owning property. you’re reminded that this time you’re not alone; you have your colleagues— no, friends who came with you. there’s a quirk in the corner of your lips when you think of them, wide-eyed and mystified as you were walking back from the office, twinkling lights reflecting off mitsuri and hitoka’s gazes. you remember what it was like your first time here.

you were probably the same warm-cheeked, curious girl they are now. your eyes are misty. when did that happen? you run a hand over your face and turn your attention back to the computer, scrolling endlessly. no more distractions. by the time the lock clicks and slowly opens, hushed whispers creaking forth from the gap in the door you’re pressing submit application and leaning back in your chair.

“found one, boss?” hitoka’s voice is small, slightly slurry. you turn to look at them, pink cheeked and smiley, a little dazed. they all are, even kiyoko who’s always been designated driver. so either they walked back, or someone—

“i had to make sure they got back okay.” you hear asahi before you see him, and suddenly you see his kind face loom over the girls. “mitsuri might have had a little too much,” he turns to the smaller girl, arm slung over his shoulder, looking faraway.

you can’t help the snort that escapes you. “jesus christ,” you stand, hurrying over to take mitsuri in your own arms. she grins at you, hair tucked messily into a bun that bumps against your chin. “i hope they weren’t too much to handle.” the girl in your arms shoots you a look of incredulity. you ignore it. “i’ll have to have a talk with these two. and you,” you shoot kiyoko a look. “you didnt monitor them at all?”

kiyoko raises her arms as if in surrender. “hey, i was busy catching up with my old friends.” something about that line makes your heart sting just a little. you wonder who was there, which friends who you cut off after you and asahi split. you think maybe nishi was there; you know he’d been travelling the world, but knowing his closeness to asahi during high school, he’d definitely be in town for the show.

so you shake your head and smile at them, and manage a hasty grin up at him. “thanks for walking them back,” you say, and it feels genuine.

“it’s no problem.” asahi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “i wanted to come and— well, say hi to you too i guess.”

you blink slowly. “oh.” your tongue darts out of your mouth to wet your suddenly-dry lips and find words that have seemed to slip right through your teeth. “well, hi.”

he smiles. you wonder how many girls (and guys) he’s smiled at like that since you broke up. it’s annoying really, how much you think about things like that. almost like you’re still not over him, obsessing over every detail, every insinuation that he had any more of a life outside of his relationship with you.

(you’re not over him, you realise quickly.)

but then you smile back at him and it fills you with a strange feeling of calmness. a beat passes and you’re still looking at him, your eyes sketching over the fine lines of age and wisdom that he’s undertaken, the softness in his eyes akin to that of when you were in school. there are a lot of memories you subconsciously repressed when the two of you broke up. but one you never failed to remember was just how comforting it was to be looked at.

“have you found a place?” he asks, voice low. it shakes you out of your reverie and you blink twice before it registers in your mind what he said.

“oh— yeah. yeah i have. do you wanna see? i feel like i shoulda ran it past you before applying, but—” you shrug, a small smile daring on your lips. “i guess it’s too late now.”

he laughs with you, taking a tentative step into your hotel room. it feels like a line being pushed, a safe haven broken into, but you allow it to happen. you turn the laptop so it faces him, all the apartments you sent applications to in on the screen. “you know,” he starts. “the office studio is still open if you wanna use it.”

“i know,” you murmur.

it’s quiet between the two of you as he scrolls through the specs, nodding and muttering along. “i like this one,” he says, and you crane your head to look. “nice lighting. hardwood floors. it’s nice, kinda looks like a bigger version—”

“of our first apartment,” you chime in, a small smile tightening on your lips. “that’s exactly what i said when i saw it.”

asahi leaves not long after that. after he smiles at you, the smile soft quirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth and soft brown eyes that make you want to slap him, telling you that that apartment was perfect, and if you could get it just to send him the rent details. you both look at each other for just a beat too long before he shuts the door behind him, and you don’t realise how tense you are until you breathe.

your posture collapses, every huff of air in your body escaping. the chair creaks under your weight and you hear a stifled giggle behind you, and that’s when you remember you aren’t alone in your room.

“right,” hitoka begins in a botched british accent, swaying in her spot on your bed. “what’s all this then?”

the three of them rupture into giggles and you throw the nearest cushion you can reach at them. “i’ll kill you girls.” you murmur. “it’s your fault he even came here!”

“that was the plan,” mitsuri slurs, laying atop hitoka’s thighs, her skirt riding up just a little bit. “ wanted to see what you two would say if you saw each other.”

“the plan?”

“they asked azumane to walk them home,” kiyoko mumbles, half asleep on her side of your bed.

“you what?” you lurch forward onto the bed, collapsing on top of the two smaller girls, digging your fingertips into their flesh. there isn’t a hint of malice in your breath, none as you hover over their faces and huff, “you did what now?”

“it was hitoka’s idea!” mitsuri screeches through giggles. “not mine, i swear not mine, st-stop!” but you don’t listen, revelling in their laughter and kiyoko’s soft smile on the other end of the bed.

it’s moments like these that make you grateful for the people you work with. you’d been together as a small company for years now, but it was long haul trips and sharing the same bed that made it feel less like work and more like adventures. some kind of bliss behind every door you opened together, wrapped in twinkling night lights and the new york city skyline. you sit back on your haunches as their laughter dies down, and you watch them, teary eyed and red cheeked. i’m glad i’m here with you guys.

but you’ll never say it. instead you watch them doze off, make up still running down their cheeks. kiyoko’s half asleep too, so you shuffle to the bathroom for baby wipes and micellar water, cleaning their faces gently. hitoka’s black mascara and kiyoko’s red lip and mitsuri’s brown eyeliner, wiped and balled up in a wet tissue and thrown away.

and when you stand back and let that deep silence envelope you, there’s an inkling at the back of your neck you can’t quite qualm. one that calls you to a place you spent times just like these in; hours of the night in the suspension between real and fake, where you’re alone but not really. when all you can hear is people but none of them are talking to you. so you put on your jacket and you step out the door, letting it click behind you.

new york’s surprisingly gentle at night. maybe it’s where you’re staying, but as you walk, hands shoved in your pockets not because it’s cold but because it’s strangely comforting to be buried in thick fabric. in deep pockets that envelope you whole, that hold you steady in a country so familiar yet so foreign, places that look just slightly off, road signs you remember the words of but not where they are. something about stiff yet broken in denim, or soft corduroy makes you feel safe, a thick velvet or moleskin. it’s running through your head while you take the walk you’ve always walked, the pavements your heavy feet wear upon start to become familiar.

there was a park that you and asahi went to sometimes on your first trip here. by accident, the first time, and then deliberately every time following. you’d found it one night walking back to your home, ice cream in one hand and his hand in the other, giggling and tripping over your feet. it was your first time in new york, who could have blamed you for being in love?

the trees sway with the gentle breeze. it’s september, the end of summer, the beginning of a new end, when the heat dies down just enough that it warrants a jacket. you remember the first time you were here; it was colder, the early days of january, blowing out the candles on asahi’s cake before boarding the plane. it was such a stupid decision, really; one you hadn’t thought out as much as you should have, but it was alright. because all you had was two suitcases, a jacket, a machine and asahi next to you in the january cold. the leaves gather at your feet, illuminated by the hazy orange lamplight, little shadows dancing along pavements.

there was a bench— there is a bench, that the two of you found the first time. etched your names in the splintering oak and kissed messily under the silvery gusts of moonlight. just up ahead, you remember, shaded by foliage and mimosas in patches of eroded sand. you’re just about to round the corner that takes you there, plop yourself in the worn seat when you stop.

there’s somebody already there.

normally this would have been fine. you know, it’s a public park, a tuesday night in new york. public benches are free reign for anyone who wants them. but not this time. you recognise that jacket, that hair let loose over his shoulder, the soft voice humming a familiar tune. you recognise it all, and it burns deep in your stomach, acid coiling and curdling. confusion or excitement froths in your throat, and a part of you pushes forward, a part of you pulls back.

“how is she?”

and you freeze. nothing moves. it feels like time itself has stopped, the leaves have stopped shaking, the autumn night is still. all there is you, him, and that detached voice who sounds so groundbreakingly familiar. high pitched, energetic, just a smidge of reminiscent.

“she’s—” asahi sighs. sputters. “she’s just as much of a spitfire as she’s always been.” you can hear the smile curving into his mouth, head turned ever so slightly to face whoever he’s speaking to.

you don’t stay to find out who it is. you turn on your heel and you leave, a breath caught between its way in and its way out. your head swims, and the lights begin to blur together. pavements sewn into the soles of your feet take you back to the hotel, back into your bed where the three other girls have barely moved.

the night wastes away and you let it. because in your heart, your rotting heart, something has begun to bloom. and you don’t want it to. you wished new york would stay dead to you.

but you fell in love here once.

(and now you’re doing it again.)

ONE MONTH TO FASHION WEEK

“a hundred and four.”

“yup.”

“in like, twenty seven days.”

“mmhm.”

“and we’re getting paid, how much again?”

“about fifteen thousand dollars.”

hitoka sputters. “only?”

you laugh, hands fitted on your hips as you take one last look at the board, every piece of clothing due for fashion week pinned up and notes written. “actually, less than twenty seven days. we’ll be doing fittings as soon as we finish so we can get them altered. mitsuri,” you call over your shoulder, who shuffles up to you with a small grin on her face. “you’re in charge of the alterations once they come in. it should be small, button relocations, maybe a extra inch or two off a seam. as long as we keep to our schedule,” you breathe, the large calendar right next to the board pinpointing every single hour of every single day. “we should be fine.”

THREE WEEKS TO FASHION WEEK

asahi comes to visit every day.

he knows the schedule by now. every day you are finishing at least a piece and a half each. morning till night at the cutting board, rotary blades dulled and then replaced, hand cramping from the sheer amount of velvet you’ve had to cut, sewing machines oiled and gears cleaned.

mitsuri has each model come in a day for a fitting, taking measurements of what needs to be changed, a pair of thread snippers on her belt for loose threads someone’d forgotten to trim. then back to the chopping block in her own corner, the pile of fabric growing larger each day.

you’re on schedule. you make sure you are. kiyoko’s one of the most type-a people you know, but you’re the one picking up the slack when everyone else has gone to lunch.

and that’s when he comes in. with a to-go bowl of whatever he’s chosen for you, burrito bowl, poke, acai, ramen. and he sits with you, helping with small hand stitches as you handle the big renovations, making sure you eat and drink water.

“you shoulda asked me to start earlier, dumb fuck,” you murmur to him one day.

“i only had the designs finalised the day i sent them to you,” he laughs, threading maroon thread into a size 9 needle. your personal favourite was 10, but it didnt make much of a difference. “i asked you as early as i possibly could.”

“that’s bullshit,” you huff. “you have all year to plan fashion week and you finalise your designs a month and a half before the event?”

“well,” he leans in closer to you. “i work best under pressure.”

you swat him away, your cheeks burning. “yeah well, i don’t.” you lift your foot off the pedal, snipping the thread off the dress before holding it up with your hands. “what do you think?” holding it up in your hands, it falls elegantly down in ripples of crushed velvet, a sea of maroon draped just the way you like it. “number 34.”

“it’s perfect,” he looks at it, eyes wide and bright. “you’re a fuckin’ magician.”

you chuckle. “no, i’m just a seamstress.”

you don’t ask why he was at the park that night. you don’t ask who it was he was with. because it doesn’t matter. spitfire. spitfire. spitfire. that’s what you had been called your whole high school career— the feisty little girl with the ember tipped tongue, subdued by the gentle giant from the volleyball team. you’d died down since then, hadn’t you? just as much as she’s always been. have you?

but then you’re taking the dress to the racks and leaving it to be ironed, glancing at the pinboard again for the original design. your hands work magic on the machine, but it was from his mind, his ideas. they had never failed to leave you speechless, even just as tiny sketches.

“you bring them to life, you know?” his voice pierces through your reverie, and you drag your gaze from the board to him. “it may be my ideas, but they’re useless till they touch your hands.”

“well, i wouldn’t have anything to sew if it wasn’t for your ideas.”

“then we need each other, don’t we?” you don’t notice you’re gravitating back to him in small steps, like you’re levitating across the room. “i need your hands. you need my ideas.”

“that’s the way it’s always been.” you agree, no matter how much you choose to deny it. and then suddenly you’re in front of him, standing between his legs, neck craning down to look at him. “it’s always been you and me.”

asahi nods. asahi agrees. asahi looks at you like you hung the stars and carved the moon from the shell of the nebulas, and his hand, big and warm and lovely, comes up to cradle your cheek.

how do you find it in you to look back at him? how do you find it in yourself to let him touch you again, be so close to you in a room alone? why does this feel like years ago, when it was just the two of you in a shoebox apartment, the same set up of machines and sergers and pinboards against a wall?

and how do you find it in you to ask, “why did you leave me?”

asahi doesn’t answer. he looks at you, mirth melting in his dark eyes, and kisses you. reaches up and pulls you down and you let him, let him consume you and you consume him, stealing each other's breath and words and blood and minds. he’s warm, so warm, smells like his cologne, spicy, woody scent that you gave him, that you made for him. it feels like everything he’s ever been is made for you.

and by the way he’s holding you, you are made for him.

his hands fit in the nooks of your body, sidled by your hips and your waist as he pulls you onto his lap. “i never wanted to,” he says breathlessly. “i swear, i’ve never wanted to be away from you.” his lips attach to your neck, and you mewl, tilting your head for him.

“then why?” you murmur, hands tightening on his shoulders, knuckles white. “why did you?”

there is an answer that the both of you know deep down, in the recesses of your hearts. one that you’d agreed on all those years ago; the only thing you had agreed on in the middle of a screaming match, yelled in broken pitches and shards of dying sunlight.

we just don’t work.

but we do, you think now, from the way you’re rolling your hips onto his, and how he’s holding on to you like you’re a mirage, a dream that he needs to sink his claws into before you drift away. he needs you. asahi needs you.

and you need him. you do, you realise, after years of staring out windows counting lights and stars in the dusty skies. after callouses formed on your hands when you worked on dresses you never really had the heart for. asahi’s clothes are the only pieces that you put your whole heart into, a piece of you sewn onto the fabric with thin strands of your blood work. they’re the only clothes you will ever be proud of making.

and the marks he’s sucking into your skin are the only ones you’d be proud of showing.

you’d been with other people after your break up. men, women, they all came, stayed a night in your bed before you told them to leave, because none of them fit. none of them held you the way he’s holding you now, fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs as he rocks on over his thigh.

“you’ve needed this, haven’t you?” he whispers in your ear. “you have. i can feel it.”

there’s a really bold insinuation with the word need. you’ve never had a need for anything. not any amount of money, not any friends or colleagues. there is nothing in the world that would press you in a way that would make you need it.

but you can’t lie to asahi. you’ve never been able to. “i need you,” you beg, and it feels pathetic. it feels vulnerable. it feels right. “asahi, i- i need you, fuck.”

“yeah, you do,” his words are so close to you, like they’re in you, swimming in your head. voice low, timbre making you quiver in his grip. “and i need you just as much. always fuckin’ have.”

you question yourself and why. why what? you don’t know. why this is happening when you so intently promised yourself it wouldn’t, you wouldn’t fall for it again. but you did, you are, free falling dangerously as you shift your legs so slightly so your clit catches against the taut muscle of his thigh, even through layers of clothing. “fuck, say it again, please,” you beg, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

“say what?” his voice is so sweet but you can hear the teasing behind it. “that i need you?”

you nod, desperately. “yeah, yeah. am i— am i the only one?”

his hips tighten on your hips. “there’s never been anyone else,” he whispers, dragging your clothed cunt over his thigh. thank god you’re in a skirt today, because if you weren’t you don’t think you would have had the patience and good grace to shuck it off right now. you’re drooling over his dress pants, a dark stain over emerald green linen, mouthing at his neck as he grinds you up and down. “promise. you’re the only one.”

you keen. he’s always known what makes you tick, what makes you fawn. the friction on your cunt is delicious, the warm air making your head spin, and you just want him to touch you, bare skin on bare skin. but the responsible person in you remembers. the responsible person who you threw to the wind and left to fend for themselves in the dust of your fabric-laden floors.

“they’re gonna come back soon,” you gasp against his neck, your head tilting back to glimpse at the clock. 12:45. “they always come back at 1— fuck, that feels so good.”

“you think i can’t make you cum in fifteen minutes, baby?” your cunt pusles at the way it drops from his lips, the pet name you haven’t heard in years. you squeeze his shoulders tight, drawing your lip between your teeth. “i can make you cum twice.”

“but— you—” you’re cut off by one of his hands snaking between your bodies, slipping under your skirt. “asahi.”

“you’re dripping,” he whispers. “you’re staining my pants.”

“it’s your fucking fault,” you spit, angling so you can feel his fingers on you over your damp panties. “fuck, fuck— holy shit, your fingers,” the feeling of his fingertips on your clit make you jump, rough and calloused and warm. he coos in your ear, little sweet nothings melting like sugar from his lips. “wait. i can’t— wait.” you push yourself off of him for just a second, yanking your panties down your legs in a split second before climbing back onto his lap.

“desperate, huh?” he chuckles.

you slap his cheek. “shut up and make me cum.”

asahi smiles. you recognise his fondness. “that’s my girl.”

his fingers slip between your folds, covered in slick and taps your clit. you mewl softly, burying your face in his shoulder as he rubs at the sensitive bud, both your breathing growing shallow. “you’re still so fucking beautiful,” he coos in your ear. “that day when you first came to new york. you’re different. but you’re still beautiful.”

“shut up,” you grumble, rolling your hips unto his fingers, your cheeks heating up at his words. beautiful.

“it’s true,” he continues. “and nobody’s been spared the compliments i shower on you and your team. ask around. they’re sick of hearing me talk about you.”

the knot in your stomach is starting to build, starting to swell. the familiar sensation you’ve never been able to achieve so fast with yourself or anyone else as he draws circles on your clit with his thumb, aided by slick and spit. “you j-just haven’t met many good tail-lors then,” you choke out, biting back a moan. “asa— asahi, please.”

“i got you,” he whispers. “gonna make you cum all over me, yeah?” and he must have more brainpower than you do right now, dead and oozing and limp against him because he shoves away all your work and fabrics and threads with his free hand. “you better not spill a drop on any of your work.”

“who the fuck do you think i am,” you hiss between clenched teeth.

“the best seamstress in new york and japan,” he breathes, pinching your clit. you jerk in his arms, breath escaping you sharply. “the only girl i will ever want.”

“asahi,” you cry, the band in your navel beginning to break. “i’m gonna— please, please don’t stop, holy shit—”

and asahi speeds up, his fingers working tighter circles on your clit until you’re gushing, until he’s pushing you into blinding white, crashing down upon him like waves upon breakwaters. you’re gone, eyes squeezed shut as you let out a soft cry, cumming and cumming all over his fingers and pants. you feel his breath stutter as you come down slowly, and you open your eyes to meet his.

“another one,” he demands. “one more time, princess. said i was gonna make you cum twice. i need you to cum again, okay?” you don’t have a chance to reply before his fingers are back on your sensitive cunt, this time thick digits pressing at the seam of your slit.

“no, i—” you hiccup, “it’s s-sensitive, i—”

“yes you can,” he’s shaking his head, like he’s made the decision for you. (he has.) his fingers slip into your weeping mess of a pussy. “you’re my good girl, yes you can.”

and brainless as you are, you nod. “yes i can,” you murmur, leaning back slightly to grant him a better angle. “fuck, yeah, one more? one more f-finger?”

“three?” he asks softly, eyebrows pinched slightly. “you sure?”

you nod. “need it,” you promise. “need you.”

so he gives it to you. slips in one more finger beside the two already in you and pushes, thick calloused fingers reaching inside you where you could never yourself. he knows you, knows your sweet spots and your weaknesses better than you ever have. and hell if he’s not going to use that knowledge.

he’s fucking you on his fingers harshly, lewd, wet sounds of your pussy swallowing what he has to offer willingly cacophonous in your ears. you whine, thrash, drag your hips forwards and backwards in time with his thrusts to help him help you cum. “asahi,” you breathe.

“yeah, sweets?” he’s so kind. he’s looking at you like angel dust, like fairy wings. like you’re luminescent, glowing. like he loves you.

“i wanna m-make you cum too.”

he laughs dryly, allowing a single glance downward at his stained pants, his clothed erection straining against the fabric tautly. “don’t worry baby,” asahi kisses your cheek. “you can give me that another day. it’s about you now, okay?”

“nngh,” you manage to groan as he crooks his fingers inside you, prodding expertly at your gspot, jerking in his grip. “but— i want to—”

“get caught by your employees?” he whispers. “want them to walk in and see you getting fingered by the big ceo hm?” you clench (regrettably) at his words, and he all but lights up. “you do,” his voice is faraway, breathy. “you want them to see you.”

“no,” you let out, strangled, unconvincing. “i don’t— tha’s embarrassing—”

“you’re clenchin’ around me, princess,” he chuckles. “sick, sick little girl.”

you seal your mouth over his, swallowing his breath, his words. to shut him up, because you can’t deny the little truth in his statements. you press yourself against him, hips rolling forward onto his fingers, and a moan escapes your mouth. his lips are so soft, so warm against yours, almost comforting you about the fact that he’s three fingers knuckle deep in your pussy, stretching you out deliciously.

“gonna cum,” you mumble against him. “can feel it— can feel it in my tummy.”

“sweet girl,” his free hand drags against your clit, and you almost keel over. “sensitive, huh?”

you can’t answer him, not when you’re so close to cumming, so close to letting go all over him one more time. a whine leaves your lips, almost begging for him to make you finish.

“you know,” asahi starts, and you can tell by the small shake in his voice that he’s criminally affected by this too. “i wish it was my cock you were cumming around.”

and that does you in. that has you falling forward on his chest; not his fingers in you or on your clit, but his words, his sweet timbre, the quiver in his voice. you let go, cum for the second time all over his fingers, wet and slick and embarrassing but you don’t care, can’t care. there’s not a thought crossing behind your eyes anymore, just asahi, asahi, asahi.

he’s whispering in your ear when you come to comprehension again, little mumbles of, so good, such a good girl. so pretty when you cum. and you shiver, momentary weakness fading from the forefront of your mind. before you stands your ex boyfriend who’s just made you cum your brains out twice with just his fingers and his voice. your ex boyfriend who can read you like a book, no matter how much you wish to hide from him.

what have you done?

“baby?” his voice is small, tentative. “hey, what’s wrong?”

and then you’re up, backing away from him slowly. your senses return, your thoughts are loud, and you remember, you weren’t supposed to do this.

why did you do this?

“you should— you should go,” you say quietly. “before they come back. they’re,” you glance at the clock. 13:02. “you should…”

“don’t go back on me,” he steps forward but you step back. you try, try so hard to lift your gaze to meet his, but you can’t. “hey. hey. look at me.”

you can’t. so he makes you. he corners you by the wall and tilts your chin up with just enough force that says, listen to me. and so you look at him, his hair messy, his lips swollen red. his eyes are swimming with something you can’t quite read, something you can't recognise. worry? disgust?

“i meant what i said,” he whispers. “all of it. you’re the only girl i want.” why does it sting when he says that? why does your chest ache? “i don’t want to be without you anymore, okay?”

“i don’t understand,” you mumble.

“then i’ll help you,” his voice. it sounds so hurt. “please, baby. let me help you.”

“why did you—” you stop yourself, searching for the right word. leave doesn’t fit. “abandon me?”

there’s a moment in your lives that you always came back to. that morning in december when you woke up and he was gone. when you called him and he didn’t pick up. when you asked around, to everyone you both knew, and no one knew a thing. he abandoned you, in a foreign city, in a wasteland, in the rubble of the only relationship you ever cared about. your hands are trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “i’m so, so sorry.”

“you should go,” you tear your face away from his, shaking away the stern grip of his fingertips, your mouth moving faster than you can think. “i’ll— you can stop coming over. i’ll finish this, you pay me, and i leave. okay?”

silence. you don’t know what you want him to say. i don’t want to do that. okay, i’ll leave you alone forever. please, be with me. you don’t know why you said that.

but you know, in your heart of hearts, it’s for the best. you’ve asked him, asked him twice, and he hasn’t had an answer. asahi looks at you, and you don’t look back.

he leaves.

and you think new york has never felt this cold.

#asahi x reader #asahi azumane x reader #asahi azumane #asahi smut #asahi azumane fluff #asahi thirst #asahi hq #asahi angst #asahi x fem reader #writing tag

391 notes · View notes

myblueeyedbuggers · 3 years

Text

My Boys

Chapter 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Slow Start, Language, Tiny bit of Fluff

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change

So, hi again…I’m gonna be completely honest I’ve practically had no time to sit down and write for the past couple of weeks, college rained down tons of assignments and work kept asking me to do extra shifts. Hopefully you all understand the delay in updates, I’m determined to finish this book for you all, anyways I’ll shut up Enjoy 😊

Whoever decided to wake me up and drag me away from the glorious land of sleep will suffer my early morning wrath, slowly I opened my eyes and the outline of two very stupid and annoying boys filled my vision. “Have you two never heard the saying don’t tickle a sleeping dragon? I quite clearly need my beauty sleep!” why is it every time I threaten to murder these two they just start laughin’? what the hell is wrong with em?!, “ Well good mornin’ to you too doll face, as much as I’d like to stay here and trade threats mama wants you outta bed for breakfast so get ya butt moving” My eyes narrowed at Bucky as he started to follow Steve outta the room, the smirk on his face widening as I reluctantly moved out of bed.

I’ve only been here a week and I’ve nearly killed him at least 50 times, wait that’s not something I should be proud of is it? in my defence Barnes can be a right little shit when he wants to be! Two days ago, he thought it’d be funny to drench me with water in the middle of the day, it’s safe to say he didn’t climb down the tree for a fair few hours. The smell of bacon and pancakes made me completely forget whatever the hell I was talking about, I shouldn’t have rushed pulling my pants on cause my dumbass failed to see that the left leg got caught on the draw knob and I was once again hugging the floor with my bloody face. Great that didn’t hurt at all!

Right let’s check for damage, bruises? Nope scratches? Nope pride and dignity? That went a long time ago who am I kidding? “Y/N You comin down or what?!” Jesus Christ that boy has a voice like a flipping fog horn, I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard Steve in queens! “Yeah give me a minute will ya! No need to get your panties in a twist Stevie” I’m pretty sure I can hear Becca and Bucky laughin’ from up here. Okay enough time’s been spent getting dressed, at this rate the boys will have inhaled all the food…the thought alone is enough to terrifying!

“Right you lads better of left me at least one pancake and 3 strips of bacon or they’ll be hell to pay later” as a rule most people say good morning but I like to start the day with a decent dashing of threats and insults, cause I’m a friendly person…okay nope that’s a big pile of bullc**p and I know it. “Well mornin to you too y/n, the pancakes are on the table and the bacons on Bucks plate feel free to take some” a muffled sound of protest could be heard over my laughter as Bucky shot Steve a look of utter disbelief. “I think I’ll skip on the bacon then Stevie, by the looks of it Bucks already drooled all over it” Steve and I shared a look before we burst out laughing, Buck was glaring at the both of us with syrup dribbling down his chin and I gotta be honest it looked hilarious. “You guys done laughin’ at me yet or would you like to gang up on me some more?” is this boy dumb or somethin’? “Buck, I’d be on my deathbed and my final words would be some form of insult towards you”.

And there I go signing my death sentence again, at this point Steve wasn’t even on his chair anymore, instead he was lying on the floor completely pissin’ himself laughing while Bucky slowly stood up and started walking round the table. “Oh would you look at the time! Gotta go guys my appointment with the grim reaper’s in a minute!” hey y/n maybe it’s time you start running?! With a small shriek I turned and bolted out the backdoor with a pretty pissed off Barnes boy on my tail. The sunlight blinded me for a couple of seconds, so I was kinda running without knowing what was around me…and as per usual life decided to firmly kick my ass using the form of a bloody tree. A sharp stinging sensation spread across my entire face, huh reminds me of when I ran into that door…only that didn’t hurt half as much and there wasn’t an annoying brunette prick absolutely creasing with laughter behind me. I’m pretty sure that in the process of the tree b**tch slappin’ me I cut the left side of my cheek…oh would you look at that there’s the blood that should have stayed inside me, I couldn’t stop the small groan of pain that slipped outta my mouth, the lower half of my back was more than likely battered to all hell and the stinging in my cheek wasn’t helping either.

Apparently, the sound of my suffering seemed to break the idiot outta his little laughin’ session, I raised my eyebrows at him when it finally dawned on him that I hurt myself and that was pretty funny, all the colour drained from Bucky’s face, his eye’s widened when he noticed the lovely new edition to my face and pretty soon he reached a hand out to help me up. Such a gentleman… that’s if you replace the gentle bit with idiotic. The second I was on my feet, he pulled me into a hug and began checking my face and head, I’m hoping to god he can’t see my flamin’ cheeks cause I know for a fact he would never let me live that down. To be completely honest all I could concentrate on was the gentle touch on his hands on my cheek and the look on Bucky’s face, his eyes were completely focused on my cut. How have I never noticed that his eyes have the smallest flecks of green in them? Or how his dimples show when he frowns?… more importantly why do I feel both excited and terrified but somehow warm at the same time?

My little daze was broken when I realised that his lips were movin’ and I had no idea what the hell he just said, but he must of asked me a question cause he was lookin’ at me waitin’ for his answer. Bollocks. “What’d you say Buck?” Jesus Christ could I have been anymore obvious?! Maybe I should make a giant banner and smack him in the face with it, oh for godsake am I blushin’ again?!, the small smirk on his face grew into a sh*t eating grin as he threw his arm around my shoulders and dragged me back to the house. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say that you y/n were completely blow away by the masterpiece that is my face” oh great I’ve managed to inflate his ego even more, “Actually I wasn’t gonna say anythin’ but you’ve got a little somethin’ stuck in your front teeth” and just like that all the cockiness drained outta his body.

The arm around my shoulder disappeared rather quickly, to my amusement the boy next to me did as well, I could feel the little smirk on my face as I carried on walkin’ forward as he stayed behind more than likely doin’ that cute stupid thing with his eyes. Wait what did I just say?! What the heck is wrong with me these days? Its like a flippin’ alien’s taken over me and made me into a normal girl! .It feels all kinds of wrong. A sudden cough disrupts my inner monologue, my eyes roll to the sky as the smirk reappears on my face, I can’t help the laugh that escapes me when my gaze meets Bucky’s. He was stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed as I continued to laugh and slowly his face formed a pout as he waited for me to finish completely wetting myself with laughter. “You done yet?” his brow was pulled in as he tried to fight off the smile, “Do I actually have somethin’ in my teeth or were you just being a bully?”.

“Nah, just needed to keep your ego in check before it inflated and carried you away into the wind” Buck looked like I’d just shot him in the chest, I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughin’ at him as I turned and started walkin’ back to the house. “Ya know you can be a real piece of work when ya wanna be don’t ya?” thank you captain obvious! “I know I am, you know I do it out of love don’t ya?” I shot him a small smile as I wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in for a side hug, Bucky shook his head with a small smile, but accepted the hug anyway. After that we stayed in a comfortable silence as we walked back towards the house, his arm never pulled away from me till we got inside, that was until Mrs Barnes walked into the kitchen and saw the cut on my cheek, to simply put it she completely freaked out.

I watched her quickly shoo everyone outta the kitchen, she somehow managed to pull a chair out and sit me down while grabbing a towel and bandages, question after question was fired at me while she gently started cleaning to cut. After a while the conversation died out, Mama B was completely fixated on cleaning the cut and if I’m honest the silence was peaceful, well it was for the 5 seconds it lasted.

Bucky burst through the door lookin’ like someone was trying to murder him, not that I could blame them, 2 seconds later Steve and Becca burst through the door armed with…wait is that eyeshadow and lipstick? I watched as Bucky backed into the corner, his eyes wide as he begged them both of them for mercy, whatever he did to piss the pair off clearly warranted this man hunt and there is no way in hell I wanted to stop it just before it got good. Soon enough Becca and Steve some how managed to pin down Buck, and despite the many protests, the pair managed to smear the lipstick all over his face and dump most of the eyeshadow in his hair.

I tried my hardest not to laugh I swear, but he looked like a very disturbed and demented fairy princess and I couldn’t hold it in anymore, soon enough we were all having a little laugh at the poor bloke, eventually Buck saw the funny side of it and he too joined in with the mess that was the Barnes family.

So, I’m gonna be honest here this is more of a filler chapter/character development hopefully it didn’t suck as much as I think it did XD Okay I’ll stop rambling, Thanks for reading!

Rose Xxx

#winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #captain america x reader #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #mcu #fanfic #reader #reader insert #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

13 notes · View notes

alstanfordart · 4 years

Photo

No One Really Dies In Derry

From The Bradley Gang chapter of Tales From Neibolt

The lightning pulses across the gray October sky as Arthur, decked out in his spectacles he seldom wore, leans under the hood of the broken down LaSalle. George and Al stand beside him, restless eyes switching between the car's innards and the moonless cloudy night sky, with the storm just beginning to gather momentum. George has a small flashlight raised just above Arthur's head, highlighting the smoking engine.

George's wife Kitty remains inside the vehicle, fingering her compact mirror, trying in vain to powder her nose in the less than adequate lighting.

Parked just behind the LaSalle was a Chevrolet, with Joe's arm hanging out the driver window, cigar smoke clouding from his thin lips, elbow rested along the door. His brother Cal sat in the passenger seat, leaning on his hand, looking thoroughly bored with the situation. In the backseat are Marie and Patrick, with Marie leaning against his thick brown coat.

"Think we can get it going again?" George queries as he nervously casts his gaze around them, his timorous visage briefly made visible in the crack of light that splits across the sky. Marie nuzzles closer to Patrick, tucking her head down as thunder rolls above them. Patrick pulls her closer, stroking her brown curls.

"The engine's blown..." Al offers, ducking down to inspect closer.

"Aye. Seen better days, I'm sure," Arthur slams the hood down and wipes his hands with a stained white handkerchief from his pants pocket. "This ain't goin' nowhere, lads."

"Shit," George straightens as he switches off the flashlight. "What we gonna do?"

"Dunno." comes Al's simple reply.

They were safe, far away from the Lafayette city limits. After dumping the body of the banker they'd kidnapped in a swamp after collecting the thirty thousand in ransom money, they were on Route 2 in direction to a town called Derry after a brief stop in Augusta. Arthur, however, had his sights set on Bangor. When the LaSalle broke down just short of them reaching the Derry welcome sign along the shadows of the trees on the outskirts of the town.

A hush falls over the group as Al saunters out onto the middle of the road, sniffling and kicking a pebble aside. That's when he sees, in the far off distance, a pair of headlights appearing almost out of nowhere. He rushes to the driver's side of the LaSalle and reaches for his Colt .38 revolver-small and discreet, so as to be presented at the first sign of trouble.

He stands and waits as George tosses the flashlight in through the back window of the LaSalle and stands alongside Al, arms folded, not nearly as alert as his big brother.

Inside the Chevrolet, Patrick rests his hand on his Luger laying on the seat beside Marie that he'd stolen off the body of a Lafayette officer.

Meanwhile, Joe and Cal also ready their weapons, with Joe craning his neck out the window to view the car drawing closer.

Arthur casually strolls to the passenger side, eyeing his own much larger Remington 22. Al preferred a sneak up and get them approach. Arthur preferred things more direct. If whoever this was coming up the road was going to give them trouble, they would be dealt with accordingly before they even knew what hit them.

The car, a Ford Roadster, quietly comes closer, eerily serene, the headlights taking on a more orange tint as it draws near. It comes to a stop alongside the Chevrolet, the silhouette of a driver, a man with hat, is barely visible.

As he shuts the engine off, he sits a moment, George tightens his grip on his revolver as Arthur keeps watch on his Remington. Then the man leans over to the passenger side, rolling down the window.

"You needing some help there?" a gravelly voice drifts out of the Ford, a hint of a lisp making the 's' sound more like 'shum.' Al snatches up the flashlight and strolls over, shining it in the man's face and is a little taken aback by what he sees.

Scars. Thin pale scars, ever so faint, threading up the man's creamy cheeks, beginning at the corners of his mouth and ending just under the rim of his Homburg hat.

"You needing some help?" the scarred man repeats. "I've fixed a car or two here and there. I could take a look-see."

"Yeah, yeah...sure." Al replies, studying the man's features, with his square jaw and intense round eyes.

This guy looks like he knows where some bodies are buried.

Al tenses as the driver side door pops open and the man emerges, revealing an incredibly tall frame in a sleek gray suit. Certainly taller than all of the men in their group.

In fact, he was a good foot taller than Al.

No matter. If this fellow pulled any funny business, they outnumbered him.

"Here," the man saunters over to the LaSalle, popping open the hood. He reaches his long arms in and begins tampering with the wires. Not long after there's a loud 'pop' sound and the engine roars back to life, taking a few minutes to struggle before running smoothly. Arthur gives a pleased nod of his head.

"Thanks mate!" He gives the man an enthusiastic pat on the back as Al looks relieved, exchanging glances with George.

"What's your name , my good sir?" George inquires.

"Robert. Robert Gray. Although folks 'round here call me Bob."

The man shuts the hood and returns to his car, before he removes his hat to give his scalp a quick scratch, revealing a shock of auburn.

"You folks needing a place to stay for the night? Something tells me you'd rather not be in a motel. Gotta place just a mile up the road. Nice and cozy," he gazes at Kitty and Marie. "The ladies can clean up. Sit by the fire, get warm. Maybe a hot meal."

Arthur looks at both George and Al, who in turn glance to Joe and Cal, with Patrick keeping his eyes on the strange man, sizing him up.

Something not right with that fella.

"I'm pretty knackered," Arthur whispers as he tilts closer to Al and George. "And if this chap thinks he's gonna pull something, we'll handle it. At any rate, we'd have a place to lay low. If he oversteps, we'll teach him a lesson."

"Looks like somebody already did." Al retorts before turning on his heel to face the man. "Alright. One night. We'll be outta your hair come morning."

"Great!" the man replies, grinning as he retreats back inside the Roadster. Patrick is watching the man from behind the foggy glass of the backseat window, brows knotting together as the man begins to drive ahead. Arthur, Al and George retreat back into the LaSalle and follow, with the Chevrolet right behind.

Patrick taps Joe on the shoulder. He grunts in response. "What's it now, Caudy?"

"That guy, he don't look right to me. Got a feelin' in my gut," Patrick says, keeping his dark eyes fixed ahead on the Roadster. "He's bad news, I can feel it."

"And if you're right, we'll put a bullet in his melon. No big deal. Guy seems kinda dopey to me anyhow," Joe says breezily as he chucks his cigar out the window. "Not really a threat. Doubt he's ever fired a gun in his life."

Patrick is not convinced. "You saw his face. He looks like a blind man tried to take a whack at him," he glances at Marie. "And I don't like how he was lookin' at her."

Joe chortles softly to himself. Doubt she'd mind it.

At this, point, both he and Cal had secret trysts with her behind Patrick's back. He suspected she'd also been fooling around with Arthur too. An assumption born out of her comment about his "sexy" Irish accent.

Funny, Patrick was suspicious of total strangers, but not the men he'd grown to call friends.

Maybe it's because he'd never had any before. His paranoia was off-putting but also what made him so kill crazy. Handsome to look at, but underneath was a volcano. Always ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.

Not tonight. Joe would see to that.

"Don't go pulling any of that shit. We don't wanna be drawing attention to ourselves here. Not in this hick place. You know these small towns. Everyone knows everyone. Just keep quiet. We don't need a repeat of Toledo."

Patrick had gone ballistic on a gas attendant he'd thought muttered some smart-ass comment under his breath. They'd sped out of there after Patrick splattered the man's brains along the smooth concrete with a single clean bullet to the temple.

Patrick sits back, roughly pulling Marie to him as Joe glances at the street sign; 29 Neibolt.

The Roadster parks in front of a large Victorian house. With the LaSalle and Chevrolet lining up right behind.

"Whoa," Cal mumbles as he peers around his brother to glimpse the place. "Seems this fella might have some serious dough."

"Looks like a dump to me." Joe replies, shutting off the engine and swinging open the door. He was not a man who was easily impressed and he'd robbed much more grander mansions than this in Danville.

"Kinda gammy looking." Arthur mutters to himself as he slides out the LaSalle.

Patrick steps out, followed by Marie, who looks dazzled, her hazel eyes wide and her ruby red lips breaking out in a smile. It was the style of house that had always struck her fancy.

"This place is gorgeous. Just look at that architecture! It's a palace!" she exclaims as she rushes ahead, making her way to the front porch, past sunflowers sprouting from the grassy front yard. Robert reaches down and plucks one, handing it to Marie.

"Sunflowers symbolize healing and good luck." he elucidates as she tucks it behind her ear. Patrick stands glaring as Joe touches his shoulder.

"Don't. It's harmless." he growls.

"Thank you. That's really very sweet, sir." Marie touches the flower.

"Sweets to the sweet, I say." Robert replies.

Patrick shakes Joe's hand off before he stalks towards the porch as everyone begins to pile into the home. As elegant inside as out, with a lovely red Victorian chaise lounge, matching camelback sofa and parlor chairs, each one sitting across from each other in front of the fireplace. The mantel boldly read 'Good Cheer, Good Friends.'

George smiles and playfully swats Robert's arm. "We're good friends now, eh, Bob?"

And friends help each other.

Too bad we don't have the means to clean this place out. The furniture would make a buck or two.

Robert merely smirks. A slow, deliberate smile as he looks at George. "Sure thing there. Why don't you all have a seat. I'll be right back."

"That's what my ex-wife said." Arthur quips as he collapses on a parlor chair, sprawling his legs out. It takes him a moment to notice; there's a fire now crackling inside. He stares at it, puzzlement blinking across his mien.

Huh, when did he do that? It wasn't going when we arrived and he didn't go near it...

No matter. Just enjoy it.

Kitty approaches the mantel, running her long shiny nails along little figurines of clowns, each made of delicate painted porcelain, juggling, balancing and one holding a bundle of red balloons.

"These are beautiful figurines." she says, tucking a tendril of sandy blonde behind her ear, bringing her blue irises closer to examine the fine details.

"Take one. Just throw it in your purse. Might as well." George blurts out. Kitty whirls around.

"We're his guests. He was kind enough to let us in here-"

"Come now, lass. Let's not pretend this bloke is an average citizen. You saw his face." Arthur offers, stretching his arms and folding his hands behind his skull, giving her an amused expression. "Looks to me like he may have been in a wee bit of trouble. He was probably acting the maggot and someone decided enough was enough. Could be a right eejit."

"Yeah," Al cradles his chin in his left fingers, massaging the dark stubble. "There's something...I gotta feeling he wouldn't rat us off. There's no way he wouldn't of recognized me, at least."

He's hiding something himself. Al could always sense them. His fellow ' bad seeds.' The people who ran in the gutters. The lowlifes. He could always pick them out.

The wanted posters were scattered across the midwest, plastered along buildings, hanging in post offices and police stations baring Al's face; wanted for bank robbery kidnapping and murder, with a reward of five-thousand dollars offered. He'd taken up with his old childhood friends the Conklin brothers Joe and Cal, who were small time, with but a few petty theft arrests between them. Patrick had killed a cop in Lafayette during their last raid and prior to that had just a few arrests for assault. He was a friend of Joe and Cal from their early gang days and they'd reconnected with him when Joe briefly did time for robbery, knocking off a small liquor store in Bloomington. He and Patrick had shared a cell.

As for Arthur Malloy, also known as 'Creeping Jesus' because he was nearsighted, he'd fled Ireland after killing a man he claimed insulted his dead sister who'd just passed away from tuberculosis. ("Kicked 'em square in the plums, then put a bullet in his brains, I did.")They'd met when Arthur was attempting to knock off the same liquor store as them and offered his LaSalle that he'd stolen as a getaway.

Patrick's girlfriend Marie Hauser had inadvertently joined the gang, initially trying to persuade him to leave, but soon became an active member. But her role was mostly cooking and washing linens, hence her much-despised nickname, "The washerwoman."

George's wife Kitty Donahue was another matter. She entered the gang enthusiastically and without hesitation, but Al has never so much as seen a gun in her hands. Not one for shooting, she'd say.

Patrick sits on the camelback, with Marie beside him, still happily fingering the sunflower. He glances up as Robert emerges, hat and coat discarded and hair combed back. He points towards the kitchen.

"This way," he says, gliding down the stairs. "Let's eat. Got some stew heating on the stove. Some wine on the table."

Arthur pauses as they all stand, the edges of his brows coming together in rumination.

When did he get that going?

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he continues on with the others, with Kitty quickly swiping one of the figurines from the mantel and tucking it into her purse. The one with the balloons.

They all settle around the large rectangular mahogany-carved table with Robert dumping a hefty spoonful of a rather unappetizing red slop into each bowl. Patrick suddenly rises.

"Where's your bathroom?" he queries curtly.

Robert points. "Third door on the right."

Patrick darkly glances at Marie, then Robert before exiting. The murmuring of the group's voices fade as he stomps up the stairs, making his displeasure with the situation known. Of course, his real intention was to inspect this place. Make sure no one was hiding anywhere. He makes his way along the house's arteries, looking in various rooms, until he hears a door loudly creak. This makes him halt, glancing over his shoulder

The door to a room across from him is ajar, the lights inside faint, but enough to showcase what's inside.

Clown dolls.

Patrick charily begins to edge towards it, his boots stepping lightly as he sneaks up. He knew that man was strange. Something off about him. This could be an ambush. Nobody is this gracious. Not in his life experience. Everyone is always wanting something from you.

"Ah-ha!" he shouts, throwing open the door all the way and leaping in. He stands a moment, surveying the area with the clown dolls of all shapes and sizes along the wooden floor. Framed along the walls; more clowns of the sad crying variety.

"Jesus..." Patrick strolls over to the windows-also baring clowns-the circus-themed stained glass were partly obscured by thin brown cloths layered thick with dust.

Heh,heh.

Patrick spins around.

Who was that?

He reaches inside his coat and grips his Luger. "Hey, who's there?"

It had sounded like a man's voice inside the room with him, but before he could comprehend where a possible attacker could be hiding in here, he sees that the heads of the creepy dolls are now all turned towards him. Watching.

Whoosh.

The cloths covering the windows plunge to the floor and Patrick flinches as he turns to face the sound.

Hee!

Patrick does another turn around to face the clowns. That one sounded like a child. Specifically a girl coming from somewhere within the clutter of the room.

In that moment, Patrick feels something he hadn't felt in ages, since he was a boy running from his father's belt; fear. A powerful, overwhelming sense that he needed to leave this room now. The instinct to protect himself had kicked in.

He dashes towards the door, coming to a skidding stop before it slams shut. His breathing heavy, his heart hammering against the cavity of his chest.

Back in the kitchen, Patrick storms in, returning to his seat, sweat pearled along his large forehead. Marie touches his trembling hand.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he breathes, wild pupils directly on Robert. "Got a thing for clowns there, Bob?"

Robert slowly chews, staring back, before loudly swallowing. "Yes, sir. You could say that...I see you found my collection. "

"And it's a lovely one. I saw your figurines." Kitty interjects.

"Pretty fuckin' weird to me. A grown man..." Patrick grumbles. "What you hidin' in here?"

Robert sniffles, nibbling on his food. "Nothing, I assure you, Mr. Caudy-"

"Oh bullshit! What are you hidin'! What's in that room you freak!?" Patrick shouts as he stands, with Marie trying to subdue him and Joe mouthing curse words, when Kitty shrieking at the top of her lungs shatters the tension.

All eyes are drawn to her as she stares gaping at her spoon. "It's a finger!" she screams, holding it out for George to take a look. Upon inspecting it, he chuckles.

"It's a carrot honey." he pushes the vegetable slathered in red sauce around on the spoon.

"I swear, for a moment it looked just like a finger! A child's finger." Kitty pants, her palm clasped to her chest.

Patrick sinks back down to his chair, not taking his eyes off Robert, who chuckles.

"No fingers. Just an old family recipe, you could say."

"And what of your family Mr. Gray? Do you have a wife? Kids?" Marie chirps, trying to calmly rub Patrick's forearm. Robert considers a moment.

"No wife. No kids."

"Had to think about it huh?" Patrick cuts in. Joe gives him a swift kick to the shin under the table. Patrick glowers.

Unfazed, Robert continues, "I live alone. Just myself. Seems I've been alone for an eternity." he chortles that last line, as he sips his wine.

"I'd die from the loneliness." Marie replies.

"Nah, no one really dies in Derry." Robert says, to which an awkward silence falls over the table.

After a few beats of quiet. "So, uh, swinging bachelor huh?" George grins. "I kind of envy you..."

At this, Kitty scowls, gently, playfully swatting his arm. Al then stands, pushing his chair out. "Well, we best be getting to bed. We got an early start tomorrow." he announces.

Robert shows them to their rooms, pulling blankets from the closets for makeshift beds on the floors of the bedrooms to accommodate all of them, with Arthur opting to sleep downstairs on the camelback. Patrick keeps Marie locked in his sights as Robert bids them goodnight, shutting off the lights.

The house falls dark, with no sound, not even the thunder could be heard. Just deathly cold silence. As each member of the Bradley gang dozes off.

Patrick, having fallen asleep with troubled thoughts, realizing the man knew his surname when he'd not offered it, is soon awakened by a pair of hands on him. Small hands, shaking him violently.

"The Hell?" he mutters, wiping the sleepiness from his eyes as he looks up. Nothing there. He sits up, glancing at a slumbering Marie as he is pulled, almost hypnotically, to that odd clown room again. Almost as if waiting for him, the door swings open. Hearing the beckoning of a little girl's voice, not very audible before, but crystal clear now.

"Molly..." he whispers as he sees a miniature coffin now on display between the stained glass windows, the clown dolls forming a pathway as he approaches.. The door quietly shuts behind him as the coffin lid creaks open. He glances down at his hands, seeing he is now smaller, childlike, around twelve. The age he was when Molly drowned.

In her coffin, her eyes are closed, her face sweet. Her skin a pale blue and her brown ringlets held by pink ribbons. Sniffling, Patrick leans in to kiss her cheek. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you." he whimpers through stinging tears. As he hangs his head, Molly's eyes burst open and she draws in a sharp breath.

"Ah!" Patrick stumbles backwards as Molly bolts upwards scowling, mouth sneering in contempt.

"Sorry for what? Hitting me in the head with that rock and accidentally knocking me into the river or running off like a coward? You didn't even try to save me, you fucking wimp."

She steps out of the coffin and leaps to the ground as Patrick watches her features distort, growing more white, her lips redder. She spreads her arms out, grinning maniacally, her angelic voice now raspy and insidious.

"Beautiful fear." she grins as she runs at him, roaring as she displays quill-like teeth, growing taller, her brown locks turning orange, her frilly pink dress becoming a gray-white. The clown dolls hiss with laughter as Patrick is backed against the door, which suddenly opens and Marie is there, screaming as the Molly creature, now a lanky tall clown with a striped face, comes at them. Patrick, now an adult man again, staggers up, terror gripping every inch of his being as he slams the door, yanking Molly away.

In the next room, George, Al and Kitty are awakened by the screams, as Kitty flips on the bedside lamp, standing just before them is the banker, covered in blackened mud and slime, his jaw dangling as he reaches his dislocated right limb out towards them. A deep otherworldly moan emitting from his misshapen mouth.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Kitty screams hysterically as George and Al reach for their guns, finding they are unable to fire.

"What the Hell! My gun is jammed up!" Al yells as they scramble for the door. Thankfully the banker zombie was nowhere near their escape route and they dash out, meeting Marie and Patrick, both holding each other. The lights above them flicker off and on, with a hideous high-pitched giggle echoing through the walls as Joe and Cal burst from their room, both looking pale.

As if they'd seen a ghost.

"That gas station worker Patrick iced? He's in our fucking room! Looking like he crawled straight outta his grave!" Cal yells.

Just then, they hear Arthur shouting. They all make their way downstairs, where Arthur is in the kitchen, his scrawny frame cowering against the wall, yelling as he points at a large boiling pot on the stove.

"I woke up and heard someone in the kitchen then I-I saw..." he stutters as he points a shaky finger at the pot. George steps over and gags at what he sees.

A head. Too disintegrated to tell the gender or age, boiling in blood. The sight and smell of rotting flesh sends George gagging and choking as he falls backwards, covering his mouth.

"Jesus fuck!"

"What is it?" Kitty demands.

"Never mind." George coughs.

Huddled together, they run towards the front door, The lights still flashing, the ugly laugh still reverberating. They all jump into their cars and by the grace of God, the LaSalle starts, engine blaring as they speed away. Some only barely clothed, with Marie wrapped in Patrick's coat that she often slept in to keep warm.

As dawn bleeds through the sky and the gang take refuge in a nearby farmhouse, the extra clothes and guns in the trunks of the cars coming in handy, The women take a calming trip to Freese's with Patrick in tow while the rest of the men went to Machen's Sporting Goods to order some more supplies. Lal, the owner, recognized Al immediately, despite the fake name he'd given; Richard D. Rader, and informed some of his buddies that he was expecting Al Bradley at two in the afternoon the day after tomorrow and just as the LaSalle and Chevrolet came into view on Main Street, the gang of Derry residents, armed to the teeth, opened fire.

As the shoot-out ensues, Biff Marlow, one of the gunmen, spies a scar-faced man in a gray suit with a sunflower tucked in the left breast pocket firing a Remington along with them. In fact, all the gunmen had spotted this complete stranger. They all figured he was an outsider wanting to join the party. Afterwards, as the bodies of the notorious Bradley Gang were on display in the bullet-ridden Chevrolet and LaSalle, Marlow watches as the man strolls away, whistling, one hand cradling the Remington on his shoulder, the other in his pocket.

Marlow could never be certain, and it bothered him for years after. Something he related to his drinking buddies while reminiscing about the killings. He could have sworn that, despite the bright sunlight, the stranger didn't cast any shadow.

No shadow at all.

#pennywise #it #Robert Gray #Fanfiction Art

42 notes · View notes

solasan · 4 years

Text

inside me like my pulse

tommy miller/oc (jenny foster even tho she isnt explicitly named in this) warnings for some mention of gore / wound treatment but nothing explicit 1.5k

Summer, 2031

It was supposed to be just a routine check.

They’ve been lookin’ into gettin’ the dam to work for the last couple months — since Old James came to Jackson, really, ‘cause turns out he was a dam engineer before the outbreak — and doin’ back-and-forth trips to it every few days, just to check it out. Old James thinks it’s doable, and, yeah, Tommy’s got his reservations, but hey, if it works—

Well, anyway. They got halfway to the damned dam and bandits fell on ‘em from all sides, and Tommy got in more than a few good shots at ‘em but they still managed to knock him off’a Lucy with a shot to the side, and he’s good, seriously, but Young James and Maria and the rest ain’t lettin’ him off that easy, so.

“I can walk, y’know,” he grumbles as he’s dragged to the clinic, one arm slung over Young James’ shoulders and the other pressed tight to the wound above his hip.

Eugene snorts, arm tightenin’ ‘round Tommy’s waist. “Right, sure, and — crap, you’re heavy — and I’m the Queen of fucking Sheba.”

“If I’m so heavy, put me down.”

“If you’re so heavy, cut down on the carbs, old man,” Eugene snarks right back, and then they’re through the clinic’s door.

“Oh, for—” the doctor swears, wipin’ her hands dry on a towel and pointin’ to the bed her and Maria dragged in from one of the houses a couple days after she arrived. “Get him on the bed, now.”

“Hear that, Tommy?” Eugene grunts, him and Young James shufflin’ Tommy between them and settlin’ him where instructed. “Pretty lady wants you on the bed. You probably haven’t heard that in a while.”

Young James snorts, but the doctor — Julia? Jenna? — slams shut the door of the cabinet she’s riflin’ through hard. “I ain’t takin’ that kinda talk in my clinic, Linden. So go on, get.”

“Ma’am, he didn’t mean any disrespect—” Young James starts, always the peacemaker, but the doctor ain’t havin’ none of it.

“Don’t make me kick your ass out too, kid.” She levels a hard look at Eugene as she draws closer, pullin’ a chair up next to the bed so she’s level with Tommy. “Y’heard me.”

Eugene shoots a look Tommy’s way — can you believe this shit? — but raises his hands in palms-up appeasement. “Yes ma’am. James, you let me know how this idiot is when she’s done, alright?”

Young James — who really is young, can’t be more than twenty — nods solemnly, lingerin’ at Tommy’s other side like a mother hen.

And then Eugene’s gone, and the doctor’s lookin’ Tommy over with barely-concealed irritation. “What’ve you gone and done now, Tommy Miller?”

And shit, how’s she know his name and he ain’t know hers? He’s boutta ask, too, except then his side twinges painfully, a feelin’ like nails on a chalkboard, and he groans, curlin’ in on himself.

“He got shot, ma’am,” Young James reports helpfully, wringin’ his hands. “In— in the belly.”

The doctor scowls. “Shit. Bandits again?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She huffs, leanin’ back in her chair to reach for a pair of scissors. They ain’t surgical scissors, neither; they’re clunky, with a bright blue plastic handle, like classroom scissors — but bigger, sharper. Kitchen scissors, maybe?

“Hope you ain’t too fond of this shirt, Miller,” the doctor remarks, pushin’ on his shoulder to ease him out of his position ‘till he’s lyin’ flat and his hand’s fallin’ away from his side, and he grumbles.

“I’m passin’ly fond of it, actuall— hey!”

She starts snippin’ away at the cotton near the hem, complainin’ under her breath about the blunt blades for a couple seconds before they finally catch and slice on through, and then she’s throwin’ the scissors on the table behind her and rippin’ it the rest of the way.

“Yeah, well, too bad. Maybe next time, don’t get shot. Or wear a shirt you don’t like, if you’re gonna.”

He’d thought it hurt before, but the shirt peelin’ away from the bloody wreck above his hip is a whole other realm of agony, and he cries out, swearin’ and tightenin’ his fingers on the edges of the bed. It’s only when the fabric falls open completely that he can grit out, “could’a warned me first, Doc.”

The doctor snorts. “It’s a gunshot wound, Miller. It’s gonna hurt.” Then, to Young James: “You, get over here, help me turn him over.”

“Turn— you ain’t gotta turn me over, I’m fine!” Then, to punctuate his point, he struggles to his feet, keepin’ his swayin’ to a minimum once he’s up. “See?”

“God, I wish I got paid for this shit,” the doctor mumbles, straightenin’ to grab his shoulders — both of ‘em, this time — and shove his ass back down onto the bed. “You sit down and you stay there, Tommy Miller, or I swear t’God, a bullet in ya side’s gonna be the least’a your problems.”

He blinks up at her. She’s a pretty little thing, he realises; cheeks flushed from the heat, or maybe from him pissin’ her off, her eyes bluer than a sweet, clear Texas night, hair dark and chopped close to her jaw.

Formidable, too. His shoulders are gonna bruise.

Huh.

Once she’s happy he ain’t goin’ anywhere, she nods, then scoots her chair back so she can take a look at his back. It takes a minute or so, but eventually, she sighs. “No exit-wound. Just what I wanted to see when I woke up this mornin’.”

“Ain’t you doctors s’posed to be taught about bedside manner?” Tommy grumbles under his breath.

The doctor — what is her goddamned name? — gives him a witherin’ look, before pushin’ him so he’s lyin’ down again. “Ain’t you patients supposed to listen to your doctors?”

Tommy pulls a face, watchin’ her fine, small hands pull first one latex glove and then the other on.

“You, uh— James, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Young James confirms, clearin’ his throat and pullin’ himself tall.

“James. I got a bottle’a whiskey in that cabinet, just behind you. Can you grab it for me?”

“Where in the hell’d you get whiskey?” Tommy wonders aloud, watchin’ Young James follow her instructions like a well-trained little puppy.

She sighs. “Charlottesville.”

“Char— why Charlottesville?”

“It was there. Thanks, kid,” she says this last to Young James, who’s retrieved the whiskey and passed it to her.

“You’re welcome,” he says, clearin’ his throat again, ears lookin’ a bit pink.

Well, shit. Tommy doesn’t know whether to laugh or roll his eyes.

Only he don’t have time to do neither, ‘cause the doc’s uncappin’ the bottle and shufflin’ closer. “Now, this is gonna hurt.”

“Wh— c’mon, don’t I at least get a sip first? Anaesthetic, that kinda thing?”

She sighs again, lookin’ half like she wants to clock him in the jaw, before passin’ it over. It burns on the way down, behind his teeth and all the way to his belly, but it’s a good kinda burn. Better than the one in his fuckin’ side, at least, Jesus.

The whiskey makes a sloshin’ sound against the glass when he passes it back to her, and that’s the last thing he thinks for several seconds, ‘cause then she pours it over his wound and shit does that hurt.

“Motherfucker,” he wheezes once the world sharpens again, hands fistin’ in his jeans, back archin’ like he’d been kicked in the goddamn gut. “I’m— I’m gonna throw up.”

“James, get a bucket.”

“Can do, ma’am.”

“Alright,” the doctor sighs, combin’ one gloved hand over his hairline. He focuses on the feelin’ of her fingers against his scalp, breathin’ steadily through his nose like some lightweight teenager boutta hurl. “Easy. Worst part’s over.”

“W— worst part?” Tommy laughs throatily, pressin’ the back of his hand to his mouth to try and stop the bile he can feel swirlin’ in his belly from spewin’ right into her pretty face. “Yeah, you ain’t kiddin’.”

“Betcha regret the whiskey now, huh?”

Tommy groans.

Young James must’ve found one of the horse-feed buckets outside, ‘cause when he comes back, his footsteps are joined by the clang of metal against tile. “You doing okay, boss?”

Tommy waves his hand vaguely in the air. “Right as rain, Jim.”

Young James wrinkles his nose. “I asked you not to call me that.”

“We ain’t done yet, y’know,” the doctor interrupts, and when Tommy looks at her, she’s slidin’ some thread through a needle.

“Wh— wait, ain’t you gonna take the bullet out?”

She sighs, bitin’ her lip as she casts those bright eyes over Tommy’s whole form. “You ain’t pale, and you’re bitchin’ enough you’re clearly alert, so I don’t think you’re bleedin’ too much inside. Don’t wanna go diggin’ and fuck somethin’ up.”

After a sec, she hums, then leans in and presses two fingers to Tommy’s neck. He blinks up at her, then back to her pale wrist, which is all he can see of her hand at this angle. Her gloves are all rubbery and weird-feelin’ on his skin, but her fingertips are warm and firm, unyieldin’ against his skin.

“Nah,” she says eventually, and Tommy starts, meetin’ her eyes. “Your pulse ain’t weak. It’s strong, actually— you got a fast heart.”

Tommy clears his throat, meets Young James’ eyes. Yeah, tell me about it, he thinks, and then: aw, shit, I can’t even make fun of him now.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #this is NOT going in any tags hoo boy #anyway. we're here now. idk whats happening but we're here #me looking at these two idiots: haha ur gonna get MARRIED #my writing #ch: jenny foster #following the queuen

7 notes · View notes

blackmissfrizzle · 5 years

Text

Not Your Grandmama’s Captain America

Title: Not Your Grandmama’s Captain America- Sequel to America’s Ass

Characters: Bucky Barnes x black!reader, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, T’Challa and Shuri (mentioned)

Summary: The reader questions herself in her new role as Captain America

Word Count:

Warnings: Implied Smut and fluff

With the death of Tony Stark, Justin Hammer thought he could be the weapons juggernaut of the world once again. Only problem was he tended to sell his weapons to gangs, mercenaries, and terrorists, causing you, Sam, and Bucky to put in overtime.

You were currently fighting a man almost three times your size who was trying to stop you from seizing the vibrianium bullets Hammer intended to sell. And oh boy, his big ass was giving you a hell of a time.

At times you would forget that Steve passed the mantle of Captain America onto you until you felt the weight of the shield on your arm. Remembering that you had one of the world’s most infamous weapon at your disposal, you threw your shield at the big guy effectively knocking him off his feet.

“Took you long enough. Steve Rogers would’ve already taken me down. Maybe you’re not cut out to be Captain America.” The man gloated like he hadn’t just got his ass handed to him.

“It’s true that Steve would’ve knocked yo ole big Deebo lookin’ ass out faster, but” you waved your hands up and down your body, “this ain’t your grandmama’s Captain America.” Then you sent a nose crunching kick to the man’s face, sending him to an instant nap.

Grabbing the bullets, you heard another dumb argument between Sam and Bucky as they entered the room.

“Man, bullshit! I saved your ass, just admit it,” Sam claimed.

Bucky outwardly groaned and rolled his eyes. “Listen, Parrot, I had it under control. I knew that guy was behind me.”

“Is this how it’s always gonna be with you two? Because if that’s the case I’m going up in space with Aunt Carol and my dad.”

Sam grabbed the case of bullets and kissed you on the cheek. “We were always like this. The only difference now is that you’re the only one to break us up.”

Bucky ran up to the two of you and pushed Sam away from you. “Keep your bird beak off my girlfriend!”

The two of them were about to argue again, but you kicked both of them in the shins to get them to shut up.

“Fuck, doll!”

“What the hell Fury?”

Both grabbed their injured shin and hopping on one leg, howling in pain.

Pulling from the memories of your dad giving you many lectures, you conjured up the spirit of your father and threatened your best friend and boyfriend. “If you two don’t get it together, imma buy you a get along shirt and make you walk around in public with it. Okay?”

Each nodded their head furiously, hating the idea of being stuck in a t-shirt with the other.

Once they got their bearings, Sam and Bucky handed off Hammers’ men to the feds while you were talking to T’Challa about the bullets.

“We’re all good here, Cap. What did T’Challa say?” Bucky’s noticed at how your eyes slightly watered at your new nickname, but he didn’t dare address it at that moment. He knew you didn’t want to show any vulnerability while you were in public with your suit on.

“Thanking us for getting the bullets. In two days, we’ll be going to Wakanda to give them to the Wakandans.”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God! Shuri can fix your suit.”

You looked down at your suit in disbelief. Shuri had done a good job you thought. She made the suit for your body and made it out of vibranium. The Wakandan princess was ecstatic that you were the new Captain America and said what was the point of a vibranium shield without a vibranium suit.

“What’s wrong with my suit?” You asked crossing your arms and drawing your eyebrows.

“That.” Bucky commented while pointing at your ass. He waved his hands in the shape of your body. “It’s too form fitting. How can I concentrate on beating someone’s ass when I’m too busy looking at yours?”

“Ugh, maybe I need to find someone to beat your ass so you could focus on saving yours.” You stuck your tongue out and laughed at him.

Bucky shuddered at the thought of having to fight more people. “Never mind. It’s perfect.”

------

Later that night you were sitting between Bucky’s legs on the bed while he helped twist your hair. The two were working in peaceful silence when Bucky thought it was the perfect time to bring up what happened earlier.

“Hey babe.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier today when I called you Cap, your eyes almost watered. What’s up with that, babe?”

Grateful that your back was to Bucky, you answered him quicker than you would if you would’ve been facing him.

“Do I really deserve to be called Cap or even be Captain America? I know Steve thought it was a good idea, but I’m not sure. Some of my old SHEILD coworkers doubt me and I was the best damn agent there. Hell, even the damn criminals don’t think I’m up to snuff.”

Bucky dropped the twist he was working on and firmly gripped your chin to face him. “Listen to me real good, doll. You’re the best person for the job, Stevie wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t think so. Now, if anyone else got some shit to say point them my way and me, my knife, and them can have a talk.”

You laughed through some of your tears and kissed your boyfriend. Bucky was serious about stabbing anyone who did you wrong. “Thanks, babe. But I don’t think the stabbing is necessary.”

“I didn’t say anything about stabbing anybody,” Bucky’s voice raised a couple of octaves higher.

As you opened your mouth to respond, your phone vibrated, alerting you to a text.

“Babe, Sam just told me to turn on the news. Grab the remote please.”

Bucky followed your directions and Steve filled your tv screen. Both you and Bucky exchanged looks, asking if the other knew why Steve was on tv, but both of you were in the dark.

“Hello, everyone it’s Steve Rogers. I should’ve done this a long time ago, but better late than never. The other day, I was out getting a cup of coffee and I heard someone talking down on Captain America. Not me, Captain America, but your new Captain, Y/N Fury.”

You scooted out of Bucky’s lap and closer to the tv, turning up the volume making sure you didn’t miss a word Steve said.

“I don’t know how many of you have been loved or protected by a black woman, but I’m gonna assume it’s a lot, judging by the amount of people talking smack. Y/N being Captain America is the best thing that’s happened to the world. She will fight for you and be in your corner despite all the dumb things you do and won’t be afraid to tell you what you did wrong. That’s what you get when you have a black woman as Captain America. That’s what you get when you have Y/N Fury as Captain America. And if you don’t like it, I guess you’ll just have to be mad, because she’s not going anywhere.” At the end of his statement shrugged his shoulders, blue eyes twinkling with mirth, and left his seat.

Steve soothed all your worries. He got on tv, which he hated, and basically told those who couldn’t get on board to go fuck themselves.

Feeling like your old self, you grabbed your phone and logged onto IG live. “Hey everyone, sorry for my hair looking a mess.” You ran your fingers through your untwisted hair. “Anyways I just wanted to say…Steve Rogers just told y’all to stay mad cuz my black ass is the new Captain America!!!” Laughing obnoxiously into the screen, you then stuck your tongue out, while Bucky was in the background slightly embarrassed and proud at the same time.

I keep it realer than real

Fuck all the critics and fuck how they feel

I'm getting money, it is what it is

They wanna know how I did what I did

Don't worry 'bout why I do what I do (bitch)

'Cause I ain't worried bout you (bitch)

You were singing along to the chorus of Megan the Stallion’s song to share your feelings to your haters, while most of your followers were sending you heart eye emojis and commenting ‘that’s my Captain America.’

Bucky decided it was time to end your live when you began twerking. He didn’t want everyone to see what you were working with. So, he snatched the phone and quickly ended your live video. “That’s enough of that.”

“Buck, what was that for? I was only showing them what America’s ass could do.” Your boyfriend instantly turned red and you achieved your goal. You loved messing with Bucky and making his possessive side show out.

“I don’t remember America having your ankles up to your ears and screaming out in ecstasy last night.” Bucky gave you a crooked smirked as he cockily referenced your bedroom adventures.

“Anyway, do you feel better?”

You returned to Bucky’s lap and straddled him. “Yeah. I’m sure I’m gonna have my off days, but you, Sam, and Steve will be there to pick me up.”

Bucky pecked your lips with his pink ones. “You got that right. I’m with you til the end of the line.”

This time it was your turn to kiss Bucky and it was deep and passionate. You were telling Bucky you loved him without words. Sniffling between a few fallen tears you whispered to your boyfriend, “I love you.”

Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky whispered back, “I love you too, Captain.”

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @marvelmaree @wakanda-inspired @blackreaders-assemble @dumbchick @pastelastronomy24 @nickidub718 @toniilaney @amethyst09 @youwishiwasyobabymama @disaster-rose @destinio1 @dessianna1 @blacknthemix @blackpinup22 @euphoric05 @bitchacho25

#black!reader #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x black!reader #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x black!reader #steve x reader #sam wilson #falcon #frizzlefic

263 notes · View notes

milkycoffee-selfships · 4 years

Text

Olive Garden Hell

Self Ship Fanfiction w/ @loving-azoth

Chrys yawned, adjusting her short blue zip up dress and brushing out her blue hair. Looking for Jake or Max as she walked down the stairs of the mansion from Jake’s room. “Yo! Where the hell is everyone?” She called, seeing Max and Jake playing Mortal Kombat on the TV in the living room.

“Hey, we have to leave soon.” The girl said, adjusting her hair clips and tapping Jake’s shoulder.

“Hold up-ohhh hey, look at you looking all nice and shit~.” He cooed, ignoring the game that had all of his attention on beating his miniature ‘rival’ until he heard the TV ring out “FINISH HIM!” “You son of a-!’ “HA! Got ya ginger slim shady!” the brunette barked out her insult with pride. Jake tossed the controller on the ground standing up to be with his partner. He wore a semi-nice jacket for the evening, yet still looking like a brute. The brunette was admiring her winning, arms raised as she cackled, jumping up from the floor. Adjusting their sweater, that sat on top of a white button up. A look that was foriegn to the shortest member in the room. Eager to go to the restaurant just to get out of this outfit later on.

Wesker walked downstairs, hearing the yelling and other such things. His trenchcoat swishing as he fixed the collar of his white button-down.

The older male pinched the bridge of his nose at the loud commotion going on in his living room. “What is going on in here? Are you three even ready for dinner yet?” He sighed. “We have reservations at 7pm sharp and I don’t wanna be late.” He looked at his Apple Watch. “Jake, what are you wearing? That is hardly appropriate attire for a restaurant.” He then looked to Max with a softer smile.

“You look dashing Max.” He said, coughing slightly in embarrassment.

“Dashing my ass, looking like a Sunday School kid. Ya’ sicko.” Jack snickered as he crossed his arms, staring at the man wearing the iconic trench coat. “What do you got against me, old man, looking like you're about to take over the world by midnight.”

Chrys just giggled softly, smiling. “Jake, you look nice..” The girl hummed softly. “Max also looks nice, let’s all chill the hell out here.” Chrys looks to Wesker. “He do be lookin’ like he’s gonna take over the world thou..but in like a good way.”

Wesker rolled his eyes and sighed tiredly. He was so done with this shit.

“Let’s all get in the Porsche.” Wesker said, they weren’t even at the restaurant yet and he already wanted the bill to leave said restaurant.

“Max is sitting up front with me.” The blonde male said, putting on his sunglasses, his son following suit also putting on sunglasses.

“Better not be seeing anything past G rating up there you two.” Jake snickered to himself, placing a hand on the back of his partner’s shoulder. Leading to the expensive ride. As Max got ready to open the passenger seat he snapped his fingers, motioning her to inch closer as he murmured. “Ya know what I mean, That office is far from sanitary, and we don’t have time to get this car detailed soon sweetheart~” This caused the brunette jaw to slack open, sliding inside of the passenger side of the car silently. Face erupting a rose red. This caused the merc to laugh out loud as he opened the door for his significant other, allowing them to seat inside. “What a gentleman.” Chrys teased and kissed the Merc’s cheek and laughed softly, looking to the two up front as she scooted in.

Wesker, who had heard the comment, rolled his eyes.

“At least we know how to keep the noise down Jake.” He smirked. “You two can be heard from the otherside of the mansion.”

“Enjoy it while you can, Who knows when you’ll need that viagra old man!”

Chrys snorted and kicked her legs, giggling. “Oh my fucking God!”

Wesker chuckled slightly at that. “Max dear, I think we need to start being louder to match those two’s energy huh?” Max spazzed in the passenger seat, arms flaring until they covered her ears and face. “I see none of this, I hear none of this!” Jake began rocking the back of Max’s seat laughing as he mockingly made ‘intimate’ sounds. “Malibu’s most wanted shush!!” “Make me Father Fucker!”

“Can we please God just have one normal night out, I swear to God.” Wesker said, Chrys whining softly at the ‘yelling’, she knew they were joking but it was loud and Wesker was getting annoyed and she was having a little sensory overload.

Chrys kind of hid into Jake’s chest, shaking slightly. “Ya’ll calm down challenge.” “Alright, Alright! We can continue this later.” Jake laughed more quietly and he rubbed Chrys’ side taking the time to calm the destruction of the car. This gave Max embarrassment time to die down as well. Taking a glance at her partner in all black then immediately looking away. Thanks to the merc her thought process was a bit less than clean. Though it will get better once they get to the restaurant.

The car stopped at the Olive Garden, parking in the front space. The four exited the vehicle as Chrys adjusted her dress, fixing Jake’s jacket and brushing it down. “You’re a mess.” She teased to the male.

Wesker took Max’s hand, leading her into the Olive Garden as they walked inside.

“Can we get three menus and a kids menu for my son.” He pointed to Jake who was holding Chrys’s hand and kind of staring into space.

Jake blinked for a moment, hearing the snide comment, taking this opportunity to use this against Max. “I’m sure we could use two menus Daddy Dearest~” Max stiffened like a statue that decorated the establishment her grip tightened around Wesker’s she glanced up at the ginger merc and calmly said. “I enjoy using the crayons sir.” She smiled, hopefully diverting the remark.

Chrys rolled her eyes. “Can I actually like get some crayons though? I brought my sketchbook and I didn’t bring any coloring supplies.”

“Jake behave yourself.” Chrys said. “Both of you.” She looked to Wesker as well.

“Four menus and two sets of crayons please!” Chrys hummed.

The Hostess nodded awkwardly and led the four to a booth in the back, running away as quickly as possible. Max glanced through the menu, then around the restaurant. “I feel extremely outta place here. Its so fancy” “What do you need a Kiddie Meal?” “I was gonna take yours, but I feel you clearly need it much more Sir.” “Don’t try and smooth talk outta this with using titles you’d give my dad.” Immediately she was defeated, burying that reddened face in the menu staring at the italian dishes before her.

“Jake, baby, honey, darling. You also like being called Sir.” Chrys pointed out, immediately knowing she wanted cheese tortellini, not even looking at the menu. “I know what I want.”

Jake stiffened slightly at the last remark, coughing awkwardly as he nodded. Rubbing the back of his neck, trying to compose himself. “Ahem… What were you getting babe..?”

“Cheese tortellini!” She bounced excitedly, smiling all preciously. “But with no meat sauce, just regular spaghetti sauce.” She said.

Wesker sighed, not even commenting on whatever the actually fuck was going on.

“Dear, have you decided what you want?” the male asked the brunette, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles with his fingers. She nearly melted at the subtle gesture of his, nodding quietly as she pointed at her decision on the menu. “The usual spaghetti with gravy.” She said The merc who quieted down his bickering and playful shenanigans skimmed the menu, looking and browsing. “Eggplant parmesan for me, I’m getting some wine too.” “What color?” “Red duh. Goes with the meal.” Wesker sighed. “Bold of you to assume you’re getting wine with how you’ve been acting kid.” He scoffed and looked at his son, who glared back at him.

He looked back to Max with a softer expression, ruffling the girl’s brunette hair and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You sure you don’t want something more expensive?”

Her head nodded quickly, her meak behaviour becoming more docile at the small displays of affection the male gave her. If the bottle of wine was at the table, there would surely be a competition on who is the reddest in color. “I--I’m sure...Thank you. Wait--a tea too please, raspberry kind.” She stumbled over her words, her brain short circuiting from his soft gestures towards her. Jake coughed, wanting attention once more, “Yo- If you two are done being smoochie babies, I’m getting that wine, If not i’m snagging it from your office later.”

Chrys rolled her eyes as the waitress came over, everyone ordering, Wesker letting Jake have one glass of wine.

“One glass, you may have one.” The blond said, rolling his eyes at the threat.

Chrys leaned against Jake more as she pulled out her sketchpad, sketching some people around the restaurant, mostly just sketches of Jake though, he was fun to draw, man.

“This is utter chaos already.” Chrys said sleepily, sipping on her Diet Coke.

Wesker nodded in agreement. “We can never have a normal dinner.” He added.

“Gotta make up for all those dinners you missed with me old man.” The merc snickered, watching his significant other sketch away with the crayons. Chin resting on his hand as he stared in awe. Enjoying the little moment of her just drawing. Max watched as well, enjoying that Jake wasn’t roasting the heavens out of her. Taking a moment to look up at the blonde, then looking back down immediately as their gaze met for a moment. Taking her tea and sipping straight from the straw. Quenching her thirst, inside and out. Hopefully.

Wesker once again ruffled the brunette’s hair, humming softly as he sipped his own wine.

“Dessert?” The waitress asked, the dinner being surprisingly nice.

“I want chocolate cake..” Chrys mumbled, looking to Wesker who nodded in agreement.

“Do you want any?” He asked the shortest female, his eyes falling onto hers. Hearing the mention of dessert and the following title of cake, made her eyes widen staring over to the male in all black. Immediately that was a yes from her, no questions asked. “Only--if that’s ok-if it’s unless its too expensive I’ll wait until we get home!” Jake had no hesitation and just went “Oh my god-Yes.... Give me that cake, that sounds fan-fucking-tastic” He sighed, being a rarity to indulge in dessert and sugary consumptions. Being a merc and having to maintain his physique for missions. Rarely ever having a soda. Not because he didn’t like them, no he loved them. He just had to be mindful. “Cheesecake for me. I hope you don’t mind I’m snagging a bite from all of yours”

“Language.” was all Wesker had to say to that, nodding.

Chrys hummed, kissing Jake’s cheek softly. “You can have some of mine.” She said gently, never being able to keep that ‘tough girl’ act up around him. He could always see right through it.

They all ordered their cakes, getting them about ten minutes later.

Wesker took a piece from his cake on his spoon, holding it up to Max’s mouth.

Max eyed the spoon, then up to the blonde. Becoming flustered. It was only a spoon, with cake. Yet it was always so intimidating to her. She held his hand holding his wrist, as she took the offering of cake. Many times this gesture has happened and it still made her a mess. Jake was scarfing down the sugary masterpiece of cake, as if it was the last thing in the world. “Holy shit--goddamn that is fantastic-babe please, i never say please but can i get a piece of that. Oh my god.”

Chrys handed the rest of hers over to the Merc, smiling warmly.

“No no...just a piece- i’m just taking a sliver” He spoke, his actions following his words. “see - see… just a sliver.” He said, taking his spoon, slicing the cake and taking it, pushing it back to his partner. “It is dangerous here, oh god that cake, get that away from me.” He said as he ate the piece he swiped.

“Babe, you’re not even a Merc anymore, why does it matter?” She asked, cocking her head.

Wesker chuckled softly at his son, smoothing out his hair and pulling off his trenchcoat as it was getting hot in the restaurant.

“She’s right, you stay at home all day playing video games with your girlfriend.” Wesker added.

Jake waved his finger in the air, “Ah-I got to maintain a rep.” “Wait--what reputation. You roasting me all day, or you losing in Mortal Kombat?” Both hands of the ginger held the table, his head tilting. “Oh...you want some more pip squeak?” “You guys, no that’ll ruin the trip dudes.” Chrys said, taking Jake’s hand and leaning against him, nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “Calm down Jakey.”

Jake sighed then nodded, “alright-later. You-me, later.” Max just stared at the male sitting across from her, then mumbled. “ I don’t wanna see you later. Simp” He blinked then looked over to the blue haired companion. Needing help on this one. “The hell is a simp?” He asked, these newer lingo and slang not coming to him. Barely understanding 80’s lingo.

“You’re nice to me for sex.” She explained, giggling. “That’s a Simp.”

“Oof.” The brunette said quietly sliding in her seat ever so slightly, not wanting to look improper next to the sophisticated man beside her. “I-what--I’m not nice cause-a That..babe-no- what. Fuck you I’m not this shrimp.” “Simp” “Whatever midget.”

Wesker pulled the brunette closer to him, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Calm down kids.” He said, sipping his wine. “Why is Chrys the only well behaved one out of all of you?” Chrys grinned, giving finger guns. “Trauma, baby.”

“Gotta whip yours into shape, that's on your end blondie.” He scoffed, taking a drink of his glass of wine.

“At least I’m not ginger.” Wesker smirked, reaching a hand out to ruffle what little hair the “merc” had.

“Sounds painful.” The brunette commented, on the remark, then sat quietly in thought, shaking her head. “You and ginger hair...No offense but--no sir, please no.” She mumbled, staring at the blonde.

Wesker just laughed, like a genuine happy laugh at that comment and kissed the girl’s forehead. “Precious.” was all he said. “You’re precious.”

Chrys just smiled at the two, humming.

The waitress came over, handing the bill to Wesker who put three one hundred dollar bills onto the check-book and handed it back with a smile.

Max stared wide eyed at the money she saw then back at the male beside her. “That--was a lot, oh dear.” She said softly, then immediately added. “I’ll pay that back somehow oh geez--three hundred for some spaghetti….aaa…” Jake was shaking his head. “That was three dollars, at most.” he snickered as he swayed a bit, taking another sip from the glass, having asked for a refill when the blonde was in the restroom earlier. The rougher looking male not used to alcohol in his system, even though his appearance would say otherwise. “Geez, how did grapes get this good, fuck juicy juice. That stuff is shit.” He mumbled as he eyed the contents of his glass. “Please say that's not me when I’m tipsy, the most I did was asked if Charlie Sheen was my uncle…” The brunette questioned.

Chrys just took the wine from Jake and kissed his lips chastley. “That’s enough for you hun.” She laughed softly.

Wesker nodded in agreement.

“Wha--babe that's mine...Tha--that’s mine.” He whined, staring at the drink that was once in his hand, now in his significant other’s grasp. “Oh dear.” Was all that Max uttered. Watching the drunk complain.

Chrys just chugged the rest of it, which was almost a full glass. “Now it’s mine.” She hummed, smirking cutely. “Sorry, thems the rules.”

Wesker sighed as the lady brought the bill. “Alright kids, let’s ride.”

“You're not Vin Diesel you bitch.” Jake scoffed, wiggling out from the booth, barely able to stand upright. How two glasses of grapes made him this drunk was incredible. Max stood beside her partner, watching the taller ginger, sway. Until he snagged the keys from the blonde. “Fuck-ya I’m Vin Diesel, see this head” He laughed, rubbing the fuzz on his dome. “ This is Diesel.” He swayed, until Max swiped the keys away once more. Causing the male to pout. “What--No..I wanna drive. That...I drive bikes man.”

Chrys panicked until her friend grabbed the keys from her drunk boyfriend, sighing in relief. “Jake baby, you’re wasted. On one and a quarter glasses of wine.” She commented. “No driving right now..I’ll be sad..” She pouted cutely.

Wesker rolled his eyes as he held Max’s hand, his fingers again rubbing the knuckles of her hand as they all started walking to the Yellow Porsche, it was around 8pm now, night had befallen the area as the glow of the streetlamps poured out small patches of light.

Jake swayed while walking, eyeing the Porsche. “This shit ugly.” He slurred out, pointing at the expensive vehicle. Max shook her head with a laugh then glanced over to the blue haired companion. “Psst….Not to be a rude being, but--He’s a drunk ass…” Jake turned his head then exclaimed, “My ass is fine!”

Chrysanthemum just laughed softly at Jake’s and Max’s comments. “Your ass is fine, and yes I am aware, this is why he’s not allowed to drink.” She said, playing with the male’s fuzzy head. “Jake, get in the car please.” Chrys said and pushed him inside.

Wesker groaned in annoyance. “I wanna go to bed.”

“Its only 8--aw ok. You can sleep,” Max said quietly as she sat in the passenger seat, Jack sat beside the brunette, while nuzzling against his partner. Humming like a car. “ I wanna drive~ I’m in a car~” He sang drunkenly while hugging his significant other. Max turned her head slowly. Watching the duo in the back. Her brows furrowed and holding back a laugh, then looked over to the blonde. “I’m thankful I don’t drink more than a sip--even though it could be amusing from what I'm seeing.” “I’m in a car~!” Jake sang, while making car noises, his one hand waving in the air as if steering the vehicle that was still parked. “Yo’ babe. Lets--lets get turnt tonight!” He snickered to himself as his head further nuzzled into her neck. “Am on a shoulder~”

Chrys’s face turned a bright red at the usually affection withholding male, he was an extremely affectionate and silly drunk, the absolute opposite of his normal attitude.

“Y-You’re already ‘turnt’ enough darling.” The bluette said softly, kissing his forehead, looking at Wesker in the rearview mirror, pleading for help.

“This isn’t my issue Chrys.” He said, smirking. “Have fun with him.” He cooed, starting the car and looking to Max. “I feel bad for her, but not bad enough to help.” He grinned.

Max tried to stifle a laugh then looked back over. “How---how does one help with drunken Jake?” she asked looking to her friend, while Jake held her tightly. Singing the song from Lion King. “Can you feel~ The Love tonight~ Yo’ Yo’ Dad! Fuck Scar, that you!” “Scar...The lion? Or…” “The midget knows! I Know my dad is a Scar the lion! Long live my ass!” Jake whined out. Burying his face in the crook of Chrys’ neck. While his hands played with hers “You’re a lion now?” Max asked, looking to the blonde driving.

“Apparently.” Was all the blonde said on that subject, sighing. “He’s limited to one glass of wine from now on.” Wesker said, parking the car.

Chrys’s face was a neon red, an obvious glow to her cheeks rose as the male was affectionate to her, he was never ever like this. “J-Jake..” She mumbled out, biting her lip.

Wesker just chuckled. “She’s as red as a tomato over there. Pure.” He said, opening the car door for Max, holding his hand out for her to take.

She thanked her partner, taking his hand as she was hoisted from the seat. Standing beside the blonde. While watching the back door slowly open. Jake sliding from the seat an ever so small. “Wee” Coming from the male. As he emerged from the vehicle onto the concrete leading to the mansion. Once his bottom connected to the ground he rolled over, eventually standing up. “I...am free.” He said, with all seriousness, until a giggle came from him. “I’m scared now.” Was all that Max said, staring at the merc in the dim lighting. The front door light and car lights illuminating the group. “Be afraid pipsqueak, I...am...SIMBA!” He roared and broke into a sprint for the front door, a sudden thud erupting. “Yo...who locked this door. It hit me.” He whined, rubbing his face.

Chrys walked out of the car and up behind him, unlocking the door and helping the shit-faced merc up. “You’re a disaster..” She sighed.

“So….Uh….Next dinner date-somewhere that doesn’t serve the 21 and over juice.” Max said softly, watching the drunk at the front door with his other half. Somehow going on about being Aladdin. “Yo-yo--how does genie get so blue, it's like your hair….” He said, his head returning to the shoulder of his partner.

Chrys’s cheeks lit up even redder as she helped the male into the mansion, sighing exhaustively and taking him to bed.

Wesker sighed as he led Max into the house, picking the girl up bridal style and carrying her up the stairs.

#long post #long #selfship

5 notes · View notes

thoughtslikeaminefield · 5 years

Text

I Wanna See You Lookin’ Up

Summary: @ladywinchester1967 asked: Congrats on 500 followers MJ!!! Can you do a fic with Dean and begging? (Either he can be begging or the reader can, up to you) make it as smutty as you want 😜

Words: 994

Rating: explicit, femdom, Dean naked on his knees, Jensen’s stupid fucking floof hair from Dallas con

Characters: Dean Winchester x Robyn Fenty (Rihanna)

You look so dumb right now

Standin’ outside my house

Tryin’ to apologize

~ Rihanna, Take A Bow

~~~~~~~

“Whatchu even doin’ here?” she asks, looking down from her bedroom balcony. She’s ready for bed – just out of a bubble bath, glass of wine, black tank top and boy shorts, pink silk robe, feathered slipper pumps. It’s self-care, pampering, whatever they call it.

“It’s not what you think, Robyn,” Dean says with that impatient condescension like he’s over it.

“And you know what I think,” she says, glaring down at him before turning, the hem of her robe, sweeping the wood boards at her feet. She walks inside and shuts the door behind her.

Robyn drains the remainder of the wine from her glass then refills it. Her doorbell rings, and she rolls her eyes. “The fuck did I say?” she mutters to herself then unhurriedly descends the stairs to her front door. When she pulls it open, he actually looks contrite.

“Robyn,” he sighs, shifting his weight, running his hand through his mess of hair. She takes in the man in front of her.

Dean’s always rough around the edges. He talks with his mouth full, wears nothing but Carhartt and flannel, logger boots, and not for fashion. He’s perpetually wet, as Robyn and her family used to say about their grandpop – always drunk or hungover or both. But standing at her door under the harsh porch light, Dean’s features are drawn, his eyes dark and shot with blood, brooding.

“Please?” he says, chin dipped to his chest, lashes slowing blinking closed and open.

Robyn can’t deny that look. She draws a deep breath before moving out of the way to let him inside. “Five minutes,” she says. “Then you’re out on your ass.”

“It was a case, Robyn,” he says, turning to face her, his eyes tired and pleading. “I wasn’t gonna really meet up with her later.”

Robyn sets her glass aside and crosses her arms over her chest before circling his slouched, defeated form. She ponders what to do, chews the inside of her cheek as she looks him up and down. She’s never seen him so penitent.

“You are such a pain in my ass, you know that,” she says, coming to a stop in front of him, facing him.

Dean nods. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve told you-”

Robyn holds up her hand to silence him. “Save it,” she says. “Upstairs, clothes off, on your knees.”

Dean’s face relaxes, lights up, he stands up straighter than she’s seen him stand since last Wednesday when he told that skinny, white waitress all the dirty, little things he was going to do to her after she was off work.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean breathes, and before his boots even hit the stairs, he’s working his jacket from his shoulders.

~~~~~~~

He’s on his knees, just as she ordered him to be, gloriously naked in the candlelight, scars and curves and valleys shaded and lit. Dean’s a product of war and pain, bravery and perseverance. He’s light and dark and love and fury. His body shows all of that and more.

He knows where she likes him, too. He’s settled on his heels, back against the foot of her bed.

She drops her robe and meanders closer. His hungry eyes watch her every move, and his cock grows, curves into his belly.

“Tell Mama what a bad boy you were,” she says, stopping in front of him, kicking his knees apart with her feathered heels, bulging and purpling his cock to her pleasure.

“I was a bad boy,” he says through his teeth, hard green drilling into the silver of her hazel eyes, his jaw clenching.

Dean is what is called a bossy bottom. He likes being told what to do, he’s turned on by being handled roughly, but there’s a line with Dean, too. And Robyn likes to cross it – repeatedly.

“Hmm,” she says, setting a foot on either side of his hips, sliding her hand between her legs and cupping herself over her shorts. Her cunt is so close to his face, she can feel his breath on the bare skin of her inner thighs.

“Bad boys don’t get good pussy, do they?” she says, and Dean groans, reaching to grip himself in a fist.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she says, kicking his wrist away. “Hands up here. Pull my drawers off so you can see how wet I am and what you’re missin’.”

Dean glares up at her but obeys. As he pulls the shorts over her full hips his eyes close, and he inhales deeply. He lets her shorts drop around her ankles.

“You can sniff ‘em if you want,” she says, stepping out of them with a chuckle.

The second they’re free, Dean snatches them up and buries his nose and mouth in the fabric with a moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Please.” He looks up at her, panting.

Robyn resumes her position over him and slides two fingers through her slick.

“Boy, I don’t think you deserve this pussy,” she says, pushing her fingers inside herself, hearing the squelch, watching him focus on her motions and lick his lips. When he looks up at her, his eyes are full and desperate. “Do you?”

Dean shakes his head, swallows thick and deep, runs his fingertips from her ankles to her hips.

“No, but I can earn it,” he says, breathing heavy, eyes blowing a black hole into its verdant circle. “Let me. Please.”

He settles his hands on her bare hips and she moves in, lifts one toe to rest on the foot the bed. She grips the soft mess that is his disaster of a hairdo then guides his face between her open thighs.

She drops her head back when he licks a breathy stripe up her slit. “Let’s see what you can do for Mama tonight.”

Dean’s fingers tighten, dig into her smooth skin and he buries his nose and lips and tongue and chin in deep. He’s going to show her exactly how sorry he is.

If you like what you’ve read, please let me know and/or buy me a coffee!

#dean winchester x OFC #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x rihann

72 notes · View notes

cuddliestbear · 4 years

Text

@blinksinbewilderment I'm at it again, because this week is kicking my ass and making these types of posts helps my mental health.

My bf made some really good chicken and rice yesterday and i get to have it for lunch at work today

We got a rice cooker

And

Love

My naughty bratty baby Checkers wanted nothing more than to lay across me as I helped my bf with his online reading assignment yesterday and I enjoyed v m

Leveled up in finaal fantasy fourteen yesterday and I didn't need my pals help this time! (Though it is greatly appreciated when they do help)

I got a lot of work done yesterday even though i still have tons to do today I know I can do it.

Got a whole six hours of sleep last night which is better than usual

C O F F E E

Finally continued watching tokyo ghoul yesterday and forgot that i love the shit out of that anime

Fr Kaneki needs a hugs

Unus Annus makes me feel happy

Mark and ethan are the best nonsensical man-children

Amy is the only one with a braincell once the camera starts rolling

Unless Mark is doing math, then he's borrowing it for a sec

Unravel cover by Jonathan Young

Mark getting frustrated with Minecraft and dying and then trying to use a water bucket in the Nether is entertaining

My bf says we may be getting another kitten

My response?

Bring

THE

BABIES!!!!!

Coconut coffe creamer is the best

I brought a whole bottle of Fanta Orange to work today because I can and there is no one to stop me

My drops at work are slowly but surely being taken care of and that lessens my anxiety

I changed the coil in my vape and now my puffs don't taste like gross(i am aware some people are against vaping, I am aware nicotine addiction is bad, i am famous for making bad life decisions)

I may get to hang out with a friend today if they are available too.

If not there is always tomorrow

i wanna make my own mask, but i dunno how so I'm gonna google it

I wanna make it Bakugo hero designed

Because I am a dork

I will make my bf a ryuk one, somehow. Idk what a ryuk themed medical mask would entail but I'm gonna do my best.

Or a laughing coffin one (he likes sao and has a fondness for the villains in the original, everybody loves a good villain I suppose)

Just remembered that Coraline probably has an audiobook on Audible and WANT TO LISTEN(but idk where my headphones went)

Someone on TikTok posted a drawing of a bnha coraline au where Bakugou is Coraline and Deku is Wybie and I am HERE FOR IT

I lost two pounds!!!!

This was from a few weeks ago but I got to see my friend try butterbeer for the first time and he liked it so much

Also the Hagrid ride at universal is the best.

Speaking of Harty potter stuffs, I would literally DIE for Newt

Luna Lovegood is my spirit animal.

One of my techs filled out ALL THEIR REPORTS AND PICTURES AND MADE MY LIFE EASIER AND I WANNA SEND THEM COOKIES

One of our warranty companies updated their hold music and I love it so much more than the old one.

I got a cool witch hat thing in final fantasy fourteen and I love it. My character looks like a witch cat lady and I love her

Have realized I am very gay for Uraraka Ochako and I am okay with that.

As a wise man once said

"Could be Gayer"

SUCCESSFUL MULTITASKING AT WORK

I am REALLY soft for Eri

Like no one will ever hurt this child, I will fight them

Might fuck around and go to the gym today, who knows? 🤷‍♂️

My oc is a SCORPIO OF ALL THINGS, and I did NOT anticipate that when making their birthday on halloween, but it MAKES SO MUCH SENSE SOMEHOW???? I DIDN'T PLAN IT BUT THERE IT IS???

my friend is making us our own Zodiac Ocs and mine is this adorable Pisces babey and I stan.

Our friend, the Taurus has tavros kinda horns and has a blind eye with a scar cuz he a warrior and I wanna hug him

Her Gemini one is and always has been fab, WORK IT GUURRRL!!!!

I have been writing this list for an hour and I still have good happy things to say!

Which makes me feel like everything is kind of okay!!!

I got to work early for a Tuesday!

My bf called me and offered to make dinner ready before I get home

And I love him sm

Our house is lookin pretty nice with all the new renovations.

I love the media room, it is the best hang out spot

The sound on TikTok of "THE BED PART OF WAKING UP IS GOING BACK TO SLEEP!!!" Because, mood.

I was not drunk at 3 a.m. last night, in fact I went to bed, completely sober at 1 a.m. and I think that is very sexy of me.

My cat loving to have her belly rubbed! She no attack when I rub, just purr

And I think that's all I got in me.

#good happy things #happy list #happy thoughts

2 notes · View notes

mrs-hollandstan · 5 years

Note

Could you do a mob!toms sister x mob!haz where Tom finds out about their relationship? Thank you and I absolutely love your writing!

I'm actually really proud of this. Also, thank you so much! 💜 NSFWish below.

The sunshine pouring through the window and onto the bare skin of your shoulders, bathing you in warmth woke you. You stretched, opening your eyes to Harrison's peaceful, sleeping face. The cut across his nose was still prominent from the sour business deal from a few nights ago.

You smile, nuzzling down closer to him, his naked body radiating warmth into your own. Leaning in, you gently kiss his lips, listening to him sleepily groan. You giggle when he wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding your neck to keep you kissing him,

"Good morning sunshine." He hums,

"Good morning. Lookin rather beautiful this fine morning."

"I have my love in bed for the first time. Obviously... what we got up to last night... wasn't the first but-"

"I know, I know, it was the first time I stayed the night. Baby... you know how Tom is. I just... I don't wanna risk anything."

"I know," you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck as he rolls to perch over you. The cold metal necklace that holds the gang's medallion lays between your breasts, "I know I just... I wish we could do more. I'm in love with you. We're soulmates and I want to be with you always, but I'm off limits. Tom just-"

"Babe... I love you more than life itself. And you... you're amazing," A smirk rises to his lips and you giggle as he leans in to kiss your neck, "in more ways than one. But... if Tom found out about this... he'd gut me."

"I know Haz." Running your fingers through the back of his hair, you peck his lips once, twice, three times before he descends, lips pressed firmly against yours, chest to chest. He hums, the makeout session turning rather steamy. Harrison's blood pumps in his veins, headed straight down to his throbbing length. He reaches between you, starting to guide it down towards the warmth between your thighs before the door clicks open,

"Hey sis have you-" Harrison tumbles over you, howling as you scream and go to cover yourself. He tumbles to the floor with a thud as Tom reels in the doorway, blinking to prove what he's seeing isn't going anywhere. Harrison springs up from the floor, both hands trying to cover himself and contain the beast that twitches at the contact,

"What the fuck?" Tom quizzes, standing before you both, pissed beyond belief in a black and white pinstripe, three piece suit. His eyes are dark and swimming in anger as he stares at his right hand man. His best friend. The brother he wishes he had. Standing naked in his little sister's room, little love bites littering his tan skin. He clenches his jaw,

"How long?" Harrison's heart pounds in his chest. You look between the both of them, lump rising in your throat. You can't see this going your way. Harrison either leaves or dies. Its Tom's way or no way.

"Tommy-" You start,

"How long?!" He roars. You look to where his eyes are locked; in Harrison's. His breathing has grown erratic as he glances down to find his boxers discarded on the floor,

"Almost three months. Tom I-"

"You're done. You're outta here."

"Tom, listen to me!"

"You're fucking my sister! My baby sister! The one I told you not to touch! The one that was off limits Osterfield! You knew that when you came here and you still went against me!" Tom billows from the doorway. By now he's gathered an audience, and you're in tears as Harrison slips his slacks back on,

"I love her Tom."

"You don't get to love her. You're done."

"Tom." You sob. Only then does his tunnel vision let up. His eyes cut to you then, features softening at the look in your eyes. The same one you had when you found out your parents had died. Absolute heartbreak,

"Tom please." You quiver, tears streaming down your cheeks. His eyes cut back to Harrison who's eyes are locked on you. He can see the tears building in Harrison's ocean colored eyes. When you look to him, he glances back up at Tom. He swallows,

"I love her Tom. I'm in love with her. She's everything to me. Please... please... I know I fucked up. I know... but please don't take me away from her. Not after everything she's been through." Harrison steps closer to Tom. Tom hates how easy it is to get under his skin when it comes to you. He doesn't wanna see you hurt. Not again. Staring down at you, he listens to Harrison once more,

"I don't fuck her Tom. I've been seeing her for three months. I just made love to her for the first time last week. She's my everything. Do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt her. Please..." Looking down at the pendant hanging around Harrison's neck and the tattoo across his ribs, his jaw clenches again. He takes one more look at you before drawing the knife from his holster and holding it to Harrison's neck,

"I won't hurt her. But if you do... I'll fucking kill you." Harrison nods, relief flashing through his eyes despite his predicament. He nods vigorously,

"Yes sir." Standing glued to his spot for a moment, he backs off, glancing at you,

"Get dressed. We need to talk in ten. My office." He doesn't wait for anything, just turns and leaves the room commanding the group of men that have collected back to their posts. Only then do you break, Harrison rushing to sit at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around you,

"I'm s-sorry Harrison."

"Don't darling, don't. I knew the risk when I took it. I love you and that didn't stop me. Just... get dressed. Go talk to him. Hear him out and all. I'll be here." Drawing back, you let him clear your tears and nod. You sniffle,

"Y'know... as much as it would've hurt to leave him... if he'd kicked you out... I would've left with you." Harrison tsks and rolls his eyes,

"N'get us both killed. Smart love." You giggle, draping your wrists over his shoulders,

"For you... anything." He smiles, leaning in to kiss you. When he draws back, he huffs,

"Alright... up. He's like a parent. And I don't want him to fucking kiss my ass." You nod, scrambling from the bed knowing that the talk Tom would give you wouldn't be pleasant, but seeing you cry, he'd at least let you plead your case.

#harrison x reader #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield #mob!harrison #my writing #blurbs #headcanons #harrison osterfield blurbs

132 notes · View notes

majortheboneless · 5 years

Text

Terror (chapter five)

Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x Angie Dingley (OC)

A/N: Look, I've nothing to say about this. I don't know if I like this chapter, it almost had me dead, but now here it is. I hope you guys like it.

Summary: ? I don’t even ?

Warnings: language, violence, bad SMUT, alcohol and drug use.

The Dollhouse Club - Los Angeles

It was already 22pm when Angie got to the Dollhouse - the traffic was terrible - and she was worried that Vince would think she abandoned him cause she couldn't find him anywhere. Or any of the boys.

"A goddamn strip club" she chuckled to herself, while lighting a cigarette and pacing slowly towards the packed bar. Every man in that place was eyeing her up and down, as if she was a new striper, fresh meat for them. “Jack and coke, please” she announced, smiling to the cute bartender behind the counter.

"There you go" the girl slipped the little bottle of Jack Daniels, a can of coke and then the prettiest smile Angie has ever seen.

"Thanks, sweetheart" she opened the sealing with her thumb and chugged down the whole liquid.

"Wow" the bartender gasped and let out a giggle "What about the coke?" she leaned on the counter to get a better look at Angie.

"Do ya 'ave some? I'd love a bump" Angie meant it, even though she was just saying that to tease the girl.After seconds of eyes fucking each other, Angie noticed a really tall man approaching the stool next to her, he sat facing her, eating her with his stares. The man cleared his throat, now looking at the bartender, who just smiled politely and asked what he was having.

"Whiskey, neat" by the tone of voice he was already shit faced. Angie was ignoring him, drinking her coke and smoking her cigarette. She was mad at Vince, he was nowhere to be seen and now she was alone in there.

The bartender turned around and slipped the drink to the weird man, who was still staring. "There you go" she smiled and then her eyes darted to Angie again. "So, your not from around, right? Where are you from?"

"Warwickshire, babe, England" Angie smiled, adoring the brightness in that girl's eyes and to be honest, the way those clothes hugged tightly around her body.

"Oh, God save the queen, then" they giggled. "So, my shift ends in fifteen minutes... We could do something, have a drink or maybe get wasted"

"Babe, I'd love that, but I'm 'ere waiting for my friends" Angie touched the girls hand, causing her to smirk "But ya can definitely join us"

"I'd like that" more eye fucking. She was so pretty and sweet, maybe this wasn't even the place for her. The man moved again, this time he got up trying to look normal and sober. He steadied himself on the stool and walked slowly towards Angie and lowered his body, until his mouth was dangerously close to her ear and she could actually smell the alcohol and weed he exhaled.

"I wanna a dance, doll" he whispered. Angie didn't even flinch, the girl behind the counter was preparing drinks to a costumer but was still eyeing the situation.

"Well, the pole is right over there. Suit yourself, mate" she turned around and faced him, blowing the smoke on his face and pointing at the actually empty dance pole. "Step back and fuck off" she calmly warned him.

"I said I wanna a dance, you bitch" he grabbed Angie's wrist and pulled her violently off the stool, causing her to fall on her face. "I'll tip big" he laughed. A couple of people got up and looked over, not really sure if they should intervene or incite. The first thing that came in Angie's mind was Razzle's voice 'Don’t get in trouble, Angela' and she laughed bitterly, it was like she was a magnet.

She got up and noticed that next to that man she was a tiny little puppy but that never stopped her before. "I'll dance to ya in 'ell, fucker" she punched his stomach and he leaned in, giving her the chance to nudge his back twice. He fell on the ground, groaning and cussing. Everyone was looking, the girl behind the counter had called a security guard and he came running with two other man.

"Imma need you to leave, miss" the first one said while the other two took the hurt man by the armpits and put him on his feet.

Angie scoffed "I didn't do anythin' mate, he attacked me" she protested loudly. Her wrist hurt and she wanted to scream, kick that man in the face, bite him to draw blood. Her breath was unsteady, chest running up and down and she felt like the room was spinning.

"He attacked her, I saw everything, Brett" the bartender said. The security let go of Angie's bicep, shooting her an apologetic look. The other two guards dragged the attackers body throughout the club, kicking him out. "Sorry about that"

"Don't worry, love" Angie answered the girl with a smirk "I'm used to dickheads like him all the time" she sat down again, ignoring everyone's judgemental stares. "I'll have a beer please" she put her head in between her hands and sighed. Lighting another cigarette, she attentively observed everything around her, still waiting for the boys to come through the door. "How's your name, sweets?"

"Cherry" she smiled "It's on the house, babe"

"Your real name" Angie insisted. The girl smirked, not saying anything "That can't be ya real name, it's stupid" she nagged and the girl rolled her eyes.

"Oh, then I suppose your name is grand and majestic or something like that"

"Not even close, me name's Angela and I hate it" she said with a funny face which made Cherry giggle. She turned again to attend another costumer, giving Angie the chance to turn around and look at the stripers.

She recognized the song playing loudly and echoing through the pub. People were dancing, some watching the stripers dance on the pole, some gaining a lap dance, some doing drugs while getting a lap dance. It was amazing how those girls danced in those clothes and high heels, maybe she should feel bad for them being objectified all the time, but something inside of her screamed they were having a good time.

"You should go there and pay for a dance, babe, staring isn't nice" someone said next to her, she didn't turn to see who, but she could tell that the person was smiling.

"Maybe I will"

"Maybe you could dance for me" Angie huffed and her head turned slowly, when she reached the beautiful features of that man's face and stared into his green eyes, her heart skipped a beat. Nikki Sixx sat there with a smirk she couldn't and didn't want to forget, his eyes scanned her as well, stoping in her cleavage. She wasn't wearing a bra which made harder for him not to glance every now and then.

"I've been waitin' for 'ours and 'ours, Sixx" she whined, faking a frown and pouting. Nikki laughed and shook his head.

"You got here fifteen minutes ago, Angela" he was facing the counter now, eyeing Cherry up and down when she finally asked what he was having. "A jack and coke, please"

"How long 'ave ya been 'ere?" she asked in confusion. She turned to face him and he had a smirk. He was clearly high out of his mind, she could tell by the way his eyes were restless.

"Two hours" she gasped.

"I've been lookin everywhere for ya guys, and now ya tell me that... Two fuckin' hours? Nothin better to do? I mean, it's saturday night and...”

"Well I was here waiting for you and those fuckers... And I got a little distracted" he cut her off. Angie shifted uncomfortable in her stool, a small and nervous smile playing on her lips. Nikki's gaze were still on her and it never was as awkward as now.

She wasn't sure why they'd do something like that. Vince called her, she came from another city, almost three hours in a cab. "Well, I'm pretty sure they stood us up, mate" she laughed a little. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm gonna kill 'em" he said while lighting a cigarette, offering one to her, who refused. Silence. Nikki only went quiet when he was thinking, she noticed. Or when he was tired and high. But not now, now he was embarrassed, not knowing what to do or say.

"Why didn't ya just... went home or I don't know, went to their houses to murder 'em all?" Angie rested her head in her hand.

"I was waiting for you, I just fucking told you that" Nikki rubbed his face, annoyed.

"Hmm" she hummed and laughed through her nose, not believing in a word coming out of his pretty mouth.

"hmm? It's all you have to say?"

"Ya hate me, Sixx, why would ya wait for me?" He didn't answered, instead he just let out a humourless laugh, biting his lips. Silence again. Angie got up and was ready to leave and search for the closest motel in that place. 'fucking wankers' was all she wanted to scream. "Good night, Sixx. I'd find better friends if I were ya"

Nikki got up and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place and making her flinch. It was still sore from before" No, you're not leaving now, I waited for you" he was confused and kind of hurt.

"I didn't ask ya to wait for me" she scoffed and pushed him lightly. His eyes scanned her once more, trying to know if she was joking or deadly serious, his grip still on her hand but now softly. "Nikki, stop, ya look like a creep" His other hand hold her face, his thumb brushed her lips and then he pulled her closer "Nikki..." he closed the gap and kissed her gently.

Angie looped her arms around his neck, causing Nikki to smile, which didn't go unnoticed by her. He slowly moved his hands down to her waist, then her hips, then her ass, squeezing harshly. "Come with me" he broke the kiss, still holding her body as close as possible.

"Wait...where?" she questioned with a smirk. He pulled her by the hand, going for the exit and soon enough, both of them were out on the street. "Where we're goin' Nikkie?"

"You talk to much, you know that?" he smirked again.

"Oh, honey, ya 'ave no fuckin' ideia" she kissed him again, but this time with urgency. Her hands ran up and down his chest, his hands were on her hair and her ass. "Ya know, I was gonna fuck the shit out of that cute bartender tonight, so ya better 'ave somethin' greater than that on your mind" she whispered, their forehead glue to each other, lips brushing and nose touching.

"I do, actually" she hummed again "I am gonna fuck the shit out of you"

...

Nikki had Angie's legs wrapped around his waist, while kissing and humping each other, trying to walk properly through the hallway of his building. He almost dropped her twice since they started making out on the first floor but she just laughed. "The keys are in my jacket pocket" he broke the kiss and whispered.

She fumbled, finding the keys and opening the door with a kick. They stumbled inside, laughing like two kids who just did something wrong. Nikki pressed Angie against the shut door, causing her to moan in his mouth when he rolled his hips into hers. "Fuck, Sixx"

He smirked "Eager, aren't we?" He was licking and marking her neck now, gaining more moans. Angie's hand went to his belt, unbuckling so fast he didn't even see when she threw it on the floor. "Oh no no no, baby" Nikki took a tight grip on her hand, stopping her "Last time you were on control we had I little problem"

"No, love, I was fine" she taunted "The idea of having you literally wrapped 'round me fingers just drove me insane. I touched myself thinking about ya that night" she blurted out, making Nikki's lip twitch in excitement and he felt his pants getting tighter.

Angie jumped from his lap, causing him to whine. She dragged him to the nearest comfortable surface she could find, the couch, and shoved him down. "Ya know, I'm not even mad with the boys anymore" she smiled and confessed, straddling him. Nikki grabbed her by the hip, pulling her impossibly closer to him, kissing her for dear life. "How drunk are ya, babe?" She asked softly.

"Well, it's only ten thirty so... not that much" he said confused and she giggled "Why?"

"Cause I want us both to remember this time" Angie hold the hem of her shirt, removing it with grace, Nikki made sure just to watch her bare and beautiful torso, she then pulled his shirt over his head. They were already sweaty from the previous make out session on the corridor, which just turned them on even more.

Nikki pulled her again for a kiss, calmer this time. Angie started to roll her hips, making sure to swallow every moan that escaped his lips. His big hands ran freely on her thighs, but the leather pants were getting on the way. "These need to come off, angel" and his next move was to push her to lay beneath him.

He started to unbutton her pants, pulling down her legs and throwing somewhere else and it was his time to roll his hips into hers again, she didn't moan but her nails dig deep in his arms. "Ya still 'ave yours on" she managed to say, even though she was almost begging him to fuck her brains out. He was quick to remove his pants, leaving them both only in their underwear.

Nikki's mouth worked fast, he was sucking on her left nipple while his fingers played with the other one. Angie's eyes were closed and she played with his hair. With a pop, he let go of her breast and looked up, admiring her expression, and it was quite the view.

"Fuck, Angel" Nikki breathed out and started to kiss down her stomach, his thumb rubbed her inner thighs causing her to shiver. "I want you to..." he sat up, still eyeing her "I want you to sit on my face, angel"

Angie gasped once he said that and also when his fingers touched her wetness through the fabric of her panties. They switched places, Nikki was laying with his head on a pillow and Angie's legs were on each side of him. "Are ya sure? I don't want to suffocate ya, Nikki"

"There's better way to die than this?" he teased her entrance again "Take it off already, Angela"

"Eager, aren't we, pretty boy?" She looped her fingers on the silky fabric and pulled down, tossing on his face. "I've never done this before, Sixx, so if ya die it's not my fault"

"Shut up and come here" she moved towards him, being careful not to pull his hair. His hand found her hips and pulled her down, making her moan so loud that he had to laugh Nikki kissed her slit and then her clit, Angie's back arched and she let out another moan, this time quieter. His tongue started licking every inch of her, he flicked her clit just to watch her melt and praise him name.

"Fuck, Sixx" she steadied herself and now her hips rolled on his mouth. Nikki could felt his boxers getting the best of him. Angie held his head up while grinding on his face, she was loving every second of that, the sounds Nikki made was driving her mad. Her eyes shot open, looking down, smirking to him while he ete her out.

"So pretty" he hummed, the vibrations sending shivers down her spine. Her stomach tightened and her legs involuntarily closed, only for Nikki hold her and spread her even more.

"HOLY FU... Nikki, I'm gonna cum" she screamed, holding on the couch for dear life. His tongue flicked her one more time and she held her breath.

"Then cum all over my face, babe" and then she did with a final scream. Nikki sucked every drop of it, causing her to flich for being so sensitive. "That was something" he said while pushing her off of him gently. Angie was a mess, a beautiful, hot, sweet mess. She was sitting on his thighs, taking her time to recover.

"Your turn, Sixter" her hand taunted him through his boxers, making him moan on her neck. She gave him a few strokes, painfully slow ones. "I'll be nice to ya this time, babe" she pulled his dick out, going a little faster now. Nikki kissed her neck, moaning softly.

Angie got up and pushed him back, spreading his legs so she could position herself in between. His expression made her laugh, he was staring with his mouth open, almost not believing what was happening. She licked his tip, earning a gasp, so she continued, now from the base to the tip. Nikki's hand took some strands of hair off her face, then he took a fist full of her colorful hair.

"I like you like this, with your mouth occupied" he whispered. Angie put half in her mouth and was about to suck him off when she looked him deadly in the eyes.

"Yeah, you're a real poet with your mouth shut as well, Sixx" and went back, now taking almost all of him at once. She began slowly, just to annoy him, but soon the urgency took over him and his hand entangled on her hair. His head fell on the couch, his mouth was open and she smirked again. Her hands helped a lot cause he was big, and he was loving the feeling of her mouth and tongue working so well to drive him over the edge. He was groaning loudly and his hips unsteady, she noticed, she bobbed her head faster, gagging when his tip hit her throat.

"Fuck, Angie" he breath out "So fucking good" she giggle and dug her nails on his thighs, sending him a wave of pleasure. Nikki hold her head in place, fucking himself on her mouth, soon releasing everything he had with a loud moan and a curse. Angie's eyes were watering, and his cum was dripping from the corners of her lips. "You don't have to swallow that" his index finger touched her chin and she opened her mouth, stuck her tongue out and drooled everything.

"We're gonna need a condom" she got up and walked to his bathroom, searching everywhere for a package. When she found one, she returned to the living room just to see Nikki walking up to her, pulling her by the hands and taking her to his bedroom. "We already messed up the couch, love, why messing your bed as well"

Nikki smirked "I wanna mess every room in this place as long as it's with you" he shushed her with a kiss. Her hands quickly took the condom out, giving it to him who in seconds put on his hardness. His fingers played with her wetness once more, before pushing her softly on the matress and straddling her without breaking the kiss. "Fucking soaked"

"Shut up and fuck me, mate" Angie commanded and Nikki squinted his hungry eyes at her. He teased her entrance, only to push himself in all at once, making her hiss. "Oh boy" she cried, wrapping her legs around him. He took that as a sign and started to move slowly. Angie's eyes were glued on his, full of lust and desire, Nikki wished she could look away or he wouldn't last long, but something deep in her soul called for him and he smiled a little.

"Ride me" he moaned and she nodded, switching with him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, they were so close now, their body, their scent, their sweat, their movement were just one now. Angie's fingers hovered his lips and he opened his mouth, sucking on the two digits and she smirked, trailing down to rub her clit with his spit. "Fuck, babe, you're so hot" he groaned. Their movements were getting sloppy, Angie's thighs muscles hurt, Nikki's back as well. "I'm gonna cum" they both said at the same time.

With a final bounce, Angie let out a shaky breath and Nikki moaned softly, they came together and then both collapsed on the bed. She giggled, making him smile as well, not sure why. "I'm definitely not mad at the boys anymore"

He got up and tossed her a cleaned shirt "Don't you dare burn this one. You can take a shower and clean yourself up" he laid back down, lighting another cigarette and eyeing her beautiful body and she stared back "What?"

"Nothing" she got up and went to the bathroom. "Ya can join me if ya want" she bit her lip, but he shook his head not looking in her direction. "Okay" she closed the door and turned on the shower. After three minutes, she got out, dried and using the shirt Nikki just handed her. "Can we share the bed? I don't wanna sleep alone on your couch" he got up and nodded, walking slowly towards the bathroom and closing the door.

"Oh, boy" she let out a sigh and laid down. Smelling Nikki's pillow, a mixture of his shampoo, sweat, cigarettes and well, Nikki. "Fuck me" she shook away the weird feeling of not wanting to go home, to stay here with him and be his girl. 'Thats never gonna 'appen, Angela, your way of life won't allow it, ya 'ave a band and a brother to go back to' she thought. 'Nikki Sixx it's not boyfriend material and your are definitely not girlfriend material, it'd be cheating and fighting all the time, hurt feelings and heartbreaks and you're too young for that shit'

Nikki got out and soon joined her, who was half asleep when he pulled the covers up, but she still managed to ask him softly "Who's Frankie?" Angie felt him tense up and he didn't answered, but that thing had stuck in her head since she heard earlier in the club.

"Frankie died just the other night

Some say it was suicide

But we know

How the story goes" she sang softly, trying to remember the right lyrics. "Did you wrote that? It's a beautiful song, sad but..."

"Yeah, I wrote. Frankie was just this kid I used to know" he stammered "But he's dead now, he's not important, you should go to sleep"

"Well, he must be, cause ya wrote a whole ass song for him" she turned to face Nikki, who's face was rigid. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry"

"Then shut up and go to sleep" he hissed coldly in her face, soon regretting his choices cause Angie just stared in shock "Fuck. He's dead, Angie and it's all you gonna know about it" he turned his back on her, still tensed up.

"Let's see then" she whispered, closing her eyes and immediately falling asleep.

...

Tag List: @floatautumnleaf @flizaa @triplehaitches @miss-ncthing @anon-1112 @tamedhearts @shamelessobsessions @langdonsdream @scarecrowmax @motherloovebone (sorry if I forgot anyone and please let me know if you want to be tagged)

#douglas booth #nikki sixx #angie dingley #oc character #terror #the dirt #motley crue

64 notes · View notes

the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog · 5 years

Text

Newsies’ Little Sister

Chapter 11 - Kiss Me

TW: Beating up, Swearing, Badly written ‘fluff’

Word Count: 2k

Genre: A bit of everything tbh

Emmeline's POV

"It...it what?" I couldn't believe what Elmer said. He...he...said that he loved me...Why would he love me? How could anyone love me? I'se just a stealin' street kid with scars and a dark past. I couldn't believe it.

"You...how could you love me?"

"Because I think you're amazin' and beautiful and brave and strong and smart." He looked deep into my eyes and squeezed my hand.

"I can barely spell my own name Elmer. I ain't smart." I whispered, withdrawing my hand from his and looked away from him again. I was so ashamed, but I wasn't sure why...

Elmer lifted his hand towards my face and I flinched slightly, but instead of doing what I thought he was gonna do, he gently turned my head to face his and tilted it up slightly.

"I don't care. I've loved ya since the moment I helped ya out of the docks. I wasn't able to stop thinking about ya, even when I didn't see ya for weeks."

"How could anyone love me? I'se just a lyin', thievin' street kid, with plenty of scars, a dark past and no clue of what to do..." As I said that, I realised that was the most true thing I'se said in months. I felt tears well up in my eyes. I willed them not to fall. 'Emmeline Meyers does not cry. Emmeline Meyers is strong.' I repeated that to myself until Elmer said,

"Please...just accept the fact that I love ya..."

I flicked my eyes back up to meet his and looked deep into his brown eyes, and for the first time I realised how beautiful they were. My breathing naturally fell into the same rhythm as his as our faces got closer. My eyes flicked all around his face, drawing imaginary lines on his cute freckles. I just looked at him and finally let myself say what I hadn't been able to say.

"I love ya Elmer. Kiss me." I breathed quietly. And with that, Elmer pressed his soft lips against mine and the world both exploded and melted away at the same time. All of my senses exploded at once and sparks flew. The air around us was electric. The sunset cast a golden glow over us, and that made out special moment even better. It was the closest I'se ever been to someone...And damn it felt nice...

I pulled back for air, and looked at him again. His face was flushed and I could only guess mine was too.

"Elmer...that was..." I couldn't even finish my sentence. Then the tears fell. I broke away from him quickly and wiped the tears away roughly. And once again, Elmer lifted his hand and turned my head towards him gently. I didn't flinch. He lowered my hands and wiped the rest of the tears away with his hand.

"Em...it's fine to cry...I love ya, and I don't care 'bout anything that ya might've done in the past."

Elmer's POV

"Em...it's fine to cry...I love ya, and I don't care 'bout anything that ya might've done in the past." I really meant it. I looked at her face, golden in the sunset. She turned her face out towards the city and took a deep breath in.

She then detached herself from my embrace, but still held my hand. I had a feeling that was the closest she's ever been with anyone...

We sat there in silence for a while. It wasn't an awkward silence...it was more of a nothing-needs-to-be-said kinda silence. The better kind of silence. The kind that was best left unbroken.

Jack's POV

There was a real awkward silence in the main living room, a few people had got up and gone to the dorm upstairs. Like Elmer and Henry and Tommy Boy. Everyone was still shaken up bad and the awkwardness was just gettin' worse and worse.

Then someone spoke.

"Jack." I lifted my head and found the voice, Mush, of course. "It's sunset. I'se going out to look for me sister. Davey? Ya comin'?" He turned to Davey and he nodded.

Elmer's POV

"Hey, Em?" She turned her head to me. "It's gettin' late, we should probably go back to the Lodging House." She nodded and we got up at the same time, still holding hands.

We began to work out a way back down to the street. On the way, Em asked something I didn't even think of!

"El,"

"Hmm?"

"Are we gonna tell anyone 'bout what happened up here, or just keep it to us?"

"We should probably keep it to ourselves for a while. Whatever ya wanna do." I answered a few seconds later.

"Ok. Cool." She half-smiled and we got back to the street.

Mush's POV

It was getting darker now and I wanted to go and make sure Em was alright. I broke the awkward silence of the Lodging House.

"Jack. It's sunset. I'se going out to look for me sister. Davey? Ya comin'?" I turned to him and he nodded. I needed to go out and find Em. I ain't losing her again...not only did I want to make sure she was safe, I needed to make sure she hadn't run into anyone dodgy, like the Delanceys. Judging by what happened an hour before, I figured this would be a good move.

Davey and I got up and went out of the Lodging House, followed by Romeo, Albert and Smalls. I guessed they wanted to make she was safe too. I got why they was all comin'. Romeo probably wanted to flirt with her, Smalls is the only girl in this place and probably wants another girl around here, and Albert...Albert was the one that brought me here. I was glad they came.

We got out into the street reasonably quickly, although gettin' down they steps was a bit tricksy. I was using one of Crutchie's spare crutches and I quickly realised how hard it was to go down steps or stairs!

We all decided we would split up, that way we could cover more ground faster; so Romeo went right, Albert went left, Smalls said she would check all of the cubby holes, hiding places and tunnels - she was practically raised on the streets and no one knows them better than her - then Davey and I went and checked around the back of the buildings and around the fire escapes.

Between us, we covered everywhere we could think of.

Elmer's POV

Because we were gong quite slow down to the street, it was gettin' darker faster, so we took the route down behind the lodging house that had the street lamps that actually worked, then went through a few small gaps and tunnels through and under walls.

While we made out way though a particular shortcut, the one that had quite jagged walls and surfaces. I heard her gasp quietly, she let go of my hand quickly and then I heard a thud.

A boy, a bit older than me, shoved me into the wall as he passed. He was goin' the same way as us, so he would've passed Em first, I guessed that was why she gasped. Be barely made a sound as he went past.

I turned back to her and saw her clasping her left hand with her right. Both of them were completely soaked with blood, and she was kneeling on the floor.

I knelt down in front of her, and took her left hand in mine to examine it. She didn't resist at all, which was progress! But not the right thing to think of, seeming as the cut she'd got was quite deep and had small bits of grit in it. I needed to get her back to the Lodging House to wash and bandage it up.

Then both our heard snapped towards the exit of the tunnel as we heard shouts.

"SMALLS?" One of the people shouting sounded like her. The other one...I didn't recognise that voice.

Whoever they were, they were gettin' their ass handed to them...

Mush's POV

After about 10 minutes of searching, I heard a shout from Smalls and Davey and I came running, or in my case hobbling, back to where she was. I figured Albert and Romeo must've gone further away.

As we got closer, we saw her soakin' a boy who looked twice her age and twice her height, but she still managed to kick his ass!

We got closer, but not too close because we didn't wanna get hit by accident. Instead, we went up onto the pavement - they were fighting in the middle of the road, luckily there ain't any cars around this area. We backed up against the buildin' and walked sideways to get outa their way. I fell backwards though a hole in the wall. It must be one of the tunnels she's so fond of!

I landed flat on my back and Davey helped me back up, me being careful of my ankle.

"Nick!" I heard Em's voice and before I managed to turn around to see her, she tackled me with a hug.

"Oh my god, are ya ok?" She asked. She lifted one of her hands and moved some hair out of my eyes and I saw it was covered in blood!

Wha---" I began, but I was cut off by Smalls yellin' after the buy she had beaten up.

"YEA YOU BETTA RUN!" She turned back to us and wiped some blood off her nose. "He won't be botherin' ya anymore!" She continued, smirking and walkin' back to us.

"Hey Smalls." Elmer came up behind Em, he had some blood on his hand, but not nearly as much as Em.

"Hey Mush, Davey. Would ya mind lookin' at Em's hand?" Davey nodded and took Em hand to gently have a look at it.

"What happened?" He asked.

"That stupid shit shoved me as we was makin' our way though the tunnel. I tripped and cut my hand." Davey nodded.

"And where have ya been all this time!?" I asked her, a little frustrated.

"I was up on the roofs and Elmer came up and joined me, to make sure everythin' was alright." I turned my head to look at him and we shared a knowing smile.

"Riiiiight..." Smalls drew out the word sarcastically. "To make sure everythin' was, quote unquote, alright..." She let out a quick, quiet laugh and said to herself, "I can't wait to tell the boys this!"

Elmer shot her a look, but she just shrugged innocently. I like her, she's badass and can hold her own! I thought. It'll be nice to have another girl to talk to.

Elmer's POV

"Well, when we get back to the Lodging House, we'll have to wash it and bandage it up, to make sure it doesn't get infected." Davey said after a minute or two.

So we set off back down the street with Smalls, Mush and Davey. Once we got a bit closer, we saw Romeo and Albert, waitin' there in front of the Lodgin' House.

"Where'd you go!? We couldn't find ya!?" Romeo exclaimed.

"Yea, we though ya'd been jumped or somethin'!" Albert said after him.

"Nah we's fine." Smalls replied, wiping her nose that just wouldn't stop bleedin'.

"C'mon...let's just get inside. The boys are probably waitin' for us." Mush said, I could tell he was quite tired and in pain and just wanted to sleep! Ro, Al, Davey, Mush and Smalls all went back up the steps and into the Lodgin' House.

Em and I followed. We got half way up the steps and I stopped. She stopped next to me.

"Hey Em, remember when I said you'se smart and ya didn't believe me?"

"Yea...What 'bout it?"

"Street smarts." And with that, she laughed, we climbed up the last few steps, went into the Lodgin' House and closed the door behind us.

#ginger writes #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsies little sister #elmer newsies #newsies elmer #mush newsies #newsies #newsies mush #Davey newsies #newsies davey #jack newsies #newsies jack #smalls newsies #newsies smalls

7 notes · View notes

brattywriters-anonymous · 5 years

Text

I Dedicate.. II

Luke James x Reader story

A/N: This fic is heavily influenced by Love Jones (placed in an alternate universe, where the ‘movie’ didn’t exist but the ‘characters’ do. I’m straying away from Erik on this one, Hope ya’ll like it. Feedback would be appreciated. Yes, I wrote both poems. I’m a writer, in all meanings of the word.

@chaneajoyyy I woke up around 8AM on a Sunday, the next morning. My head was ringing looking at the light shining through my semi open blinds. I'm definitely in no shape to go to church. Besides, I just moved to Atlanta last week and I don't even know which church to go to. There's literally one every quarter mile from another. I'll figure that out on another Sunday.

My phone starts buzzing, It's from a New York number that wasn't saved in my new phone. It could only be one person. My ex, Brendan. My ex fiancee, that is. We were together for about four years, engaged for two when he told me that he thought we weren't right for each other last month. I took his rejection hard. I drank myself into a downward spiral and knew I needed to leave my comfort zone to get out of it. I called my girl Stassi up, she took the first plane smokin' to scoop me up out of my depression and out of New York. I pressed ignore and roll back over to attempt to go back to sleep.

My phone starts buzzing, again. "Ugh. This better be my parents or God himself telling me to go to church!" I pick up the phone to see Stassi's name blinking, "Hello?" "Bitch, you hungover?" "Yes, Nastassia. I am. Obviously, you're not! What do you want?" "I wanna know, you gon call that walking Godiva God that serenaded you last night?" I grunt, "Ugh! Stass, I don't know! Can I get over my hangover first?" I heard knocks at the door, "Stass, don't tell me you're at my door." the knocks continue, "I don't know Y/N, open the door and find out!" I roll out of bed and kick a box out of my way to the front door. I open it to find my best friend with an ounce of weed in one hand and groceries in another, "I came barring gifts!" -- My apartment turned into a smokehouse. I was barely able to see my patio door from my couch. Stassi got me high as fuck. My hangover was long gone thanks to the sativa and my bestie's famous bloody Mary recipe.

"Girl, I am not ready to work with these uppity white folks tomorrow." Stassia groaned while she took a drag. "Mhm. Same, sis. Same." "Girl, give that man a call. You know Z is poppin' on Sundays?" I roll my eyes, "Damn, Stass! You killin' my buzz! I'm trying to calm my nerves and you getting on them."She hopped up and got in my personal space, "You're either gonna call his fine ass or see him tonight at Z. I'm not taking 'neither' for an answer." I smashed my pillow over my head, avoiding her extreme gaze."ALRIGHT! DAMN. GET OUT MY FACE!" -- My best friend dressed me tonight (black). She claims I'm gonna call out to Luke with this dress even if I wasn't gonna call his ass on the phone. She told me that Sundays were strictly poetry and jazz nights. "You lit yet?" I look at the clock and shake my head. It's about 8:30 and Stassi got me set up to catch Pneumonia with what I got on and these open toed shoes. If I call in tomorrow, she's gonna do my work for me.

She rolls me two more joints, "We'll smoke one now, then smoke the other one when we get there. Here. Stuff it in your bra.. well, your bra area since you out in these streets with no bra or panties." She chuckles at her little jab. I let that one slide as I concealed the joint. --

"Hello, Hello! Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to welcome you all to Z. I am owner and operator, Zanobia Weber." Snaps filled the entire space as we marveled at the beautiful boss lady running the establishment. She's about 5'9", light caramel tone, she has beautiful hazel eyes with a contagious smile. She wore this bright metallic dress that accentuated her curves up top as it flowed to her feet. I didn't remember seeing her last night. Maybe she was somewhere I wasn't looking or something.

"As you all know here on Sundays, we highlight our poets talents. We also welcome any newcomers to step up and share their stories through their words. So if anyone else that isn't on the lineup tonight wants to perform their poetry, please let my fiancee, Zion, know." She pointed over to the right side of the stage to the sign up table, her fiancee was the guy who hosted last night with the soothing deep voice. "Alright, now that we got that out of the way, I wanna welcome our regular back to the stage! Please show love to Melanie Naomi." Stassi and I snap in applause as the poet approached the stage. She wore an all black ensemble, black boots, jeans, turtleneck, beret, and matched that with a dark plum lipstick.

My love for him was unconditional.His for me was somehow circumstantial.

Connecting when the timing was convenient for him.

Displaying his emotions for me on his own accord.

When I came to the realization that I need more

His distance became more distant

My means of communication, he'd ignore.Here I am frustrated with my pin and pad

fighting tears on my bathroom floor

When he's so closed off, I'm supposed to keep an open door?

Fuck that.I put in time

I put in work

Just for him to show his ass

To remind me that he was never mine.

His lack of response to my insecurities draw that line,

between what's wanted and whats real.

I look to the heavens for a sign

I grasp that his silence is one.

Tears fall one by one.

I mourn everything that could've been,

I mourn us.

I mourn the loss of trust.

I mourn what could've been me & him.

I mourn us.

Listening to Melanie's words made me reminisce on my relationship with Brendan. The first two years he was everything I could've asked for in a partner. After we got engaged it was like he totally withdrew from the relationship. I was planning a wedding completely on my own and spending all of my free time alone too. Her pain spoke to mine. By the time she finished her poem, I found tears falling down my face. "Y/N, you okay?" I'm startled to hear Luke's voice over Stassi's shoulder.

He found a chair and sat it next to mine, the back towards the table and straddled the seat. He awaited my answer as I was wiping my tears, "Yeah. I'm fine." "You sure about that?" I nodded. He trailed his index finger down my right cheek, "Hi." I giggled at his awkward introduction, "Hi. How are you?" He grinned, "I'm great now. I almost thought I'd never see you again Y/N." "Why was that?" I leaned my face sideways against my hand. "I dunno. Last night seemed too good to be true, I guess." I turned my attention to the stage so he couldn't see me beaming and blushing. "You didn't call me though." I bit my lip to hide my smile as I turned back to him, "I'm here though, ain't I?" He closed in and whispered in my ear, "You biting that lip is gonna get you in trouble, girl." I shook my head and whispered back into his, "I bet it's not." He scaled back as he had a skeptical look on his face, I shrugged and turned back to the stage where Zanobia came back to the stage,

"Alright fam, we got a newcomer hopping on the stage tonight. She hails all the way from England! Give your love to Miss June Riesling." Snaps filled the room as Stassi winked at me, I shrugged at her in confusion, she then makes the smoking motion, I pull the two joints out of my bosom. Luke exclaimed, "Damn, so it's like that? Ya'll just gon blow it down?" I looked around at people burning blunts and joints without any objection from Zanobia or Zion and nodded at him, "Yup." He dug in his pockets and pulled out three joints to match our two, "Well, I did say I wanted to smoke witchu."

The smoke session was like a never ending carousel of joints being passed between the three of us. Every time I passed one to Stass, Luke would pass one to me. We watched three performers recite their poetry before we were down to the last one. Luke passed the unlit joint to me, "You do the honors baby." Stassi threw her hands up, "I'm done, ya'll got it. I'm about to step outside and catch some fresh air." She dismissed herself as I lit it. I let the smoke float up to my nose do french inhale, Luke narrowed his eyes at me.

"You lookin' hella good tonight. You always dress this nice?" I grunted into a giggle, "Nah. I don't." He disagreed, "You two for two Y/N. I doubt that." I took another hit and he continued, "Unless..you wore this for me tonight." We starred at each other for a spell, I motioned the joint to him, he rejected, "Nah, that's all you." I ashed it and took another hit, he asked again, "So you just gon' ignore me?" I answered, "No Luke. I'm not. What if I told you I did..wear this for you." He looked over his shoulder then scooted the chair he was sitting in as close to me as he could get it. I briefly jumped up as I felt his large hand touch my knee, he mumbled in my ear, "May I?" The exhale he took after his question sent a chill down my body. I took a long drag, we sat eye to eye. He then put his lips close to mine, "Exhale." My lips made a small 'o' shape as I blew out the smoke, he matched his lips to mine and inhaled the smoke.

I let out the slightest whimper and bit down on my lip to silence myself. He went back to my ear, "I told you baby, that shit is gon’ get your ass in trouble." His hand traveled from my knee up to the middle of my inner thigh. He swayed his fingers back and forth stopping at that same spot, I tried keeping my composure using the joint to concentrate from his distracting hand. The more he was moving it back up the more turned on I was getting. I cleared my throat before taking another long drag, he used his other hand to make a 'come here' motion. I made the same 'o' shape with my lips, he shook his head, "Nah. I wanna try this.." He placed his lips on mine and forcefully tapped his other hand that was on my thigh. I subconsciously moved my lips as I moaned into his. He took that as an invite as the shotgun became a full on kiss.

His lips were so soft, the kiss was just the same. He wasn't too forceful yet he established his domination as his lips took mine in. He kept the same back and forth pattern underneath the table with his hand as he took his free hand to caress my face. I put the joint in the ashtray sitting in the center of the table and grasped on to his buttoned shirt, never breaking our kiss. He gripped my thigh as soon as I tugged his shirt. We both groaned at each other's motions.

"Daaaaammmn! I was only gone for like ten minutes and ya'll all over each other? Ya'll wanna get a room? You got an audience." Stassia's sarcastic tone breaks our contact completely, He placed his forehead on mine as I deeply exhaled, "Uhm... Things got a little carried away." We looked behind Luke to see a couple starring at us. They looked to be in their late thirties, maybe mid forties at the oldest. You know black don't crack. Luke gave the man a nod, they waved, "Don't mind us, we just having a uh..nostalgic moment." The man laughed at his mate, "You just remind us of how we were. We met at a place like this in Chicago twenty years ago." I asked, "Oh, really? You two do poetry or music?" She responded, "My husband is a writer, I write in my free time. I actually am a photographer." I nod, "That's cool. I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you." She smiled, "Nina Lovehall." The man interjected, "I'm her husband, Darius Lovehall." I gasped,

"THEE Darius Lovehall?! OMG I love your book!" I fanned out as he bowed in humility, "Thank you Miss Y/N. I appreciate it. I actually wrote it for her. The year it was published was a year after we met." I put my hand to my chest, "That's beautiful." "So how long ya'll been together?" Nina questioned us, we looked at each other and laughed, Luke retorted, "Actually Mrs. Lovehall, we just met yesterday." Mr. and Mrs. Lovehall looked at each other again and laughed, "This is like Deja Vu, man. This is trippy as fuck." Darius leaned back in his chair in awe, Luke and I looked at each other in confusion.

"Oh, man.. I'm sorry, I'm not tryna scare ya'll or nothin'.. I'm just sayin', when I met my wife..things got heavy, fast. Real fast." He kissed her on the cheek. She agreed, "Yeah. That it did." I was curious, "So was that a bad thing?" They shook their heads, "Not really. Sometimes the pace you need to go in is a little faster than you anticipated to get the love you're supposed to have." Nina's words stuck to me as Zanobia approached the stage again, "Fam let's welcome an audience favorite to the stage, from New Orleans, Louisiana; Mister Luke James." The audience snap for the man sitting in front of me. He held my hands, "I'll be right back." I nodded as he planted a kiss on my temple. -- The man I was just locking lips with less than five minutes ago hopped on the stage and became the center of attention as he announced, "I wrote this last night, awaiting a call that I never received. I call this, 'Calling out for you.' He took steps to the band without the mic so we couldn't hear what direction he was giving them on what to play.

All of a sudden, my favorite six key melody graced my ears from the piano. He requested Duke Ellington and John Coltrane's In a Sentimental Mood. I heard gasps from The Lovehall's table, "Deja Vu!" Darius yells out, again. Luke began,

"I'm sorry, I kept playing this over and over again until I finally fell asleep, so.. I figured it only be right. Yo, Milton..bring that back man."

The band started from the top as he cleared his throat.

That beautiful face that couldn't escape my mind

no matter how much I try to evade.I don't wanna wait

but...I gotta.

You see, I'm willing to wait a million moons.

I'm willing to travel any distance, just to see her face again.

Just to see those beautiful thighs clasp at my voice.

Just to hear her soprano make strides to my ears.

Just to hear her say my name.

Even if it's through a phone.

I want her presence.

I no longer want to be alone.

I'm willing to wait

All night if I gotta.

I'm up late wondering what I've been doing without her.

3 AM. Damn I should've got her number.

I didn't want to pressure.

If I get her I want to treat her like my personal treasure.

I found this a thousand leagues under the sea, this was not just another fish.

She was a shooting star among a sky full of stilled.

Before the tempo could pick up, the song then switched over to Blue in Green by Miles Davis as Luke continued his ode, looking directly at me. Much as he did when he sang his song the night before.

As the clock ticks my phone still hasn't rang

My wish still goes unfulfilled.

But I'm strong willed.

This enigma of a woman, I'm calling out to you.

More-so like my body is..

I just hope you share a similar view.

You're not just something unfamiliar

or brand new.

Your aura exuberates through my mental as you inspire this

You're not someone I can just see through.

Maybe mine had been preparing for this moment, possibly my soul already just..knew.

You've been the person invading my mind before I ever had a vision, a face, or a name.

I'm calling out to you.

And tonight,I hope you can do the same.

Thank you.

The crowd's generous amount of snaps had been the loudest they were the entire night, I was floored. I can't believed he felt all of this because I wouldn't call him. Truthfully, I didn't call because I was too prideful. I didn't want to give any of myself up to him too quickly. Too willingly. I wanted him to work for me. And me calling him last night wouldn't have warranted for that. At least so I thought. He shuffled back over to his seat next to mine, "So, what did you think?" He found my hand and kissed it, everyone trailed his movements to see where he was seated, as soon as they witnessed the gesture everyone let out a synchronized, "Awww!"

-- The night came to an early end at 11PM, Stass and I had to get to work promptly at 8:30, meaning we had to leave our houses an hour early to make it there on time. Her Uber was already outside so it was time to head out. We stood up as I put on my coat, Luke reminded me, "Y/N, you never gave me my coat back from last night." I snapped my fingers, "You're absolutely right, I'll have to return that to you." He nodded, "So that means you have to call me and let me know when you can return it." I turned back to him, "Yeah, I guess that's what that means."

Luke walked me outside as I had to wait ten minutes for my Uber. I confessed, "A Sentimental Mood is one of my favorite jazz cuts." He smiled then hung his head, "Mine too. Along with Blue in Green." I tilted his head up for his eyes to meet mine, "I see. Are you gonna keep dedicating these lustful pieces of art for me until I call you?" His stare became serious, "Is there a problem?" He wrapped his arms around me and I leaned closer to him in response, "Not at all, but if that's all you want.. I'm not the girl for you." He goes in, as I'm thinking he's gonna kiss me again, he kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, "I never said that's all I want baby."

My thighs rubbed against one another by pure reaction, "Hmm.. If you say so." He leans back in his original space, "If you let me take you out, I can show you exactly what I want." We're looking at one another peering into one another's eyes, "I don't know about that." He objects, "Look, it's no pressure. We're two grown adults. I'm just trying to show you a good time. I know you haven't been here long--" "Wait, how you know that?" "Girl, you sound like you fresh outta New York. Like you ready to hop inna 50 Cent video!" Luke stepped back doing a shitty rendition of the Harlem shake. I scoffed at his accusation, "First of all, nigga, I'm from the Bronx. Second of all, I've been here for about a month now. I've only been here as far as going out goes." He gasped, "Oh nah baby, you haven't even enjoyed Atlanta! I'd love to give you a tour." I placed my index finger on my chin, pretending to think about his proposal.

"How about this, when I call you to get your coat, I'll let you know my answer." He wrapped his arms around me again, "Okay, you have a deal Ms. Y/L/N." My phone dinged, indicating that my Uber had arrived. The navy Nissan Altima approached us and came to a complete stop. I tried to break away from Luke, but his grip became tighter, "Promise you won't keep me waiting too long?" I nodded once, hoping he didn't notice. The grin on his face acknowledged that he did. He took my chin into his hand pulling my face up to meet his. We indulged in a goodnight kiss, similar to the kiss we shared inside. Softly placing our lips on one another.

I broke our embrace, "Goodnight Mr. Boyd." He retorted, "Goodnight to you. Sweet dreams, beautiful." He opened the car's back passenger door as I hopped in the car. He closed it leaving his hand on the window. I placed my fingertips on the other side where his palm lied as the driver rolled off to my destination.

#Luke James Fanfic #Luke James Fanfiction #Luke James Fandom #Luke James Imagine #luke james imagines #luke james x reader

27 notes · View notes

crashdevlin · 6 years

Text

To Hell and Back 2- Assignment

To Hell and Back Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version). This is an AU of my story ‘Marion’ and is just as epic as that series.

Summary: Marion goes on a mission for her boss.

Pairing(s): Crowley x Marion-ish

Word Count: 3148

Chapter Warnings: smoking, Dean’s isn’t the best brother, angst, mentions of child abuse, demon deals

Marion put the key in the door and shuffled into the motel room, dropping the bag at the end of the bed and heading for the bathroom as she always did when she first entered a motel room. She'd insisted on being given her own room when she was 17. It was partly for safety, since the monsters always seemed to find John and the boys' room, and partly for feminine privacy, and partly for him.

"What do you want, Crowley?" She asked, walking out of the bathroom and dropping to the bed.

"Whatever happened to your manners? I know I taught you better than that." A deep, gravelly accent came from the chair next to the television.

"Yeah, but then my daddy came in and fucked it all up." She pulled the knot out of her bootlaces and toed her boots off. "The question hasn't changed, Crowley."

"You know, it's days like this I regret pulling you outta the way of that Chevy." He said, standing and adjusting his suit jacket.

"Yeah." Marion threw her boots at the corner of the room and turned her eyes on the demon. "But then you remember that you came here for a reason and you give me my damn assignment."

Crowley handed her a small piece of paper. "Name's Devon McIntyre. He sold it fer money, so you can do this one without the guilt."

"Fine." She snatched the paper and pocketed it. "You can go, now."

"You know, there was a time when you enjoyed my company. What happened?"

She looked away from him. "I figured out who you really are and what you do to the people I mark."

"They do it to themselves. They know what they're signing up for." He tried to catch her eyes, but she just let her dyed brunette hair hang in a protective curtain in front of her face, so he just rolled his eyes. "I have never lied to anyone about what Hell has in store for them. And I told you what I was back when you were too young and dumb to hate me for it."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and glared at him. "I'm a hunter, you ass! A demon killed my mother!"

"And a demon saved you!" Crowley shouted. "So many times that I would be bisected if the boys downstairs knew about it." He stepped forward. "I pulled you out of the path of that truck when you were four. I ripped the head off that vampire when you were twelve. I'm the one who risked my entire reputation to claim a damn hunter's daughter so that no other demons would lay a bloody pinkie on you, and I tried to convince you to back off when you insisted on helping me when you were sixteen."

He gave a huffing breath. "You wanna back out now? Sorry, it doesn't work that way, Lilith has you on contract sealed with a sodding kiss and as long as she's around, you work for us! Not my fault, you moody little-" Crowley took a deep breath and sighed, letting his anger go. "Just go mark the wealthy little arsehole so my dogs can find him."

Marion nodded, looking away again. "We're on a hunt. It may be a few days." She pulled the paper out of her pocket and set it on the side table.

If she'd been looking at him she would've seen him open his mouth like he'd wanted to say something else, but he just nodded and disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marion was halfway through her fourth cigarette in a chain when her phone went off. She grabbed it off the side table and flipped it open. "It's a ghost." Dean gave no greeting. "A woman named Constance Welch threw herself off the bridge where we stopped earlier. We're gonna head down there, later, see if we can draw her out."

"Okay. Lemme know how it goes. How you lookin' for salt rounds?"

"We're good." There was a moment of silence. "You want in on this?" His tone told her he wanted her to say 'no'.

"No. You get to gank ghosts with me all the time. Spend some time with Sammy. Who knows when you'll have an opportunity for Sam bonding again?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. We'll call."

"Right." Marion said, disbelieving as she flipped her phone closed. She ran her hand down her face and sighed, pulling her bag off the ground and dropping it to the bed. She pulled out her slinky red dress and her strappy black heels from the very bottom of her duffel and slipped them onto her body. After pulling her hair into a messy up-do and pasting her face with bright red lipstick and brown eye shadow, she walked out of her motel room and headed to a luxury car with a demon in the driver's seat. The door opened without being touched and she slipped into the back next to Crowley, whose eyes slid down her profile without hesitation. "If you mention how well I fill out this dress, I will stab you in the eye with my branding iron." She didn't look his way as she spoke, but noticed his acceptance of her terms.

He nodded and signaled for the driver to head toward their destination. The Lincoln was silent through the entire ride, Marion biting the inside of her lip and thinking back to simpler times as they drove. When they pulled up in front of the mansion, she easily slipped out and up to the door and rang the bell. She smiled for the camera near the buzzer. "Who are you?" A voice came through the speaker.

"I'm a gift... from Mr. Crowley." She responded, sweetly, but inside she was grimacing at the sentence.

The door opened, just slightly, to reveal an attractive, well-dressed brunette man, eyeing her warily. "Crowley?"

"Mr. Crowley would like me to remind you that he kept his end of the deal. He made you wealthy and thus appealing to women. May I?" She pushed past him into the mansion, across the lines of the Devil's Trap painted on the floor by the door. "Mr. Crowley would also like me to tell you that he's aware that you are planning to run from him, that you think you can use the resources he awarded you to hide from him. He wants me to tell you that he didn't get to be King of the Crossroads by letting greedy little pissants squirm out of their contracts, and you won't be the first, or last, to try." She said, before grabbing his shirt and jabbing her branding iron into his left bicep. She let him go and stepped back to allow him to examine the burn mark.

"What the fuck was that?!"

“A homing beacon for Crowley’s hounds. No matter where you run, they’ll find you. Thanks for playing.” She said, starting to go. Devon grabbed her hand and tried to pull her back. She twisted, ax-kicked him in the head and grabbed his throat. “You have a week, you miserable prick. You have a week to do something worthwhile. Do not make me cut out all that potential by killing you early.” She threatened, tossing him to the ground and walking out of the Devil’s Trap on the way out.

“You aren’t a demon?”

“No. But I’m sure he’ll turn me into one, eventually.” She said, before shutting the door on him.

“You know that’s not going to happen.” Crowley said, opening the car door for her.

“What?”

“That’s not your deal. You didn’t sign away your soul, you signed away your work. Just like a real job, it only seems like it’s crushing your soul.” Crowley said, as the car pulled away from the mansion.

“I’m helping demons, Crowley. Helping you damn souls to unbelievable torment. That doesn’t sound like something that’s gonna get me into Heaven.”

“Well, there’s always the Void.”

“Yeah. Being a ghost. That sounds peachy.” She said, sarcastically.

“Look, you knew. You asked for this. I begged you not to kiss me, but you thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I was sixteen!” She exclaimed. “I just wanted my father to stop hitting me.”

“And it worked, right? He hasn’t hit you in a decade.” Crowley reasoned, trying to block out the thought that he’d have already taken her to Hell, if she’d signed a normal contract.

“It doesn’t change it, Crowley. It doesn’t change the fact that I traded my well-being for… this. I thought I knew what I was doing and I thought I was grown enough to make that decision, but I wasn’t.”

There was silence in the car for half an hour as she looked out the window. “Well, if you do end up in Hell, Marion, I’ll make sure they go easy on you. That’s the best I got. See you next time.” Crowley said as they pulled into the motel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley stared out the window of his mansion, lost in thought. He knew what was being planned for the Winchesters, what Lilith and Azazel were going to do to bring Lucifer home. He felt almost bad for Marion. He'd known her since she was a wee thing and if there were a Winchester who deserved to be kept out of all the bullshit Hell had planned, it was Marion.

Sometimes he really did think he should have let her die when she was four. That way she never would have had to deal with Mary Winchester's death or the way John dealt with the pain of her demise. She never would have had to deal with demons and monsters, she never would have had to deal with Crowley, himself. Life would've been much sweeter for his Marion if she'd just died at four years old.

Crowley grimaced at the term. His Marion. It seemed like it might be an endearment, but it was the truth. She signed herself over to him, kissed her life away. He could keep her like a slave, but he chose not to. Ungrateful cunt.

He turned to demon lounging on his couch, wearing a short, well-dressed blonde lawyer as a vessel. "You. Go change your meat suit. I've got some tensions I need to relieve."

"Anything in particular, sir?"

Crowley sighed. "Tall, tan, bottle brunette, green eyes, and leather. Go more Roadhouse and less Mistress with it."

She smiled. "Yes sir." It took her half an hour to reappear, in a vessel that almost matched his request. "I could only find a blue-eyed one."

"It'll have to do." Crowley growled, twisting a hand into her hair and crashing his mouth into hers.

Two hours later, he looked down at the surrogate he'd taken his frustrations out on. Covered in bruises, bleeding cuts and cum, he could almost imagine this biker chick in her forties was Marion. The illusion was broken as soon as he thought about it, though, so he rolled away from her and snapped to replace his clothing. "Get your old meat suit back. She's good fer business. But... keep track of this one."

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marion was pulling her boots on the next morning when a knock came to her motel room door. She opened it and smiled tightly at Dean. "Dad had a room here, too. Figured out we're dealing with a Woman in White. He hasn't been here in a few days. You hungry?"

"Yeah, actually." She grabbed her black fleece jacket and walking out the door with him. She noticed the police presence right before Dean did. He looked over, saw the police car parked by the clerk's office who was talking to the deputies. When the clerk pointed at Dean and Marion, Dean pulled out his cell, calling Sam as the deputies started to approach them.

"Dude, five-oh. Take off." There was a second of silence. "Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad." Dean flipped the phone closed and turned to the deputies with a grin. "Problem, officers?"

"Did we do something?" Marion asked, innocently.

"Where's your partner?" The deputy asked, ignoring Marion.

"Partner? What, what partner?” Dean asked. Marion put on her best clueless face.

Deputy Jaffe, according to his name tag, glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumb towards the motel room. Deputy Hein headed over there. Dean fidgeted. “So, fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that’s real?” Jaffe asked.

“My boobs.” Dean replied, with a smirk.

Marion rolled her eyes and put her hands behind her head as the cop slammed Dean into the hood. “The best thing you can do, stud, is keep your mouth closed. You obviously need a refresher on your ‘right to remain silent’.”

“Like I’m gonna take legal advice from a prostitute.” Dean snapped, thankfully catching on to her train of thought.

The cop turned her around and examined her. He seemed a bit skeptical about her status as a working girl. The jeans, boots and fleece jacket weren’t exactly street-walker clothes. “You don’t know each other?”

“Look, ask the clerk. Paid in cash. I was just looking for a place to bed down. I work from home… even when I don’t have a home, if you get my drift. I’m not saying I’m a sex worker, but… I’ve never met this guy before this morning. He was gonna buy me breakfast and we were gonna head back to my room.”

The deputy looked between the two of them, then pulled her handcuffs off. “It’s your lucky day. This guy is a much bigger fish than you. But if I find you soliciting in my town again, I’ll personally escort you downtown.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She said. She leaned over next to Dean, who was bent over the back of the cop car. “Better luck next time, handsome.” She whispered before walking off toward her room. Sam was sitting on her bed.

“How’d you manage?” He asked.

“I convinced them I was a whore. They let me go because they didn’t have any proof that I know Dean. This is one time I’m glad I stayed in the car.” She said, grabbing her bag off the floor and rifling through it. “So, where to?”

“Uh, Joseph Welch. He’s the husband of the woman in white. That’s where Dad would’ve gone.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for in here.” She threw her hands up and headed toward the window. She watched as the police car pulled away with Dean in the back. She pulled Dean’s keys out of her jacket pocket and nodded toward Sam.

“When did he hand over his keys?” Sam asked.

“I picked them off him when I said goodbye.” She said, heading out the door and into the parking lot.

Marion tossed the keys at Sam. “If I move the seat forward, Dean will kill me.” She said, getting in on the passenger side.

“You… you got really good at this stuff.” Sam said, sliding in behind the steering wheel.

“I was never bad at it, Sammy. I just didn’t have a lot of opportunity to show my skill, when you were around.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam pulled into the driveway of a house with an overgrown yard. Marion got out and walked up to the door in front of Sam. She knocked with a closed fist. An older man opened and looked out at them. “Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” Sam spoke up.

“Yeah.” Joseph responded, walking out of his doorway and shutting the door behind him.

“Hi. We just need to ask you a few questions.” Marion said, with a smile.

“Have you seen this man?” Sam asked, handing Joseph a picture of John and the 2 boys. Marion, of course, was not in the picture.

“Yeah. He was a little older, but that’s him.” Joseph said, handing the photo back to Sam. “He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re all working on a story together.” Sam replied, as they walked into the junk that was Joseph Welch’s front yard.

“Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda story you’re working on. The questions he asked me?”

“About your wife Constance?” Marion asked.

“He asked me where she was buried.”

"And where is that again?" Sam leaned over the shorter man as he spoke.

“What, I gotta go through this twice?”

“It’s fact-checking. If you don’t mind.” Marion said.

“In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” Joseph answered.

“And, why did you move?” Sam asked.

“I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.” Joseph responded.

Sam and Marion stopped walking. Joseph followed suit. “Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?” Sam asked.

“No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So, you had a happy marriage?”

Joseph hesitated before responding. Bingo. “Definitely.”

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” Sam said with a smile. Marion stood her ground while Joseph and Sam started walking in their separate directions. Sam waited a moment, then look back at Joseph. “Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?”

Joseph turned back around. “A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes ’Weeping Woman’?” Marion said. The man just stared.

“It’s a ghost story. Well, it’s more of a phenomenon, really.” Sam started to walk back to the man. “Um, they’re spirits. They’ve been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places. In Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women.” Sam stopped in front of Joseph Welch. “You understand. But all share the same story.”

“I don’t care much for nonsense.” Joseph said, starting to head toward his house again.

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.” Sam seemed to hit the right button because Joseph turned around. “Then, once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So, now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.”

“You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!”

“You tell us.”

“I mean, maybe... maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!” Joseph’s face shook in anger and grief, then he turned away. Marion and Sam walked back to the Impala.

“Guess you got pretty good at this stuff, too.” Marion said.

“Thanks. Now, let’s spring the idiot and we can burn Constance’s bones and get back to Paolo Alto.” Sam said, pulling out his cell phone.

Supernatural Tag- @letsby

#spn #spn fanfic #sister winchester #epic fic #crowley/ofc

10 notes · View notes

thekrazykeke · 6 years

Photo

This is so much fun, I swear before Jesus! As a big family person myself, writing about the reader’s family is cathartic. Mainly because families spill the tea in my stories more than the main character ever will 😙🤣

Boop.

It’s easy to get caught up with Erik, to be swept up in his energy. Although you’d tried to maintain a ‘slow and steady wins the race’ mentality when you’d agreed to be his girl, somehow, someway, the two of y’all just dived headfirst into a relationship.

More often than not, you ended up staying the night over at his crib and you didn’t always use the excuse of wanting to play video games to go see him. He surprised you by how affectionate and touchy-feely he is, though you tried to get used to it and reciprocate in kind, you had been on your own for a good stretch and some habits are hard to break. It didn’t irritate him (so much) anymore and he even took it with good grace, seeming to make it his mission to wrap an arm around your waist that more often, kiss the back of your neck, or pull you into his lap, etc.

Nadia noticed the change in y’all dynamic and while she said that she approved, there was the feeling that she was distancing herself from you, which hurt, if you were being honest, since the two of y’all had hit it off instantly and been flatmates for over two years.

However, you weren’t the type to beg anyone to be friends with you if they didn’t want to.

The independent streak that your mother had nurtured in you your whole life wasn’t disappearing anytime soon, if at all, and occasionally, it clashed with Erik’s habit of spoiling you with too much of, well, just about everything: clothes, shoes, hair, nails, etc. Hell, he had paid off your portion of the rent for six months (you’d managed to talk him out of paying off the entire year just barely). While you would like to say that you were happy, and most of the time you truly are, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Girl, you stupid.” Breanna, your older cousin, stated bluntly. “This nigga is payin’ bills, showering you with gifts, and, wait, is the dick good?”

You swirled the spoon in the bowl of ice cream, unable to meet her eyes. “So good.”

“Did you hit ya head or somethin’? I should walk out of this cafe right now. You called me alllllll the way out here with a SOS text message and I’m thinkin’ it’s a serious situation.” Giving you the stink eye, she stabbed her slice of pie viciously. “Bitch, you is living the dream.”

“It is a serious situation.” Ignoring her ‘girl, stop it!’ look, you purse your lips, “Like, I don’t know where he works, what he does for a living. He told me a little bit about his childhood, but...”

“Y/N, baby cousin, I love you like a sister, and because I care about you so much, I’m going to say something that might hurt your feelings.” Breanna comments, putting down her fork.

“Oh, damn. Lay it on me then, cuz.”

“Your current boo is not your stank ass ex, Mitchell. Girl, you need to celebrate, apparently yo pussy so good, you got a hotep willing to be a househusband. I mean, damn. Give me lessons!” Expressively, she gesticulated as her voice gained an octave. Customers glanced in y’all direction and you laughed nervously before glaring at her. “Sorry, sorry.” Breanna apologized, tone lowering again. “Does he know about Mitchell?”

“Can we change the subject from that whack ass nigga?” You complain.

Mitchell Sanders had been your high school sweetheart and the two of y’all had dated a year and a half through college. During the final year of your relationship, he had been increasingly short tempered and critical of everything about you. While you were young, dumb and in love, you weren’t too sprung that you didn’t love your melanin skin and his passive-aggressive, caustic comments about ‘if you were a little lighter...’ only frustrated and depressed you enough to eventually dump his ass. Not even two months later, he started dating Cassandra Wynters, a preppy white soccer player. Last you’d heard about the happy couple, they’d been racing for the nearest courthouse as she was pregnant.

“No, because that nigga got yo silly-dilly ass thinkin’ that yo future baby daddy is a no good asshole wit a white girlfriend on the side.”

“Oh God. You know what? I’ma head on out of here.” You try to flag down the waiter, only Breanna kicks you in the shin. “Ow, bitch! Mercy!” You hiss through your teeth. “The hell?”

"You such a baby.” She rolled her eyes. “Sit wit me for a few extra minutes before I gotta go back home.” Breanna instructed sternly, in the way that only family members really could command somebody to do anything. “This the only time I get some personal time away from Miguel and Tiana.”

“Oooh, how are your kids?” You pick up your spoon, the melted sweet dripping off the end and back into the bowl.

Snorting, her tone is fond as she says, “Bad as hell as usual. Dre’s watching them right now so it’s all good. They always behave for they daddy.” Mushy expression changing quickly, she pointed a finger at you accusingly, “Girl, don’t even try and change the subject, though! You need to communicate with ya man so that he can address these issues early in the relationship. I will not stand by and let you sabotage yourself because you scared that you feelin’ this dude a little too much.”

“Whatever, Bre. I’m done talkin’ about this for today.”

Even though you said that, it lingered at the back of your mind the rest of the day. Work was routine so you didn’t mess up due to inattentiveness, thank goodness, and you couldn’t talk to Nadia since right now the two of y’all were in some strange type of friendship/flatmate limbo.

"Wassup?” That’s the greeting Erik gave you before giving you a peck on the lips. “...Ay, you good?” He asked, pulling back a little to scrutinize you carefully.

‘Fuck, he’s figured it out!’ Reaching a hand up, you place it against the nape of his neck, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Mm, better now. I mean, heh, why wouldn’t I be?”

Score one for being overcompensating.

Eyebrows raising, for a heart stopping moment you thought he’d call you out on your bullshit, but Erik just shook his head. “...Okay. Good day at work then. I can work wit that. I’m sayin’ though, you wanted to check out that restaurant on McMillan and 4th West Ave? I made a reservation if you still wanna go...?”

“The restaurant with the skyline view of the city and that famous seafood chef that cooks his food fresh every day?” Eyes lighting up, you launch yourself into his arms and he gripped the back of your thighs, lifting you. “Yes, yes, yes! Please!” Hands framing his face, you kissed him again, this time more intently, feeling his fingers squeezing your thighs. “And afterwards we can come back here. You let me say thank you again, properly?I might even get on my knees.”

Erik set you down on your feet. Bodies brushing up against each other, there’s no mistaking the feeling of him being half hard. “Don’t start that shit. Teasing a nigga before we go out in public.” Popping you on the ass, he snorted at the squeal you let out. “Hurry up. That reservation at seven thirty.”

You gaped at him momentarily, turning to leave, “Why didn’t you say that at first?!”

“I’m tellin’ you now!”

Last minute as it was, the two of y’all showed up literally dressed to slay. All eyes were on the both of you. The question in all of those pale faces were ‘How can these negroes afford to eat here?’, if not phrased exactly like that, the point still stood.

Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care for once.

It didn’t matter how Erik knew the chef personally and that they shook hands as if old friends, or how the table he’d booked was strategically placed right near the area where the chef worked and you wouldn’t miss a thing while he cooked.

For tonight, you had decided to let those fears and anxieties go. To enjoy this date with ya man.

Then the weirdest thing happened.

“Y/N?” A nasally, high pitched voice called. "Oh my God, Y/N! Hey, hi!” Waving excitedly is a slightly plump, but cute waitress. Handing off a tray of drinks to another waiter, she hurried over to the table. “It’s been so long.”

“Uhh, baby?” Erik is understandably confused and so are you.

“I’m sorry. Do I...know you?”

“Oh! Oh, duh!” Slapping her forehead, she went through a quick demonstration of your alma mater’s hand sign. “It’s me! Cassandra!” She added, when it became clear that you were still drawing a blank.

“O-Ooooh, Cas. Wooooow, girl. Hey.” Your greeting lacked enthusiasm and Erik raised an eyebrow at you. You valiantly ignored this as you grasped for something nice to say. “Lookin’ good, girl. Shoot, I ain’t even recognize you.”

“It’s okay.” Heavily, she dropped into a seat next to Erik and yourself after grabbing a chair from another table. “I know I put on a few pounds since college and I cut my hair.”

“Nooo!” Waving your hands frantically, you shake your head, “It’s not that. It’s just...I thought you’d be on TV, living your dream as a soccer player and everything.” Erik ‘coughed’ into his fist. “Sorry! Cassandra, this is my man, Erik. Baby, this is Cassandra Wynters.”

He ignored her outstretched hand. “And we on a date. So...maybe get back to your job?”

As if you’d only just recognized her uniform, you gasped, hoping it’s believable. “Oh damn! I didn’t mean to take up all your time with my chit-chatting. I don’t want you to get in trouble, and we are on a date, so... Rain check. I’ll have the, um, maitre d’ give you my contact info.”

Cheeks flushed, she raised slowly from her position, “Right. So sorry, that was rude and inappropriate, my just running over here.” Laughing awkwardly, a little piggish snort escaped and you sipped at your drink to avoid laughing in her face. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Yep. Ta-ta!” Dismissing her, you turn your full attention onto Erik once again, relaxing only when she walked away.

“That musta felt good, huh?” Erik is excellent at reading your body language and cues. You grin evilly and he snorted. “I can’t believe she just ran her ass over here like y’all was in a crowded subway station or something.”

Your shake your head and thank the waiter who refills the glasses while another takes the extra chair away again. “Some people have no home training!” You state in your best posh voice.

Placing a hand over his chest, he played along, effecting a ‘shocked’ tone, “Why would you say something so controversial yet so brave?”

It was very likely that y’all made all those white folks big mad with how y’all were laughing and carrying on. Enjoying the food and each other’s company. And when it came time to leave, Erik’s hand on your waist is a warm comfort as you catch sight of Cassandra being scolded by the maitre d’, or her boss, or whoever, at the corner of your eye. For a brief moment, the two of you stare at each other and you’re the first to look away, tilting your head up to kiss at Erik’s jaw, an action that caused him to startle briefly before he captured your lips in a kiss that toed the line between being indecent and sweet.

Maybe its God, or karma, or something else telling you to stop questioning every single thing about the mystery surrounding this man, that when it was time to know, he would tell you. To enjoy being the central focus of someone’s attention and who actually, truly, wants to be with you and only you. That everything would work out. Whatever the lesson to be learned here, the thought, ‘I am so blessed.’ Kept reverberating through your brain on a loop. And yeah, you gave that dimple cheeked fool some road head while on the way back to his crib.

Can you really be blamed?

#mcu #erik killmonger #mcu imagine #erik killmonger imagine #marvel #black reader #marvel imagine #black panther #erik killmonger x reader #black panther imagine #thekrazykeke

84 notes · View notes