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ampintherain · 3 years

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I’m Yours:

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Chapter IV

Y/N is Kenny Ortega’s ‘niece’ after going through a rough breakup, Kenny decides to fly her over to stay with him, will her broken heart mend?

(Female Reader, NO SMUT, Romance, Friendship, THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FANFIC/IMAGINE, I hope it’s good, Kenny is lifelong family friend so reader calls him Uncle Kenny. I’m British so the writing is going to be British so like ‘mum’ not ‘mom’ yanno?)

TW- swearing. mentions of alcohol, drugs & divorce

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Y/N

“Doll, you ready to go?” Kenny asked as he shrugged on his coat, we had been at Tori’s for a good three hours and I could see Kenny was getting tired and we did have a really long day tomorrow, I nodded at my uncle happily before bidding farewell to my new found friends. I found it quite strange as to how quickly they had befriended me and made me feel more than welcome- Charlie especially, I mean throughout the day he asked me if I was alright and he encouraged me to share my ideas with Uncle Kenny, it really was strange.

“See you tomorrow Y/n” Owen chirped, pulling me in for a quick hug, I was soon passed round through the group of friends each of them giving me a tight hug which I gladly reciprocated, I waved everyone a final goodbye before Kenny and I left Tori’s apartment and made our way back to the car.

As Uncle Kenny drove through the streets of Vancouver, I paid most attention to the lights displayed throughout, I watched as birds flew through the sky and listened to the soft sound of the radio, “you okay Y/n?” Uncle Kenny questioned,

“Hm?” I said, as the questioned tore me out of my unknown daydream, I turned to face my uncle Kenny and before he could repeat himself, my brain managed to process what he originally asked “oh oh yeah, I’m fine Uncle Kenny, just sight seeing” I laughed quietly,

“Okay, just making sure, I’m worried about you...” Kenny admitted, I had a feeling that he was but he just didn’t want to draw attention to me and my situation, I have always been very good at hiding my emotions it came from years and years of being told that my emotions and the way I felt weren’t ‘necessary’ and that I shouldn’t feel the way I did- in the end, I decided to no longer tell anyone my problems but deal with them myself, battling through the pain as a lone warrior, I didn’t even tell Kenny what was going on, I built up layers of walls around me to protect myself and make it seem like I was this strong, capable woman. “You’re only 19, Y/n, I know you’re strong but... I just want you to know that I am here should you ever need me” I nodded in response, worried that if I did speak, my voice would give way and I would be revealed as this weak character, I’ve already cried once today and I’m not planning on crying anymore, not in front of Kenny at least.

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Kenny locked the door behind me as we both entered the apartment, “do you want a drink or anything Uncle Kenny?” I questioned as I made my way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the carton of orange juice,

“No you’re alright Star, I’m just going to head to bed, I’ll wake you up at 7 alright?” He assured me, I nodded as I sipped at my juice, I looked at the digital clock placed on the side- 12:00am, luckily I had sorted through all of my clothes before going to set and again before going to Tori’s because, quite honestly, I hadn’t the energy to do much at this point, I watched as my uncle wandered into his room, closing the door behind him. I let out a deep breath, the thoughts of a few nights ago coming back into my memory, replaying itself there, why wasn’t I good enough? I did absolutely everything I could for him... I loved him with everything I had... why wasn’t I good enough?

I kept asking myself, it was truly lost on me, I didn’t see myself as this perfect girl, this perfect girlfriend but I knew what I did for him. I was there for him when his dad spiralled, turning to alcoholism and drug abuse, I was there whenever he called, whenever he showed up randomly at my house at 4 in the morning crying and looking for a cuddle, I made sure to visit him mum every Tuesday evening for dinner because Zac wanted to move out once his parents split, deciding to live with his grandparents instead. We were even thinking about moving in together... well him moving in with me as I had already had my own place at 18. That boy was my entire world for 3 years and the fact that he could throw it all away so easily, really hurt me, and I don’t think it was anything that I could understand ever.

The thought alone caused my heart to feel crushed, it felt like Zac had a hold of my heart and whenever I thought about it, he just squeezed my heart as hard as he possibly could, it felt like a gut wrenching type of pain, I wiped away the tears that I didn’t even realise were spilling quickly out of my eyes. I cleared my throat and drank the rest of my juice before making my way to bed, I changed into my grey cable knit sweater and my plaid shorts and clambered into the large double bed, snuggling into the comfort that the bed brought me before I let sleep take over me.

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“Rise and shine” Kenny said quietly into my bedroom, I groaned as I stretched in bed, “morning sleepyhead” he chuckled,

“Morning” I mumbled, scratching the back of my head, Kenny told me that we’d be leaving in 20 minutes, “okay, I’ll see you in 20” I smiled, sliding out of bed and heading into my closet, I grabbed my white tennis skirt, white shirt and dark blue sweater, I paired the outfit with white tennis socks and my white and blue Nike Jordan’s that Uncle Kenny bought me for Christmas. I placed my clothes on my bed and went for a quick shower, this time I dried my hair before chucking it up into a high ponytail, I brushed my teeth and did some light makeup again before changing and grabbing my phone off the side,

“Let’s go” I stated as I made my way over to Kenny,

“You look amazing” he smiled genuinely at me, I thanked him and we made our way back to the set of his new show.

“So... how did you sleep?” Kenny asked me,

“Oh really well thank you, that bed was huge, you could fit like five of me in there” I joked, just as my phone chimed, I looked down at the lit screen to see messages from the one person I didn’t want to hear from.

Zac- Hey, where are you? I came to your place to see you and you weren’t there...

I rolled my eyes and groaned internally before locking my phone and sinking into my seat, “what’s on your mind?” Uncle Kenny asked immediately, I swear it’s like this man lives in my brain. I turned my phone on vibrate just as another text came through,

“It’s nothing Uncle Kenny” I sighed, the man driving next to me simply hummed in response, he definitely didn’t believe me but I knew he wasn’t going to push for answers- he never did, he would always let me come to him if I needed and that was one of the things I loved most about him. I could feel my phone constantly vibrating in my hand whilst Kenny was driving, so I turned it on do not disturb just to try and escape it.

“Alright kiddo, we’ve arrived” Kenny said as he swiftly parked up, I went to unbuckle myself but Kenny stopped me, “you don’t have to tell me right now, but I am here, you know I won’t judge you like your parents” he explained, I sighed and leant over to rest my head on his arm,

“I know Uncle Kenny... it’s Zac, he texted me... I’m ignoring him though” I replied, he sighed and looked down at me, placing a kiss to the top of my head,

“You’re going to have to” Kenny started before I cut him off mid sentence,

“Message him at some point, I know I know” I sat back upright and unbuckled the seat before getting out the car, “come on” I sighed, putting back on my brave face before heading into the lot with Uncle Kenny in tow.

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Charlie

“Y/n!” I heard Sav yell from across the lot, I turned to see Y/n walking towards us, her arms linked with Kenny’s as he was talking and joking with her, I watched as she let out a quick laugh before shaking her head, probably at some corny joke that Kenny told. “We’re matching!” Sav exclaimed as Y/n got closer,

“So we are!” Y/n giggled, “but don’t you have to be in your Carrie costume?” She questioned, pointing at the costume trailer just a way behind us,

“We are rehearsing Wow today in costume” Kenny announced, this prompted Sav to scrunch her face and turn on her heels, grabbing Tori by her upper arm as they both ran to the costume trailer, “those girls” Kenny laughed, shaking his head, “I’m going to get some breakfast, do you want anything Y/n?” The girl shook her head, “you have to eat Star, I’ll get you a croissant okay?”

“If I have to eat, can you get me some blueberry pancakes?” Y/n questioned innocently, smiling up at her ‘uncle.’ Kenny simply nodded and walked over to catering to grab him and Y/n some breakfast. “Hey” Y/n said as she took a step closer to me, I looked down at her and smiled,

“Hey” I mirrored, “sleep well last night?” I asked, the girl nodded and started to walk down the lot, I naturally started to follow her, not wanting the conversation to end,

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a bed that big before” she giggled, causing my heart to skip a beat slightly, “how about you? Did you sleep well?” She questioned, looking up at me with her beautiful y/e/c eyes.

“Oh yeah, Owen and I left Tori’s a little while after you and Ken left, we grabbed some food and then just crashed as soon as we got home” I said simply, just as I mentioned Owen I saw him come out of his trailer dressed as Alex,

“You, Charles. Have to be in costume” he stated, pointing at me, I rolled my eyes before he shoo’d me away, I nodded slightly at Y/n as a way to say goodbye and she saluted me slightly which caused me to laugh before jogging up to costume.

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Y/N

“Why the long face?” Owen asked me as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, “wassup Buttercup?” I bit the inside of my cheek and looked up at the blonde boy,

“It’s my ex” I stated plainly, “he messaged me this morning and I just...” I trailed off, not really knowing what to say, was I ignoring Zac because I hated him, or was I ignoring him because I was worried that if I did text him back, I would fall for him all over again? You can’t get over someone that quickly, no matter how much they hurt you... right?

“Don’t know what to say to him?” Owen answered for me, “what did he say?” He asked, I daren’t look at my phone again because I knew that he had probably texted more so I tried to remember what I saw at quick glance.

“It was something about why I wasn’t home and where I was” I remembered, sitting down on the small couch in the resting tent, my back against the arm rest and my legs tucked up to my chest, Owen sat down, facing me and mirroring my position, “I just don’t see why I have to tell him that anymore... he’s my ex y’know?” I vented, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

“Hey, you shouldn’t let him get to you like that, it’s not cool... look, I’m pretty sure we have a day off tomorrow, why don’t you come over to mine and Charlie’s place and we can watch movies and pig out?” Owen offered, I lifted my head back up and nodded, it didn’t sound like the worst idea, in fact, it sounded like the best thing for me, I mean karaoke last night helped me a lot so maybe just a chilled day would help too?

“Yeah that sounds amazing actually” I smiled.

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“Okay you guys, Sav, Sacha, Tori, Mads and Jay you guys can all go home, thank you so much for your excellence today, you’re all amazing!” Uncle Kenny beamed with pride at his cast that he was dismissing for the day, we had just filmed 3 more scenes for the show and the cast had rehearsals for as many dances they could fit in today, the only thing left on the agenda was the hot dog scene, “now, I will see everyone at the next location? Y/n, you ready?” Kenny asked, I nodded as I felt a shiver run up my spine causing my body to visibly shake,

“Hey” I heard Charlie whisper, “you okay?” He questioned, staying within earshot of me,

“Yeah I’m good, just cold, I forgot a jacket and it was warm today... I kinda forgot how long today was” I laughed, slightly embarrassed about my sieve of a brain, although the presence of Charlie stood behind me seemed to keep me fairly warm, that is, until I felt him leave. I turned to see Owen looking behind him as Charlie darted off, “I’ll be one second” Charlie yelled loud enough for everyone to hear and wait for him.

“Where’s he going?” Jeremy asked, pointing behind him towards where Charlie had just disappeared to,

“I have... no idea” Owen sighed, shrugging his shoulders, “Y/n/n, do you know?” I shook my head,

“He just ran off, maybe he forgot something” I stated, just as Charlie came running back, handing me a brown corduroy jacket with a wool collar,

“Here, it has pockets too so you won’t have to keep holding your phone” he said, only slightly out of breath.

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Charlie

Y/n gently took the jacket from me, “oh... thanks” she said as a red tint reached her cheeks, she shrugged the jacket on and I couldn’t help but smile at how it looked on her, on me, it fit perfectly but on Y/n, it nearly swamped her, the sleeves hung so low only her fingertips could be seen and the length of the jacket went just above where her skirt ended. She looked adorable.

“Yeah.. yeah anytime” I replied, Y/n placed her phone in her pocket and started to walk towards Kenny,

“Hey, I’ve gotta talk to my Uncle Kenny about some things for the hot dog scene, I had some ideas but I’ll see you on location okay?” She said, not just to me, but to Owen and Jeremy as well, all three of us nodded and joined together so we could all walk out of the lot,

“You like her...” Jeremy stated, Owen nudged him slightly and rolled his eyes,

“I made that observation last night!” He said, “but yeah, you totally like her... it’s obvious”

“I just gave her my jacket, she said she was cold, I would’ve done the same for anybody, like Mads” I defended, “she did look really cute in it though” I admitted, Owen agreed with me which caused me to look at him sceptically,

“Before you get jealous and ask me, no I don’t like her, she’s just a friend” he answered before I even had a chance to ask the question, “oh by the way, she was talking to me about her ex today, something about how he messaged her and she doesn’t know what to say to him, she seemed really down so I invited her to come over tomorrow” Owen explained,

“Oh really? Okay cool” was all I could say, Jeremy soon decided to change the subject to running lines as he could see that I was becoming nervous at the fact that Y/n was coming over, I had no idea why the thought of it had my heart racing and my mind scattered but it did, there was something about Y/n that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but whatever it was drove me crazy about her.

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Y/N

We had just finished filming the final scene of the day- the hot dog scene and it was the longest scene ever, the amount of re-runs and developments on the scene was enough to drive anybody insane, I groaned slightly as I turned and sat on the seat that one of the crew members brought with them just as Kenny was wrapping the scene up. “Y/n, I’ve just got to do some paperwork and I’ll be right with you okay? I’m sure the boys will keep you company once they change” Kenny announced, to which I simply nodded, not having the energy to say anything or do anything else, I rubbed my eye as I pulled my phone out of Charlie’s jacket pocket, I looked down at the screen and saw the notification, I had 36 unread messages from Zac:

>Zac- hello? Y/n! Where are you?

>Zac- I’m worried about you...

>Zac- Y/n! Would you please just answer me...

>Zac- I went to the coffee shop, you weren’t there either, where have you run off to?

>Zac- look Y/n, I’m really sorry about what I did to you

>Zac- WTF! WHERE ARE YOU?!?

>Zac- you can’t possibly be giving me the silent treatment? Seriously.

>Zac- I didn’t realise you were so childish.

>Zac- I’m glad I cheated on you, you’re worthless

>Zac- wait no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean that I’m just worried about you.

The list went on and on, a mixture of emotions, I kept scrolling through the text screen until I saw the most recent text, delivered 1 minute ago,

>Zac- call me. Please.

I rolled my eyes, I couldn’t call him, I shouldn’t call him right? But alas, like muscle memory, I clicked on the call icon and there was his voice, “Y/n! Hey... how’re you?” All I did was sigh in response, I watched as the boys came out of the venue and into sight, they all waved at me before noticing I was on the phone, Owen and Jeremy dispersed whereas Charlie stayed, walking slowly towards me with a half-smile on his face, clearly worried about whether or not I wanted him to come closer.

“What do you want?” I said bluntly, “I’m not in the mood to hear your pathetic apologies Zac, you’re messages were ridiculous, you went from being apologetic to calling me worthless and saying that you were happy that you cheated on me!”

“Listen Y/n... I can’t explain” Zac began but I was in no mood to hear it,

“No you listen Zac, you don’t get to be sad, you don’t get to cry. You are the one who cheated remember? Or have you suddenly developed amnesia? You went behind my back and had this whole other relationship for 13 months... and on top of that, it was with Quinn! My best friend and you think I’m going to sit here and listen to your silly little apologies, no, you have another thing coming. We were together for 3 years and for a year of that you were with someone else, I was nothing but loyal to you, I was nothing but kind to you, I loved you so much and I thought that you would never hurt me, but I was wrong, you’re just a piece of shit Zac, you and Quinn deserve each other, you’re both snakes, you’re both pathetic and you both betrayed me. I dont want to hear from you again? Do I make myself clear?” I ranted down the phone, I never raised my voice, I kept calm, I wouldn’t let him know that he made me so angry that I wanted to scream and throw my phone into the road, no. I wouldn’t let him have that power over me.

“But Y/n- we’ve been through so much... Quinn doesn’t know me like you do... she’s not there for me like you do” Zac grovelled, I scoffed in response,

“Well isn’t that just a crying shame? You should’ve thought about that before you decided to go behind my back and fuck her, you should’ve thought about it before you decided to be unfaithful. Hey, I’ll make this easy for you, I’ll just block you on everything that way you have no way of contacting me. Goodbye Zac” I said as I abruptly hung up, giving Zac no chance to talk, I blocked his number and started to go through my social media, blocking him on everything that I had.

“Uh... you okay?” I heard a worried voice speak, I looked up to see those eyes that could only belong to Charlie, he tilted his head and looked at me with concern riddled all over his face, I placed my phone on my lap and rubbed my temples to try and reduce to incoming headache.

“Yeah... that was my ex” I stated the absolute obvious, unsure of what else to say, Charlie nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets before taking the seat next to me, he didn’t ask me to go on and explain but I felt like I could talk to him and so I did “you probably heard but he cheated on me, with my best friend”

“Yeah... yeah I did hear, look, Y/n, I know it probably won’t mean much but he really doesn’t deserve you and he isn’t worth your tears” he said calmly, placing his thumb on my cheek and gently brushed away the tears that I had no idea were slowly falling from my eyes, “by the sounds of it, he sounds like a dick and you were way too good for him” I laughed in response, “I’m being serious, Y/n, you’re gorgeous and kind and funny and insanely talented! I know it’s hard but you shouldn’t let a guy like that get to you...”

“Yeah I know... but he and I were together for so long, it just makes me feel like everything was a lie y’know? And like I can’t truly be loved by anyone” I admitted, hearing this Charlie stood up in front of me and held his hands out, “what...?” I questioned, he beckoned me to stand up before pulling me in for a hug,

“You? You can’t truly be loved? Y/n you’re one of the most lovable people I’ve ever met, everyone loves you here... I know that’s not the type of love you meant but trust me on this okay? You can very easily be loved” I pulled out of the hug slightly and Charlie lightly placed his hands on my face, looking deep into my eyes, he smiled slightly to himself causing me to become shy and look down, Charlie used his index finger to lift my head back up by my chin ever so gently, “who wouldn’t want to fall in love with you?”

💜thank you for reading💜

♡︎𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 : @thesweetestsinner , @ifilwtmfc , @ashleyleblancx , @chloepart03 , @obxflowr , @lukeys-giggle ♡︎

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wkemeup · 4 years

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Heal Me, Baby

summary: Bucky Barnes can’t seem to keep away from your med tent no matter how many times you fix him up. // challenge prompt: bed sharing pairing: 1940s bucky x reader word count: 5k warnings: a very charming bucky 😉 a/n: This was written for @cake-writes�� 1940s challenge! Congrats on the 3.5 milestone!! The title of this fic comes from the song Heal Me by Snow Patrol

There was blood on the white of your dress; slow and steady seeping into the fabric and staining the cotton blend fibers. Red and as deep and bold as the cross sewn into the chest of your uniform, the blood became part of the design because no matter how many times you scrubbed it clean, more would find its way back to the hip of your skirt, the sleeve of your shoulder, the hem of your apron by morning’s end. Sometimes you wondered why they’d bothered dressing you in white at all. Might as well make it red with the number of wounded soldiers they dragged through your tent; most halfway towards the shiny bright light and others inches away from their last breath.

The chaos was constant, a given, and despite the noise and clutter, it was where you felt most at home. It was better than the lull, the calm before the inevitable storm, where you’d be swarmed with men on stretchers, bleeding out onto the dirt and tossed into overcrowded beds. The steady stream was easier than the rapids, easier than assigning ten men to a single nurse where injuries could be missed, vital tears overlooked.

You were at the end of your shift for the night, dirt on your forehead, sweat damping the carefully curled ringlets at your neck. A file in your hand of the man at the end of the room, thicker than most, and you kept your eyes down as you pushed your way through the crowd of nurses and visiting soldiers, heels sinking slightly into the grass with every step.

When you came upon him, you finally noticed the name etched into the top right corner of the folder; the cheesy grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, blood and dirt coating most of his face, though still as annoying handsome as ever.

“Hiya, doll.”

“Oh, not you again.”

Bucky chuckled to himself as he plopped back down against the pillow, hands clasping behind his neck as he watched you work around his bedside. You huffed the hairs from your eyes, brushed the sweat from your hands as you slipped on a pair of gloves, careful to avoid the urge to smile at the way Bucky was so obviously studying your every move.

You’d seen him about a dozen times since you’d been transferred to the Italian warfront along with the 107th. He’d found a habit of stumbling into the medical tent after a night in the trenches, covered head to toe in what looked to be a dried mixture of mud and blood that didn’t always turn out to be his own.

He’d flash that smile of his like he couldn’t smell the retch of sweat and grim on his skin, sweet talk you like he wasn’t thrown head first to the middle of a war he didn’t sign up for, and get your stomach twisted all up in knots, hands fumbling with the IV bag, a nervous flutter in your chest – though you’d never let him see that.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes was the kind of man the nurses talked about when he walked by. A tip of his cap, a slight salute in their direction, and they’d giggle themselves into a mess, clinging onto one another as they waved at him.

But then, across the courtyard, his eyes would catch yours, a softer tone about him and he’d simply wink, something subtle and barely noticeable, but enough for it to be personal, almost intimate, because it wasn’t for others to see.

“Not happy to see me, huh?” Bucky drawled, crossing his ankles as he stretched back on the worn-down cot like he was sitting at home on the couch, waiting on a beer as he read the evening paper.

You pursed your lips, shooting him a narrowed look as you glanced over the intake file. “I’m never happy to see men in this tent, Sergeant Barnes. Did you forget where you are?”

You gestured down to the series of beds filled with men, some waiting as they hung off the edge of crutches or slumped over in chairs, with bandages wrapped around exposed chests, blood seeping through, broken limbs exposed, the quiet whimpers of pain muffled by forearms and pillows.

“Oh, come on, doll. You know I’m just teasing ya,” Bucky smirked, sitting up in the bed because he knew the routine well enough by this point.

You held a single finger pointed up in front of his eyes and he followed it without instruction as you moved it across his line of sight. No sign of abnormal dilation. Ruled out a concussion, at least.

“You should be more careful out there,” you warned, gathering the first aid kit from the bedside table. “You’re in here almost every day, you know.”

“Maybe I like the company,” he shrugged, blue eyes piercing straight through you and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a full beat.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound on his forehead, a hit from a fall by the looks of it, though it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He winced a little, a slight hiss in his tongue as you applied the alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be taking the bed from someone who needs it.”

“Hell, I do need it, doll,” Bucky whined, a little dramatically. “Look at me. I’m in pieces. I’m fallin’ apart at the seams and you’re the only one that can save me, sweetheart. I need ya.”

You paused with a tight pout of your lips, sitting back on the cot beside him long enough to roll your eyes. “You need a band-aid and stern warning, Sergeant Barnes. You’re fine.”

“Oh, call me Bucky, won’t you?”

You pressed the bandage to his forehead, a little firmer that you would have for most any other patient and he grunted under his breath, trying to steady himself against the thin mattress.

“Time for you to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, nodding to himself as he stood. “Been a pleasure, doll, as always. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You better not!” you called back, arms folded over your chest as he snickered to himself, walking through the mess of chaos to the exit on the other end. He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled up a flap of canvas and winked at you.

You clenched your jaw and got back to work.

***

Sure enough as the tides rolled in, so did Bucky Barnes to your med tent a few nights later.

You found him waiting for you on the last bed in the aisle, one leg tucked under him, the other hung over the side of the cot as he nursed his right hand in his lap. He was humming to himself through pursed lips, a tune that you recognized from the radio station your father often played back home; head bouncing a bit to the rhythm, massaging gently at the palm of his hand, completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, you supposed he caught sight of your shoes because he started to smile before he so much as lifted his head.

Slowly, like he was taking his time, he glanced up at you with that sheepish smile of his, a light chuckle under his breath, and he ran his left hand through the mess of hair atop his head.

“Hiya, doll.”

“What is it this time?”

Your arms were folded, toe tapping against the ground, but there was something in the way he couldn’t stop smiling at you, even as you scolded him, that tugged a bit on the tight strains in your chest. It pushed at the walls you’d built, poked at the cement layers between bricks until they started to fall one by one and you fought against the urge to smile back at him.

He was too sweet on you, too handsome and charming, and you were almost certain it was an act, so you clenched your jaw and forced a frown.

Bucky held up his hand and for you, showing off a rather nasty burn in the underside of his palm, just along his thumb; red and seared, bubbling a bit on the edges. Your resolve took a bit of a hit because he winced a little in the motion, like the chill of the air was enough to cause him pain.

“How did you manage to do that?” you asked, tone still a little tense, though you took a seat on the side of his mattress, the lumps of the worn-down cot pressing against your thighs.

You reached for the medical cart near the bedside table, though it was just an inch from reach, and Bucky took the liberty of wheeling it over for you. You paused, watching him as he casually slid the cart in front of you, careful of your shoes and the dips in the ground.

“It was my shift in the kitchens,” he shrugged.

His hand slipped into yours as you gestured for it; rough and calloused though still untouched in places, soft and tender. You wondered what he did before he was drafted, if he worked in factories or in a garage, if his hands had seen hard labor before he was handled a weapon and a battalion, or if they were a blank page, yet to be filled by the scars and abrasive markings of a man at war.

You turned it over gently, easing the back of his hand to sit cradled in your palm as you examined the burn. It looked like he’d singed it on the side of the stove. The ring of the plate visible on the edge of his palm.

“Didn’t think you were required take shifts in the kitchens, Sergeant,” you commented, raising an eyebrow, though you kept your focus on his hand.

“Helps with morale,” Bucky replied simply. “Doing the same grunt work together does something for when we’re out in the trenches, you know? I’m not any better than them because the higher-ups threw some title in front of my name. We’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

There was a chuckle in his voice, a lightness, and it surprised you as you looked up to see that it didn’t quite touch his eyes. How often did that happen and you didn’t notice because you were so caught up in holding up walls to keep from his games? How often had it not been a game at all and rather a mask he wore, to protect the most vulnerable parts of himself from giving into the horrors he saw on the front lines?

He took a deep breath, focused on the grip of your hand around his as you slowly started to apply aloe along the burn. Cautious eyes glancing up to him, you watched as his shoulders slumped a little, a weight lifting from the tension he carried as the cooling of the gel started to take effect. The hardened lines on his face softened, his breaths coming in a bit steadier, the sigh that left his lips light and sweet.

“I’m sure they appreciate what you do for them,” you said, softer this time, in hopes of distracting yourself from the way his lips parted ever so slightly in relief the longer you soothed the gel along his hand.

“Eh, keeps me busy,” he said, brushing it off, almost like the praise was uncomfortable for him, like it didn’t feel warranted or necessary. He smiled to himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as you started to wrap his hand, gentle touches delicately easing the bandage around the burn. “Brought me back to you, didn’t it? I call that a win.”

You laughed a bit at that despite yourself as you clipped the edges of the bandages and secured it properly. “I’m sure you would have found an excuse to come bother me all on your own, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he reminded you again, grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I don’t want to see you in this tent for at least a week,” you warned, placing his hand back into his own lap. You stood, brushing the wrinkles from the edges of your dress. Though you were stern with him, you were smiling. He certainly took notice of it.

“That’s a lot to ask of me, sweetheart. I’m a clumsy guy.”

“You’re the best sharpshooter we have!”

“I’m a mess, honey. Look at me! You’re my only hope.”

“Oh, get out of here!” you laughed, pushing on his shoulders though you were met with significant resistance; a playful game of cat and mouse, and damn if you weren’t completely falling for it.

He finally gave in when your laughter started to draw the attention of the nurses gathered around the bedsides of injured soldiers, and you swatted him on the shoulder, heat flushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, though you were unsuccessfully biting back a smile.

As he made his way to the exit, he turned back for a final look, surprised to find you still watching him, and he winked; cool and collected, confident. You shook your head at him, arms folded over your chest, but he saw the way the corners of your lips pushed up high into your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the whisper of a laugh still in your breath.

If this was all a game, he was certainly winning.

***

A few weeks later and the nurses had resorted to reserving a spot for Bucky in the back of the tent; the same cot in your assigned row because he all out refused to be seen by anyone else. He’d duck through the canvas flaps at the entrance, smile politely at the nurses and wait patiently for you to notice him.

His injuries varied anywhere from a paper cut along his palm to a splitting headache to simple heartburn. He knew better than to take your attention away from soldiers who really needed it, but he’d come to consume the moments in between, whether you liked it or not.

But a funny thing started to happen.

You started to look forward to the days when he’d peep his head into the tent, checking to make sure you were on shift before he’d saunter his way inside and take his seat on his favorite cot. You’d find disappointment burning like jealousy in your chest on the days he didn’t, and your mind would wonder where he was or if he was alright.

He’d once waited hours before you were able to step away from the gunshot wounds of a soldier two beds down and though the scrape on his knee had all but scabbed over by then, he stuck around until the kid stabilized.

You were exhausted by the time you made it over to Bucky, losing hope that you’d be able to keep the injured soldier alive through the night and trying to mask the utter helplessness you felt.

But Bucky made his light-hearted jokes, he teased you for the dirt on your forehead, whined and complained dramatically about his knee though you both knew he’d sleep it off my morning, and it brought back a smile to your face before you realized it. He managed to push through even the darkest parts of your days.

***

Bucky’s regiment was out on assignment for over a week and you would have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. You found yourself glancing down at the entrance every few minutes, feeling like something was missing when you finished your checklist, stabilized your patients, and finally had a free moment for yourself. There was something else you would have been attending to.

It wasn’t until you realized it was Bucky you were searching for, waiting to see his smile light up at he caught your eye, that it hit you just how easily you’d fallen for him.

At the end of a very long week, he stumbled into the med tent on a rolled ankle, leaning off the shoulder of Captain America himself, complaining of a pain in his left arm. You were relieved to see him, like a weight lifted from your chest that was holding you underwater for days, but you couldn’t let him see that.

“Been a while, honey,” he smirked. “Miss me?”

“Watch yourself, Barnes,” you warned, though it was light and airy. You eased his arm over your shoulders and excused Steve as he was still supporting his weight. You tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have Bucky this close, his arm draped over your shoulders, his side pressed up tight to yours as he hobbled in support of his injured ankle.

“Got real lonely out there on the front without you,” Bucky teased as you helped him down to the cot. “Stevie had to fix me up. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I can see that,” you laughed, gesturing to the mess of bandages circling around his arm. “What did you do? Bump into the corner of the tank?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled awkwardly, pulling his arm from what remained of his sleeve to give you better coverage. He curled his shirt up in his hands, shivering as the cold touched exposed skin and you tried to ignore the taunt lines of his muscles and the placement of freckles down his back, the shadows over his abdomen.

Slowly, you pulled back the bandages, wrapped about a dozen times over, until red started to appear in the white of the cloth, soaking through the layers thicker and darker until you found the source. Your smile had long fallen by the time you saw the wound on his arm, a bullet grazing on the outer stretch of muscle; ripped and raw on the edges, a piece of your heart torn along with it.

“You were shot?”

“Oh, come on, doll, it ain’t so bad,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s just a little graze.”

You shook your head, quickly tending to the open wound with alcohol swipes that left him hissing from the sting of it. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you held your breath in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

“Why is it that you feel the need to come in here with senseless injuries and waste my time but when you're actually hurt, you brush it off like it’s nothing?”

You weren’t angry despite the tone of your voice. No, it was fear that took over, marred through the tension of your words and the frantic thumping inside your chest. The idea of him never walking into your tent again ripped the heart straight from you.

“We’re at war, honey,” Bucky replied gently and though he still wore that beautiful smile on his face, it was softer. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“Not to you,” you whispered, voice low and heavy.

Your fingers were trembling as you attempted to thread the needle for the third time, though it was no use. It kept missing the eye, your hand was shaking too much for a steady grip. You couldn’t protect him when he was out in the trenches, couldn’t heal his wounds and tend to his injuries. You couldn’t save him if something happened out there, leaving him stranded.

A few inches to the right and the bullet could have torn through a major artery and maybe Steve Rogers would have showed up in your tent with his helmet held at his chest and a solemn look in his eye when he told you that Bucky fought valiantly until his last breath.

The thread missed the needle again and you let out a groan, a wave of frustration and anger and fear and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on yours, slowly lowering them back to your lap. He smiled sweetly at you as he gently took the needle and thread from your hands and slipped it through the eye. He knotted it at the end and handed it back to you, adjusting his position on the cot to give you better leverage.

“I should get someone else to do this,” you said quietly.

“No deal, honey. You’re the only one for me.”

“Bucky, my hands are shaking. I should ask one of the girls to--”

“It’s you or I walk.”

Bucky smirked, winking at you over his shoulder before he settled in again. Determined and stubborn as you’d ever seen him.

You sighed, pushing out a deep breath as you steadied your hand. “Okay, well, no complaining if you end up with a scar.”

“Me? Never.”

***

Bucky wasn’t the only soldier in the tent that night and you were worn thin; running on startling lack of caffeine and frequent cold bursts of air outside, you hadn’t slept in nearly two days as you attended to the influx of injured men.

Half of your girls were out sick from the bug that was floating around camp, though you were almost certain it wasn’t airborne as they insisted and they’d contracted it by getting cozy with the soldiers. You couldn’t blame them for seeking comfort amongst the harsh conditions of the war, but being down two girls in an overcrowded, busy tent full of men in terrible pain wasn’t easy to manage on your own.

Bucky’s presence seemed to help, though. He’d smile at you whenever you looked in his direction and you started to wonder if he was watching you as you worked, as opposed to the book in his lap. He always seemed to be looking at you when you turned over your shoulder to check in on him, anyway. The pages of the book sitting in his hand remained unturned for too long, even as he fought against the heaviness of his lids, sleeping threatening to pull him under though he resisted.

He gave in after you’d swiped the book from his hands and ordered him to close his eyes.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, yawning through every syllable.

You watched as he settled into the sheets, bare chest exposed and the heavy bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, nose scrunching as he sniffled in a tight breath, and his whole body seemed to relax, finding sleep rather quickly.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the med tent quieted down.

Most of the men were asleep, the others too doped up on pain medications to notice much of anything going on around them, their eyes softly gazing out ahead of them, heavy eyelids falling shut. You let the remaining girls go back to their own tents until dawn, given that the worst of it all had subsided.

With a tired yawn, you dragged your feet down to Bucky’s bed. He was snoring softly in his sleep, lips parted just slightly, and you realized gazing down at him, that he looked years younger like this; the innocence he often masked amongst the perils of war rising fresh to the surface, unobstructed.

With a cautious hand, you reached out and grazed your fingertips along his arm; his whole body sighing in response, a slight curve of his lips, his head lulling to the side closest to the touch.

But you couldn’t stand there and watch him sleep all night. The bandage had started to bleed through and it needed a rewrapping.

You pulled up a chair next to his cot, carefully beginning to unwrap the cloth from around the tight muscle of his arm. Smooth skin under pebbled goosebumps from the chill outside, you gently released the bandage to the mattress. The wound didn’t look so bad underneath, but you cleaned it up a bit to be safe. With a quick dab to his arm with the disinfectant, you glanced up at his face in search of a hitch in his breath or a hiss on his tongue, but he remained fast asleep.

Even men like Bucky Barnes needed a break. He looked so sweet sleeping like that, the slight pout on his lips as you cleaned the wound, the sniffle through the beginnings of a head cold.

You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open and quickly rebandaged his arm. There were more men in this tent that needed your attention.

A few beds down and an hour later, you began to switch out the IV drip of a man with a severed leg; a young, baby faced kid who didn’t look old enough to graduate school, let alone be given a gun in the middle of wartime. He scrunched his nose in his sleep, his thigh twitching like he might still think something was there. There was sweat beading on his face, dripping damp into the pillow. You didn’t know how much longer he had.

Your legs wobbled slightly under you and you gripped onto the bedside table. The exhaustion was starting to reel you in, pull you under to the warm embrace of sleep, but you had a job to do, men to care for. Pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes, you tried to push the tiredness from you, though a yawn broke through again anyway.

“Looking like you might need some rest, doll.”

You froze at the sound of his voice, like ice and fire, relief and panic.

A heavy sigh sat in your chest before you turned around, only to find Bucky brushing at his eyes, sleepily smiling up at you from his cot. He propped himself him on his elbows, as you quickly made yourself busy, simply watching as you continued about your work.

“Someone has to attend to these men, Bucky,” you replied, a little tenser than you usually were with him, but the exhaustion had taken hold of you and it took effort just to keep your eyes open.

“Doll,” he called, softer this time, “you’re going to pass out. Where'd everyone go?”

“Sent them off. No need for a crowd to watch over sleeping men.” You checked the vitals of a man across the aisle from Bucky; steady rhythm, even pulse. He’d make it until morning, at least.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked slowly and you could feel his eyes following you around the tent, watching intently as you tended to each of the men, assuring yourself that they were as restful as they appeared. There was a concern in his voice, a sincerity, and it tensed in your shoulders.

You released a heavy breath, keeping focused on replenishing the infusion bag of a soldier who was hanging on by a thread. One quick glance back at Bucky proved to be a mistake as he was still watching you, though it was under kind, worried eyes. He was still waiting on an answer.

“You don’t need to be worrying about how much I’m sleeping,” you said, turning your back to him because your eyes were falling heavy and it was near impossible to keep them open. You leaned onto the frame of another soldier’s bed for support, pretending to be busy for Bucky’s sake.

“No?” Bucky questioned with an embellished sigh. “Someone has to, don't you think?”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your wrist as you turned back to face him.

He chuckled a bit under his breath, chin falling to his chest, before he smiled up at you like you’d missed out on some kind of inside joke.

“Oh, ‘course you are, doll. Must have been someone else who put the same bloody bandage back on my arm after cleaning it then, huh?” he shrugged teasingly, gesturing to his arm where a dark red bandage circled around his bicep.

Your eyes blew wide, a gasp in your throat and you rushed over to him. Hands fumbling for the chair, missing several times and resorting to falling at your knees, you made quick work of trying to peel away the red bindings.

“Shit! Shit, I’m-- shit,” you panted, shaking, “that’s never happened before and I—oh God, I’m so sorry, Bucky—I’ll fix it, just—just give me a second and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey,” Bucky cooed sweetly, helping to unfasten the bandage because your hands were fumbling too long with the clasps. His right hand encased your shaking fingers, holding them tightly long enough to pull your attention away from his arm. “It happens, okay? No harm done. I’m aces, alright?”

“No, no, it’s wildly...” you sucked in a sharp breath, tingling in the back of your jaw, stretching at your cheeks, “...unacceptable and I...” another yawn broke through, “...should report myself because...” and a third.

“Jesus, doll, listen to you. You’re exhausted,” Bucky eased, reaching for the clean bandages on the bedside table. He grabbed a fresh one and put one end between his teeth for leverage as he began to wrap his own arm.

You sat back on your heels, kneeling next to his bed and certainly getting dirt along the end of your dress. You watched as he wove the clean cloth in and around his arm, concentration etched into his facial features to mask the slight wince of pain as the fabric touched the wound.

Guilt was fresh in your chest as Bucky wrapped his arm himself, pulled it tight and gestured for you to fasten it. He could have done it himself, you were sure. There was a smile on his face as he looked at you, like he was trying to make you feel better.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled, defeated and you rose to your feet, beginning to walk away.

“Wait, honey, don’t go--”

You froze, surprised by a sudden grip at your hand before you could take a step away from his bedside, and when your eyes shot back to his, he let go immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he began to laugh nervously. It was a kind of embarrassment you never expected to see in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, doll,” he started, scratching at the back of his head.

“I can’t afford to make mistakes,” you retorted, voice a little more somber. “You can’t afford it either.”

“Then, make it up to me.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting off the urge to yawn again. “What would you have me do?”

“Get some rest?” he asked sheepishly, scooting to the far edge of the tiny, twin size cot. He took up most of the space himself and you swore you may have seen him swallow nervously as he pulled down the covers, gesturing to the open space.

“No, I... I can’t,” you said flatly, though your heart was racing.

“You’re going to pass out where you stand and you said yourself you can’t afford to make more mistakes,” he argued gently. “Just a few hours. Then you’ll be good as new. No more dirty bandages.”

“Bucky, I...” you shook your head, stepping back and folding your arms over your chest. “I-- I have to look after these men. I can’t fall asleep. What if something happens?”

“I’ll wake you up,” he responded with a shrug. “I got my hours in. Anyone starts throwing a coughing fit, monitors start going haywire, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“People will talk,” you whispered, excuses lined up but Bucky didn’t let them break his smile for even a moment.

“No one's around, sweetheart.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“So is half my guys sleeping with your girls and yet...”

You laughed a bit at that, chewing on the edge of your lip, the rouge long faded of color. A heavy silence passed, a slight sway in your stance as your body fought tirelessly against the urge to close your eyes. Glancing down the rows of cots, it seemed quiet. Not a peep for hours and everyone was stable.

You turned back to Bucky. He was waiting patiently.

“You’ll wake me?”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to smile wider, but – God – it was blinding.

“Cross my heart.”

Stepping out of your shoes, you slowly made your way to the edge of his bed. You stared down at the open space and the slim line of mattress available to you. You must have taken too long because he started shifted a bit more to the edge, to the point where he was nearly falling off.

“Promise I’ll be a complete gentleman,” he chuckled lightly, cheeks pink and rosy. It was damn near impossible to say no to him when he looked at you like that, with a sincerity you hadn’t known since you left the States, draped under ocean blue.

“One hour,” you warned him as you slowly lowered yourself into the cot beside him. It squeaked as you let your weight fall to its uneven springs, the lumps evident against your back, the frame prominent through the thin cushion.

“One hour,” he agreed, giving you space as you rested your head against the pillow if you wanted it, though you heard his breath hitch as you tugged his arm down a little to lean against his shoulder, his right arm curling around your back to keep you steady on the bed.

Laying on your side, curled up next to him, you rested your left arm against his chest, tracing your fingers along the exposed lines of his stomach, the dip at his sternum, the scars littering smooth stretches of beautifully tanned skin. He shivered under your touch, his breath slightly uneven, though he didn’t say anything. His hold on you tightened as he suppressed a gasp under the bite of his teeth, like a reflex, pulling you tighter as his toes curled and his spine lightened.

“This okay?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper and you watched as your breath touched his chest, goosebumps in its wake.

“Perfect, honey,” Bucky replied sweetly, his fingers drawing patterns along your back, tracing along the zipper of your dress and the seams in the shoulders. “Close your eyes, will you?”

A sleep heavy laugh pulled up at your cheeks, resting on his chest, as you let your hand fall flat against his stomach. You nodded, curling up as close against him as you could manage, losing yourself in the gentle waves of his touch along your spine.

“Thank you,” you whispered as your eyes began fluttering shut. You could hear the pulse of his heart beating gently under your ear, the steady rhythm lulling you a warm embrace. The slip of consciousness tugging you kindly to the ease of temporary darkness.

There was a slight touch on your forehead, something warm and sweet, lingering as your breaths became longer, steadier, drawn out and even; the heat of breath to your skin, the slight hum of a content sigh. A kiss as gentle and kind and tender as the man behind it.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #cake's 1940s challenge

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

Thanks, Uncle Cassian {Feysand}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 3.

All installments co-written with @snelbz

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ feysand- kid(s) coming to them with nightmares after watching a scary movie”

An extension of @snelbz and I’s 2nd gen series, The Arrival:

*The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART I} *The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART II} *The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART III} *The Arrival {Modern AU ACOTAR 2nd gen PART IV}

Happy Spooky Season, readers!

Feyre had just fallen asleep and was grateful for it. Having three kids under eight was a lot, which was an understatement, especially during the spookiest season of the year.

It was a challenge to get them to bed, and by the time midnight rolled around and their eldest finally shut their eyes, Feyre slumped down next to Rhysand in their bedroom and closed her eyes.

It didn’t last long.

Apparently, at some point, it had begun to rain and a herd of little footsteps could be heard along the hardwood.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Rhysand groaned from beside her, the first time in hours he’d made any indication that he was still alive and well.

He rolled over, finding Lily standing next to his side of the bed. All that was visible were her wide, teary eyes. At least he thought it was Lily, he couldn't determine if the eyes staring up at him were violet or blue-grey.

“What is it, princess?” He murmured, scooting back towards his wife and tossing the blankets back. She crawled up into the bed, curling against his chest and he heard sigh as Feyre tossed the covers back as well. He glanced back and saw a small head snuffling into his wife’s embrace.

Definitely Lily in his arms.

“Bad dream,” she said, fussing, as she wrapped her little arms around him.

Livy was lying with Feyre, saying the exact same thing. “Bad dream, mama.”

Rhysand sighed and shot a look at his wife. In the dark, she could barely make out his facial features. With a sigh, Rhysand began rubbing Lily’s back.

“You're okay, sweetheart. A bad dream is just that- a dream. Not real.”

It didn’t stop Lily from snuggling into her daddy any less.

Another crack of thunder came before they heard another set of footsteps hurrying down the hall.

Their eldest, they assumed.

The footsteps slowed when they found the bedroom door already cracked and after Feyre heard a quiet sniffle, she asked, “You okay, Ben?”

Bennett quietly shuffled into the room. “I heard the storm, needed to check on Lily and Liv.”

Feyre’s quick glance at her husband showed her that he, too, wasn’t falling for that lie, no matter how smooth it was.

They’d let him think they were though.

“The girls are both in bed with us, they’re nice and safe,” Rhys said, realizing Lily was already dozing against his arm. “You can take the night off, bud. We can watch them tonight.” He winked at his oldest child, even though he couldn’t see him.

Bennett grappled for something to say. “Are you sure?”

Feyre’s eyes softened as she beheld her firstborn in the doorway, his silhouette in the moonlight. “Would it make you feel better if you stayed, too? So you can make sure the girls are okay?”

Bennett was quiet for a moment before he said, “Yeah. I think so.”

Feyre was holding up the blankets before he even finished his sentence, and his little footsteps hurried across the floor and underneath the comforter.

After a few seconds of silence, there was a loud crack of thunder and all the kids gasped.

Feyre looked over at her husband and although it was dark she could see him subtly shaking his head.

“Does anyone want to tell me why they’re suddenly so afraid of storms?” Rhysand asked, quietly.

They were met with silence.

“Did you see something at Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian’s that made you scared?” Feyre asked, knowing full well they had had a movie night the weekend before.

Their kids had never been scared of a storm before.

None of them answered.

“Do I need to call Uncle Cass and ask?” Rhys murmured, laying his head back against the pillow.

“It was Thorn’s turn to pick the movie,” Olive said quietly.

Rhys murmured, “Mother’s tits.”

“Rhys!” Feyre whispered. “What did he pick, honey?”

“Tornado movie,” Lily said, glancing up at her father. He looked down and found his own eyes looking back at them. Tucking her in closer, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It was loud and scary.”

After a beat of silence, he asked, “Sharknado?”

“No, daddy,” Livy replied, wrapping an arm around Feyre’s waist as she sat up. “Sharknado isn’t scary.”

Bennett scoffed. “Yeah, dad, Sharknado is for babies.”

Rhysand sighed. “Then what-.”

Another round of thunder shook the sky. All three of the kids gasped and hid under the covers as Rhysand groaned, again. “I’m calling Cassian.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Feyre grumbled.

“I don’t care,” Rhysand said, yawning. “I’m tired. It’s late. Bed. Sleep. If I can’t sleep, neither can he.”

“Tomorrow is Halloween,” Feyre protested. “Don’t you dare wake up Nesta, or she won’t be able to function for her-.”

“Tomorrow is Halloween?” Bennett asked, sticking his head out of the comforter. His eyes were wide with terror.

Rhys leaned over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. “Alright, what’s going on? Ben, you’ve always loved Halloween. We’ve had your costume for weeks.”

“I think- I just want to stay home tomorrow night.”

Feyre stared at her eldest child. “You want to skip Aunt Nesta’s Halloween party?”

Bennett nodded silently.

She glanced back over at Rhys. “Call Cass, he broke our kid.”

He was reaching over for his phone on the nightstand when another round of lightning and thunder shook the house, before it plunged into darkness.

All three kids screamed and Olive began to cry into her mother’s chest.

“Baby, it’s okay,” she cooed. “We just lost power. You are all three safe and sound with mama and daddy, yeah?” She sniffled and nodded. The other two did as well. “Are you ready to tell us what you watched?”

It was Bennett who finally fessed up. “The story of the day the twister hit.”

Rhys and Feyre both blinked, not comprehending. “What?”

“The tornado,” Lily jumped in, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The tornado that hits every nine years on Halloween,” Bennett added.

Rhys let his eyes fall shut as he dropped his head in his hand. “Uncle Cass told you it comes every nine years?”

Livy nodded and Bennett went on, “He said it last hit right before Thorn was born.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rhysand muttered.

“Rhys,” Feyre snapped.

Rhysand just rolled his eyes. “Don’t use daddy’s bad language. Look, Uncle Cass is a liar.”

As the room lit up from the lightning outside, the kids were shrieking, their little bodies tense.

“Twister is just a movie,” Feyre went on, when it was clear Rhysand’s sleepy annoyance spiked. “And it doesn’t come on Halloween. Uncle Cassian and Thorn think it’s funny to be scared, and they were trying to scare you.”

Lily’s big blue eyes were teary when she asked, “Why would anyone like being scared? It’s scary!”

“Because Uncle Cass and Thorn aren't human,” Rhys murmured, snuggling back into his pillow. Lily had laid her head down on his chest and her sweet, little hand was pressed against his neck, just like she’d done when she was a baby.

Feyre sighed and said, “Yes, they are human. They just like the thrill of being scared.” She gestured towards the window. “Are storms dangerous? Yes, they can be. Is this one bad?”

Bennett shook his head. “It’s just loud.”

“Exactly, bud. It’s just loud,” she wrapped her arms around Olive, who’d snuggled in between her mama and her big brother, who was crammed next to his father.

Rhys was thankful they’d decided to splurge and get the king size when they’d updated their room the year before. “We’re safe in the house, okay? No tornados are gonna come and get you, not tonight, not ever.”

Lily let out a big, overly dramatic sigh. “I’m mad at Uncle Cass.”

“You should be,” Rhysand agreed. “Let him know when we see him tomorrow.”

“At the party?” Bennett asked, quietly.

Feyre looked down at him, at his face in the darkness. She could hardly see a thing, but she could still see the lingering fear in his eyes. “Aunt Nesta would be sad if you weren’t there, buddy. So would Thorn.”

“I don’t like Thorn anymore,” he muttered.

Feyre looked up at Rhysand, hoping he would give her some help, but his eyes were closed, his breathing steady. With a sigh, she said, “Thorn loves you. He didn’t mean to scare you.”

“But you just said he was trying to scare us,” Bennett protested.

Feyre rubbed her temples, unsure of where to take the conversation. Parenting was not for the weak. “You know what you need to do?”

“What,” Bennett mumbled.

“You need to go to the party tomorrow and tell Thorn that scaring you isn’t okay,” Feyre said.

He turned over and looked at her. “He’s going to make fun of me. Uncle Cass, too.”

Rhys was already trying to fall back asleep, realizing the crisis of the night had been handled. The arm that wasn’t rubbing Lily’s back was draped over his eyes. “If Uncle Cass tries to make fun of you for being scared of storms, you should ask him about Bryaxis.”

“What’s a Bryaxis?” Livy asked.

“The neighborhood dog that nearly took a chunk of Uncle Cassian’s ass when we were kids.”

“Rhys!”

He ignored his wife’s reprimands and yawned, going on. “Thanks to Bryaxis, Uncle Cass is still scared of dogs.” He yawned again, Lily doing the same only a second after him. “Use that information however you will.”

Bennett, despite his mother’s chastisement, chuckled. “Uncle Cass is scared of dogs?”

“Deathly afraid,” Rhysand confirmed. “He pretends he’s not, but he is. Terrified. And you love dogs, right?”

Bennett nodded.

“Everyone is afraid of something.” Rhysand yawned. “But, there’s really nothing to be scared of, Ben.”

The room fell into silence as the storm outside of their bedroom windows raged.

Soon, the girl’s breathing slowed down. Even Feyre fell back into a deep slumber, Lily somehow scooting over in her sleep, one twin on each side of her.

Each, a different side of their mother, a different side of their father. Livy, with her violet eyes, mischievous personality and stunning loyalty. Lily, her stormy, blue-grey eyes, loyal, to a fault, yes, but sometimes too much. Too much that her heart ended up hurt, more often than not.

“Dad?”

Rhys, right on the cusp of sleep, both girls having curled up against their mama, breathed, “Yeah, Ben?”

Bennett’s voice was quiet when he asked, “What are you afraid of?”

The question took Rhysand by surprise. His son was growing up, that was for sure, to ask such a question. He thought of his wife, his daughters, his son.

He loved them all, was so in love with them that it made his heart ache. With love came fear, and that fear…

“I’m scared of a lot of things,” Rhysand replied. He was afraid of losing Feyre, was afraid of losing his kids.

“Like what?” Bennett asked, quietly.

“Like...being alone,” he admitted, softly. “I don’t like to be alone, bud.”

Bennett was quiet for a moment before he said, “Good thing you have mommy and me and the twins then, right? That way you won’t ever have to be alone.”

Rhysand looked over at Bennett, with his hair sprawled out against the pillowcase. He used to wonder what his children would be like, wondered if he would do an okay job parenting them. As he looked at his eldest, he knew they were doing something right.

“You’re right, bud,” Rhysand whispered, and smiled, full of pride. “I won’t ever be alone. And, neither will you.”

“Good,” Bennett said, quietly, before drifting into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

#31 days of halloween #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #the arrival #feyre #rhysand #2nd gen #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction

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aki-draws-things · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021

Prompt: 02. Talking is overrated

Fandom: MCU

Ship: winterhawk

Extra: tw coma

An anon asked for some winterhawk... Well, here some.. It's not much, but I hope you might like it... 💖

Bucky knew pain, he had lived a long life, and even when his mind wasn't his anymore he knew pain. It was a constant, one he did not want, but a constant nevertheless.

He knew it from nazi's torture, he knew it from falling, from his missing arm and from the scar around the new arm, over his shoulder. He knew the pain from the Chair, from surfacing memories and repressed feelings. And he knew how to inflict pain too. Any concept of pain, Bucky was, unfortunately, aware of.

But that pain, that day, was worse than anything before.

The sky was falling, raining fire like an apocalypse from some film. Of course it wasn't literal fire, it was from some crazy spaceship of some crazy alien. He'd never get used to it. He said the same about Clint Barton and his continuous talking over the comms. It didn't take long for bucky to realize he talked through a sub-frequency, linked to Bucky's comms only. He wanted to groan, to reprimand him, tell him to concentrate on the fight, no, it wasn't a good time to ask him out, goddamn!

Clint laughed and Bucky felt his heart skip a beat. No, not in battle, stay focused.

"but if I asked another time, you'd say yes?"

"I said not now, Barton. There are aliens trying to invade us."

"Yup, darling, can see them. Just arrowed three of them. Gotta get that arrow back though, I can't risk running out, can I?"

Bucky didn't imagine him winking, why should he--- actually, could people wink with they're voice? Because that definitely sounded like Barton winked at him, and it was getting distracting.

"you still haven't answered." Clint said again. Bucky could hear fights in the background from the comms, soft yelling, and thus and--

"--shit."

What? What now?

"Barton?"

He didn't get an answer at first, he tried to ignore the dreadful feeling building up in his stomach, cold and dark. An arrow passed right next to his cheek, it barely grazed him and Bucky turned, following it and seeing how it flew through the open armor, and I'm the head of a second alien behind the first. Both of them too close to Bucky, and he didn't notice them. He thought of blaming Clint for that, him and his distracting talks, but Clint was the one who saved him so--

Something crashed behind him, it crashed loudly and without a human sound but the breaking of bones.

Bucky was aware if many types of pain, psychological and physical ones, but this one was new, and worse. He felt his own heart drop at the sight, broken limps bended unnaturally, blood pooling around the head, drenching the suit on the chest, trickling from his lips, and nose, and ears, down his chin and neck. Bucky dropped on his knees next to the body and suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear that annoying voice through his comms. Silence was-- cold. Cold like the cryo freeze hydra kept putting him into. Cold as the snow when he fell, cold as--

"hey Buck... Are those tears?" he gasped, and sobbed, looking ag the barely opened eyes. It was a miracle he was alive, but there he was, and yes. Yes, of course he was crying.

"what were you thinking? Saving me and falling down a building? Again? What's wrong with you and buildings?"

He brushed his hand over the cheek, hoping that wouldn't hurt him, where could he touch the archer without causing more pain, actually?

"eh... Not lucky." Clint stretched a smile, frowned, and squeezed his eyes when the smallest movement caused a burst of pain through his skull. His most definitely fractured skull. He slowed his breathing and bucky wasn't sure he did it on purpose, as training or if his body was just giving up. He hoped-- no, he didn't dare to hope.

"wouldn't answer me. - Clint muttered, and bucky almost burst out an answer, like that would magically make everything alright, heal him, save him. - I thought... Showing you I'm serious would work better. Actions are louder."

Your bones hitting the ground were definitely loud, bucky almost said. He didn't.

"doesn't matter..." a hand brushed bucky's cheek, wiped the tears away, some bones were still intact then... Little consolation. He grabbed the hand, held it carefully in his. "'m jus' glad you alright." he slurred, his eyes closing, laying still as bucky tried to wake him again, as he screamed and begged. As he whispered that yes, yes he would go on a date with him, but only if he could pick the place.

Only if Clint woke up again.

"Bucky..."

"no." Bucky's voice sounded almost threatening, he knew what Steve was about to say, and they were alone in the room, how easily could he jump at him and shut him up. How easily his neck could snap if he dated to say it again.

"bucky, just listen to me... You can't lock yourself here, you need to get out, sleep, have a proper meal, a bath."

Bucky growled, he pointed at the bed, with enough room for him to curl into, at the tray and empty plate on the table, Natasha came four times every day with food and coffee, and milk, and anything bucky may ask her, at the bathroom door, there wasn't a bathtub, but he always liked showers better.

Steve sighed, that approach was unbreachable, and he couldn't disagree with Bucky's answer, he indeed had everything he needed.

"buck... Look, I know, I understand."

"do you? Is your pretty lover in a coma after saving your ass? Don't think so cause he's staring at me from the door. No Stevie, you do not understand."

He wouldn't make a scene. He could, and he knew some people that would help him clean up after and ask no questions, but no, he wouldn't. He was... Better.

"it's been three months, Buck. Tony said--"

"I don't care what Stark said! I don't. You get him off of that and he--"

He stopped, froze, trembled, hands closed in tight fists that almost collided with Rogers' face. He couldn't even say it, let alone imagine what would be, what would happen.

"he's gone already."

"get out."

"Buck... You should let him go."

"Get. Out. Steve."

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Buck..."

"OUT!"

His metal hand collided with the wall and he locked the door.

"you said actions were louder than words..." bucky murmured, his fingers brushing gently over the knuckles of the hand on his lap, he ignored the woman moving quietly on the other side of the bed, checking machines and vitals, humming quietly under her breath.

"a very loud action would be waking up... That wouldn't speak, clint... That would scream. And I'd take you screaming everyday if it means being at your side."

The woman left the bed with a last check to the IV line, she put a hand on bucky's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"you're not wrong, Winter." she said smiling down at him. "talking is indeed overrated most times, but I reckon it can make a difference sometimes. Times like that. So... You know, keep talking, call him back home." she pressed a kiss to his temple before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

"heard Jen? Clint... Clint you need to come home. Come home, so I can answer you. You pick the place, you've earned it, just--please."

#whumptober2021 #No.2 #Talking is overrated #Marvel #Fic #Coma tw #Winterhawk #Clint barton #James bucky Barnes #Open ending #Marvel fic #Aki writes

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daydreamingintheimpalax · 4 years

Text

Unexpected

Prompt: “what happened to your clothes?” “I think i’m falling in love with you.” “I think ive always known, deep down, i think i’ve always loved you.”

Dean x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, somewhat detailed sex scene, iunno not much really.

A/N: Sorry it’s so long, i had this idea and thought it’d be a fun read. Enjoy :)

Dean sat on your bed, mindlessly watching and waiting as you hid in your closet, dress after dress, skirt after skirt flying out, one almost hitting him in the face. He caught it mid air before tossing it down next to him.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up, its just a few drinks at the bar, Max already knows you, you dont need to impress him, he already likes you.” Dean spoke, watching as you popped out from your closet, three different shirts in your hands.

Dean was your best friend, you had met him and Sam as a child, your fathers had been hunting partners for a few years, always leaving you and the boys at bobby’s to cause trouble for the old man. You could still hear bobby’s voice sometimes, demanding Dean stop influencing you with his schemes.

His buddy Max had run into him at the bar last week while you guys had stopped in during a hunt and they had caught up for hours, you had connected with Max off the bat, and when he’d asked you out, you were skeptical, see deep down you always knew Dean was your guy, your never ending crush on him had turned into deeper feelings years ago, you tried to deny it for years, and definitely never told him, but when Dean had convinced you to give it a shot, go out on ONE date with a guy he knew and liked, you gave in, never being able to say no to him, i mean, to be fair you hadn’t been with a man in over 2 years and you could use a night out, maybe even some quality time in bed with a good looking guy, plus, Dean trusted him, and that was enough.

“Dean, i haven’t been out with a guy in 2 years, i’m not going out with a guy looking like a swamp monster, first dates are everything, and looking your best can make or break the date.” You huffed, holding out a shirt to him for an opinion, he shook his head, grimacing.

“First, you never look like a swamp monster, you’re stunning no matter what, you hardly have to work at that, secondly, that’s an old ratty tshirt you stole from me, really?” He pointed at it, now realizing he was right, why the hell you were even suggesting this. It was time to pull out the big guns. You sighed, hiding back into your closet, you had to have something date worthy.

Dean had popped away, grabbing himself a beer, giving himself a break from outfit advice. You were his best friend and he wanted nothing more than to see you happy, even if it meant trusting Max to take you out on a date. It was one date, it’s not like he was stealing you away forever. He had always had a soft spot for you, you were his first kiss as a kid and he’d looked out for you ever since, and even though he trusted Max, seeing you get all worked up over a guy that wasn’t him still didn’t settle well with him, but he shoved his feelings down and tried to be as supportive as he could.

He walked back into your room, realizing you were finally working on your makeup, you were slightly bent over your bathroom sink, reaching closer to the mirror as you did your eyeliner, truth be told, he loved when you did that black wing thing, it enhanced your big E/C eyes and drove him nuts everytime. He looked you over, realizing what you finally had chosen to put on, a shorter than he’d like black leather mini skirt, a matching leather shirt thing that looked similar to a bra more than anything. He cleared his throat.

“What happened to your clothes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

You finish your eyeliner before walking past him, fetching lipstick out of your little makeup bag before making your way back to your bathroom, “What do you mean? Theyre fine.” You spoke, applying your lipstick as he piped up.

“I mean like, where’s the rest of it?” he sassed and you rolled your eyes as you walked back into the room. “It’s not that bad is it? It’s literally all i can find that isn’t covered in holes, old blood or stained monster guts.” You looked down at yourself, smoothing out your skirt. Dean cleared his throat as he eyed you properly, trying hard to calm his way out of a boner.

“Uh, no, no i’m just teasing, you look incredible.” He smiled, nodding, you shoot him a innocent smile, “Better, Winchester. Much better, right answer.” You shoot him a small wink and he chuckles. He had come a long way on talking to women because of her, she helped him realize as a teenager and a young man that he didn’t need to be vulgar or gross to pick up women and he’d learned a long time ago thanks to her that chivarly was key.

He watched as she put on her coat, Max waiting by the door to take her out, she gave him a little wave as she told him not to wait up, she’d be fine.

“Be safe, have fun.” He smiled as she walked out the door, his internal groan coming out of his mouth and he kicked himself for being too scared to ever make a move himself. He’d liked her since they were teenagers, but he was too stubborn to do anything, his fathers voice telling him hunter relationships never worked.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night had been a blast so far, you and Max were having a great time chatting, dancing and enjoying each others company at the bar, he was sweet, nice and had a good view on life and hunting. He told you entertaning stories, some even involved moments he and Dean shared as young teenagers hunting together, being boys and trying to get girls, Max pranking Dean. They had a good friendship and you were happy Dean had someone besides you and Sam he could pal around with.

You had moved to his truck a while ago, the mix of alcohol and pure need affecting you both as you made out like teenagers, the windows began steaming up, it was an unusually warm evening in lebanon and you were thankful you wore this outfit or would have soaked right through it from the heat.

His hand moved freely on your thigh and you straddled him, his back against the backseat of his pick up with you on his lap, dry humping him like some silly teenage girl who hadn’t had sex yet, you made the first move, desperate to feel a mans touch, it had been so long.

You yank your top off, nothing but some nipple covers to cover your exposed breasts, Max lets out a soft moan, “Beautiful,” he mumbles while he kisses softly around your skin, he slowly peels off the covers off you and his mouth lands on your nipple and you let out a louder Moan than you want to but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

Before you know it, your both down to nothing but your underwear, you reach down and pull down his boxers, reaching a hand in and grabbing him and placing him at your entrance, you’re already so turned on you don’t need foreplay tonight, not when you’re this sexually frustrated.

You sink down on him slowly, and you both moan out, yours comes out as more of a shout, and you begin to move, slowly at first before changing into a soft but faster bounce, he’s making sounds, you know that for fact but you’re so distracted by the feeling of pure pleasure you haven’t felt in so long you aren’t even fully aware of what’s happening, you let out a shout, and before you know what’s happening, it all suddenly just stops.

You come back to reality and notice Max has pushed you off, he’s pulling his pants back on and avoiding your eye. Oh for fuck sakes, you haven’t even came close to your release and Dean set you up with a 2 minute one pump chump. You were going to kick his ass.

“What’s wrong? are you done already?” you ask, his looks at you, letting out an exasperated huff before licking his lips and shaking his head. “I’m sorry Y/n, i don’t think this is going to work out, besides, you shouldn’t really sleep with a guy if you’re not going to rememember his name.” He scolds, glaring at you before he shoves his shirt on and climbs out the back, you put your skirt and shirt back on, deciding to skip the panties all together.

“Hey! I do remember your name, it’s Max, i’m not stupid!” You yell at him, angry now that he would even suggest that. Max turns to you, glaring, “Oh yeah, then next time maybe you should try screaming my name out and not Dean’s, jesus christ y/n, if you want him that bad just go fuck him, i doubt he’ll say no!” He shouts and you stand frozen.

“What? Dean?, i didn’t...I don’t-” you stutter, he cuts you off. “It’s kind of obvious y/n, you screamed his name for a reason, you obviously have lingering feelings for him, and im not going to be your pitty fuck.” He sighs, he ushers you into the passenger seat, offering to drive you home in what is the most uncomfortabe, quiet, embrassing drive home ever.

You slam the bunker door closed, worst date ever. You make your way past Dean and Sam in the library as you try your hardest to avoid them, especially Dean, you were embarassed enough, you didn’t need to face him right now, and you sure as hell hoped Max kept his mouth shut about it too.

“Y/N? That you? “ You hear Dean call out but you avoid answering, flying past them to your room before slamming the door shut.

Dean’s eyebrows furrow.

“I guess the date didn’t go well then.” Sam speaks out, looking over at Dean. He shrugs, before getting up and walking towards your room

He knocks on the door softly, “Y/n, you okay? did Max do something cause if he did i’ll beat the living crap outta him.” He calls out, he can hear your sniffle, he sighs, before softly opening your door. You’re cuddled up in bed, watching your favorite episode of golden girls as you cry softly. He sighs and heads over, sitting on your bed.

“Bad date?” He asks and you shrug, “Something like that.” He gives you a soft smile. “Want to talk about it?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, i just wanna forget it.” You speak, he notices you never meet his eye. He nods and agrees to leave it alone, he joins you quietly, watching tv with you but giving you your space. When you finally fall asleep, he goes to bed himself, but not before shooting Max a text.

“Whatever the fuck you did man, she’s upset, and if i find out you hurt her, i’ll kill you.”

---------

It’s two weeks later when things finally come out, you haven’t spoken to Max since that night of your date. The bar is busier than usual, a few more college kids then there usually is but it is spring break, most of them are probably home for the much needed time away from school work.

Dean is at the pool tables, hussling some airhead jock out of pool money. You watch and laugh when he heads over to you, cash in hand.

“Ha ha, stupid brainless jocks. Always so much fun seeing how much of daddy’s money i can get out of them.” He chuckles, setting the money back in his pocket. You roll your eyes but smile. Why did you put up with this dork.

Before you know it, someone is calling out for Dean. “Yo, Dean!” You both turn to spot Max, waving Dean over for a game. You swallow, nervous that the details of your date will come out, you still weren’t fully over it, and you dreaded Dean ever finding out, he’d never let you live it down and he really didn’t need a bigger ego. Luckily Max hadn’t noticed you yet.

Dean motions he’ll play one round and be right back and you try to give him a smile, dreading this inside. Just don’t ask him about the date, you interally tell him, even though he’s long gone and can’t hear it.

You sip your drink, asking for another one and you try to keep your cool at those two being in the same room all of a sudden.

-----------

One game had turned into 4 and before you knew it, the two guys had captured a crowd, some betting on Max and some on Dean. It was becoming a friendly competition between the two boys.

“Aw come on Max, don’t be a sore loser, i’m sure you can come back from that.” Dean teases, watching as Max lines up his next shot.

“Easy for you to say Winchester, tell me, do you ever get sick of being a pompous prick?” Max winks at him and Dean smiles, “Eh, Sometimes, but then i remember how fun it is to watch you lose and its all worth it.” Dean chuckles, Max suddenly isn’t in a joking mood and he shoots, it goes in, he gets a few more and Dean’s actually surprised.

“Not bad, man. You’re getting better.” Dean smirks, “Still no match for me though, i always win.” Dean leans in, takes a shot and gets his last three balls in, He lines up with the 8 ball, looks up at Max, and smirks, then his eyes find you, sitting behind Max a few tables down and he shoots you a wink, before sinking in his ball. Game over.

Max turns around, realizing who Dean winked at, he turns back around, slamming his pool stick down. “Good game, I’m done, guess you won Dean, you got the money, and the one girl i’ve liked in a really long time, guess you always do win, huh?” He spits out, a bitter tinge to his voice. He scoffs and walks away.

Dean’s suddenly confused, what the hell was he talking about. He looks over at you, you’re watching the television over the bar, no clue what had just happened, he follows Max outside catching him before he reaches his truck.

“Hey! I didn’t get anything, if this is about y/n, you screwed that up on your own, okay? I had nothing to do with that!” Dean shouts. Max laughs and turns to face him. “Oh bullshit Dee, you have everything to do with it!” He sneers, “I really liked her man, she was cool, but like always, Dean Winchester always gets the girl!” He scoffs, making Dean frown, confused.

“Y/n isn’t mine! she’s my friend, whatever you did to piss her off on your date was your problem, she didn’t tell me what you did but if you wanted her that bad, you had the chance to fix it!”

“REALLY DEE? Tell me, how the fuck would you fix the girl you like screaming your best friends name in bed when shes with you? Huh? How the fuck do i fix her thinkng about you while she’s fucking me?” He swallows, “Man, forget it, you wouldn’t understand, god forbid that ever happened to you.” He spits, before he’s in his truck, driving away. Dean’s still standing there, more confused than ever.

He finally makes it back inside, his eyes roaming around for you. He finds you in the same spot, the female bar tender chatting with you and making you laugh. Your eyes find him, beckoning him over and he moves.

He finally reaches you and you smile, “I got you another beer. How did the game go? You disappeared.” You ask, and he stares at you, he finally pipes up, and your heart sinks. Oh no. Please no.

“Max seemed very upset when he saw you, what happened on your date again? Why didn’t you ever go out with him again?” He asks, you take a sip of your beer and shrug. “I dunno, he wasn’t my type, just didn’t work out.” You bite your lip, hoping to god he lets this go, you don’t need to relive that embarassing moment.

He nods, taking a drink of his own beer, “Okay, so he just wasn’t your type, that’s all? It had nothing to do with you screaming my name in the middle of sex?” He calmly points out and you nearly choke on your beer, spitting beer across the bar table, everyone close by stares at you, you turn red, apologizing and grabbing napkins to clean up your mess.

You turn and face Dean, “He fucking told you!” Dean raises an eyebrow, “In a not so nice way, so it’s true? You really did?” He smirks and you bury your face in your hands, “Oh god...” You call out and when you look back up Dean’s cheesy grin is staring back at you, “Actually, apparently it’s Oh Dean.”

You throw a nice solid punch into his shoulder before you run out of the bar, “Y/n...y/n wait!” Dean calls out but you’re already half way across the bar and out the door. He throws down some cash and chases after you, catching you half way down the road.

“Y/n...” He calls out, “Just leave me alone Dean, i knew you would use this against me, i knew it. You’re a jerk.” You wipe away a tear, he finally reaches you and grabs your arm, turning you to face him.

“Hey, i didn’t mean to upset you, i’m sorry, i just, i was surprised, that’s all.” He sighs, “Why didn’t you just tell me? I thought Max was the one who hurt you or something.” He speaks softly and you sniffle.

“it’s embarassing, i didn’t even know i did it, i was so into it and then he just stopped, for a second i thought he’d already, you know, i was disappointed then we got into an argument about it and he took me home.” You shrugged.

Dean nodded, he was quiet for a while, and then he spoke, revealing something that made even you question if you were drunk.

“I uh, i guess i wasn’t expecting to hear that, and i guess i got a little excited cause iunno i just, i think i’m falling in love with you, and when Max told me i just uh, i guess i was hopeful that maybe it meant you felt the same.” He swallows before going quiet, watching your reaction carefully.

You nodded, frowning as you realised you weren’t dreaming, Dean loved you, Dean Winchester loved you.

“I think i’ve always known, Deep down, i think i’ve always loved you.” You shrug, “Every since we shared our first kiss, i think part of me has loved you ever since.” You smile, finally meeting Dean’s eyes, the grin on his face tells you all you need to know, this man is crazy about you, always has been.

“oh yeah?” He smiles, reaching out to grab you, you chuckle, leaning up and placing a slow, deep kiss on his lips.

“Yeah, what can i say, you’re just my type.” You smirk and Dean laughs.

“Well then, why don’t we get back home and i’ll give you a real reason to scream my name.” He smirks, leaning down quite a bit to place wet warm kisses along your exposed neck.

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” You roll your eyes, he meets them and a sexy grin appears on his face.

“Not a chance.”

#Dean x Reader #Dean winchester x Reader

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shoutosteakettle · 4 years

Note

AHHH IVE BEEN WAITING TO ASK SOMEONE IF THEY COULD DO A KATSUKI X FEM! READER WHERE HE IS CHECKING HER OUT DURING CLASS (LIKE HE USUALLY DOES) WITHOUT HER KNOWING BUT EITHER SOMEONE POINTS IT OUT OR HE JUST DIDNT NOTCIE SHE CAUGHT HIM (IDK YOU CAN DECIDE HOW HE VETS CAUGHT) BUT EITHER WAY HE GETS CAUGHT 🅱️ruh moment.... TYSM AND YOU DONT HAVE TO DO THIS IF YOU DONT WANT TO!! IM STILL HONORED YOU READ IT 😤🤧

word count: 1037

key: ☆

a/n: THERE IS LITERALLY NO REASON YOU SHOULD BE HONORED BY ME JUST READING YOUR REQUEST. I’M JUST A NERD WRITING FANFICS ABOUT ANIME BOYS. but thank you so much for requesting and being amazing! i hope to see you requesting again 💕✨⛄️

For some reason, Bakugou found it particularly hard to focus during class today.

Hell, who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he couldn’t concentrate, and it was your fault. Why did you have to miss-button your shirt this morning, and why hadn’t anyone let you know?

While Aizawa was busy going over this week’s upcoming events, Katsuki’s eyes were focused hard on your breast, not even bothering to pretend like he was paying attention. He swore he could fall in love with you all over again just at the sight of them. Bakugou’s eyes traced over the hem of the exposed parts of your light blue polka-dotted bar, committing every visible stitch to memory.

His eyes followed the curve in your breast, watching every slight bounce caused by your sudden movements. He often wondered what they looked like underneath the prison they were confined to, were they just as round perky as he dreamed they were?

Bakugou shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but his growing erection prevented that happening. Trying his best to stall his hard-on Katsuki redirected his attention from your boobs. He noticed the smeared mascara and wondered what had you in such a rush this morning. It was unlike you to look this un-put together.

Not that it mattered, Katsuki would drool over you no matter what. Just woke up - your bedhead is adorable. Gross from training - he wonders how your sweat tastes. In the midst of burning down the dorm - wow, you look so cute when your hair is on fire.

Katsuki was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t hear when Aizawa called his name, and a soft pat on the shoulder from Deku wasn’t enough to distract him from his distraction. So gathering all of his confidence, Deku gave Bakugou a slightly harder tap on his head this time, like gently petting an angry pomeranian.

“Oi, what the fuck!” Bakugou snapped at the terrified male behind him, causing Izuku to go green - well greener than he usually is. “Don’t mind, Midoriya. He and the rest of the class, myself included, were just wondering what has you so infatuated with Y/n.” Your teacher asked, causing an undeniable blush to form across the bridge of Katsuki’s nose, quickly spreading to his cheeks.

“Maybe you should consider minding you your own damn business!” Bakugou retorts.

“Awww dude. Can’t you see, Bakugou has a crush on her!” Kirishima teased while simultaneously stating the obvious.

“On her! Please, I’d set my sights higher than someone who can’t even button their fucking shirt right!” He scoffs.

You glance down, seeing that your blouse is indeed buttoned incorrectly, exposing your light blue bra to the world, causing you to turn a deeper shade of pink before turning away from the class to fix your mistake.

Wait.

Did Kirishima just say that Bakugou Katsuki was crushing on you?

Your crush...had a crush on you?

It took a minute for the class to rile down after Kirishima’s outburst. Bakugou fixed his eyes on your teacher, half-listening while he continued to let his fantasies play out in his head. Meaning now it was your turn to stare. Your eyes didn’t leave his, trying to make sense of everything that just happened.

It was kind of obvious. You noticed the way he would stare at you during class, how he always managed to be right outside the bathroom when you finished your showers, and how he would basically devour you with his eyes during lunchtime. Maybe today would be the day you finally confronted him about all of it and asked him on a date.

“Remember tomorrow we meet at Ground Beta, so you can skip coming to the classroom,” Mr. Aizawa announced to the class waiting for everyone to exit the class so he could do the same.

You rushed to gather your things so you could catch up with Katsuki before he got to the dorms, knowing that you wouldn’t get another chance to talk to him today. He had a ridiculous habit of shutting himself in his room until dinner and going sleep straight after. After a full-on jog through the halls of U.A., you finally caught up with him, prompting Bakugou to pause his conversation with Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Hey, Katsu! I really like you too, and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go out on a date with me?” You asked through pants, resting your hands on his chiseled chest.

“See, Bro, I told you she liked you back!” Kirishima gushed, causing you to snap your head towards him. You hadn’t noticed that he was with his friends. You wanted this to be a moment between just the two of you. Not to mention that this was now ten times more embarrassing than it was before. You felt as your cheeks began to heat up hotter than they were before. When you took a step back and finally looked up at the blonde, you were surprised to see he was blushing just as hard as you.

Ignoring Kaminari and Kirishima’s taunts and more than juvenile comments, Bakugou manhandled you into an empty classroom. Before you had a chance to put reason behind your prior words, you felt Bakugou’s lips come crashing down onto your own, abandoning his schoolbag in favor of holding your head between his calloused hands. You heard a slight moan leave your lips in return to his sudden actions. Bakugou took advantage of your parted lips, seeing it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring the moist cavern as if he were a pirate looking for buried treasure.

He moved his hands down to your hips, hoisting you up onto an empty desk as he continued his exploration. Stroking his tongue with your own, you earned a quiet grunt from the man. He finally removed his lips from you slightly bruised ones, for the sole purpose of catching his breath. Bakugou leaned down to pick his fallen backpack, and unable to make direct eye contact with you, Bakugou murmurs a quick ‘Yes’ before leaving the classroom.

tag list: @loisfics & @freckledoriya

#katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #gabistrying

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elwenyere · 3 years

Text

The Last Door

(Hurt/comfort Stony ficlet)

Upon waking up, Tony became aware of three facts in the following order: (1) he was cold, (2) there was an IV line pulling at the skin of his left arm, and (3) Steve Rogers was hunched over his hospital bed looking absolutely awful.

Well, awful on the scale of Steve Rogers, Tony amended. His jawline could still give a sculptor a stroke. And the lines that flexed through his forearms still filled Tony with the kind of feeling he imagined must have made Gustav Klimt paint Emilie Flöge. But Steve’s shirt was rumpled, his eyes bloodshot, his expression slack. And as he stared into space – not so much at as directly through the whiteboard where the nursing staff recorded their hourly visits – Steve’s posture seemed to sag under an invisible weight. Like someone had slung a circle of solid lead across his back.

“Hey, soldier,” Tony murmured.

Steve startled, and it was a sign of how deep in his thoughts he must have been that Tony had caught him unawares.

“You’re awake,” he managed, wrapping one of his hands around Tony’s. “The doctor said you’d be out for hours, so of course you had to show him up.” His face pinched toward a smile and didn’t stick the landing.

“Hey,” Tony said, squeezing Steve’s hand, “what’s going on? I know my hair’s probably a disaster, but you’ve seen me much worse than this.”

Steve shook his head, his brows furrowing.

“Steve,” Tony prompted. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“A car accident, Tony,” Steve answered finally, jaw clenching around the words. “God. All the time we spend training for the field, trying to prepare for every possible scenario, and then a car accident. We could take down half of HYDRA in a week, and still all it would take is one asshole missing a stop sign.”

He rubbed the hand not holding Tony’s across his eyes, and for the first time Tony noticed the faint tracks running down Steve’s cheek.

“It’s a pretty common way to go, Steve,” Tony said gently. “I know our lives carry some pretty strange risks, but that doesn’t mean we get to skip the everyday variety.”

“I do,” Steve retorted, his voice thick. “I mean I don’t even know if I can – I don’t know how long I’ll have to live after –”

He broke off, and no painkiller in the world could touch what it felt like to see Steve’s last effort to hold himself together crumple.

“Hey,” Tony repeated, and this time he gave Steve’s hand a tug, using his other hand to tap the spot where his arc reactor had been years ago. “Come here.”

Steve let out a soft choking sound and collapsed forward, nestling his head onto Tony’s chest and clutching at the fabric of his hospital gown. Tony ran the tips of his fingers in small circles across Steve’s back and let him wrestle down the sobs.

Steve had been so young when he made this deal, Tony remembered – so much younger than Tony had been when he shot his way out of a cave, already on borrowed time. Steve had thought he was signing up to die for people. He couldn’t have imagined the highest cost of his bravery would be that he’d have to outlive them.

“I can’t be sorry you became who you did,” Tony whispered, tracing oblique angles across Steve’s shoulders toward the nape of his neck. “It’s the only reason I got to have you at all, and I don’t think there’s a version of me in any universe good enough to give that up. But I promise I’ll try to make it worth it for as long as I can.”

“Tony,” Steve said, raising his head and taking Tony’s face in his hands, “I would do it all over again for any time at all – for the worst hour of the worst day we’ve ever had. Please don’t think that I would trade any of it –”

“Shh, okay Rogers,” Tony smiled, covering one of Steve’s hands with his. “I believe you. And if you’re really that fond of our darkest hours, we can reenact the incident at the Social Security office as many times as you want.”

“We promised never to talk about that again,” Steve groaned, but Tony could see the corner of his lips tugging upward.

“You called the clerk at the desk a ‘narrow-minded stooge, licking the boots of a backwater bureaucracy,’” Tony pointed out mildly.

“He said our marriage license was a national embarrassment!” Steve protested. “And you’re the one who threatened to buy the building he lived in and turn it into a gay strip club.”

A real smile finally broke across Steve’s face at the memory, and Tony felt like someone had loosened a metal band strapped across his chest.

“Well, the joke’s on him, darling,” Tony said, running his thumb up and down along the edge of Steve’s hand. “Because I’m going to make sure you get every last drop out of this ‘til death do us part’ business. I swear to God. I’m going to get you thrown out of so many government offices: you’ll feel like you’re flunking the draft again.”

“I’ll go through every door you do,” Steve agreed, leaning in to press a kiss to Tony’s lips, “for as long as I can – until the very last one.”

#stony #stevetony #stony fic #stony fanfiction #feels #superhusbands

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ofclaires · 3 years

Photo

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021.

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all !

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet.

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

#*#self para

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icollectyoursins · 4 years

Note

Ive got a humble little request for some Speedwagon appreciation? 👉👈🥺 I love him so much but nobody gives him the love he deserves. What about one where reader (f) has a GIANT crush on him, like, full on giddy schoolgirl puppy love. 🥰 And since its, well, Victorian era, she's never really had a "crush" on guys before, so she thinks she's really good at keeping it hidden but she's NOT lmao. Like always looking for excuses to sit next to/compliment/hug him and is super obvious and cute? 🥺🥰

Oh yeah, we stan Speedwagon in this good Christian house. He is best boy. 100/10. He 100% needs more appreciation.

Just for context, this takes place in the time before he goes to help Jonathan in part 1 (Phantom Blood). He’s met Jonathan, but not gone there just yet. It’s implied at the end that he leaves to help him at the end of this.

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: slight violence (not a lot maybe like 2 paragraphs), wholesome Speedwagon content.

Word Count: 929

There was something about Robert E. O. Speedwagon that you just couldn’t resist. It was something about his smile and the kindness in his eyes that had you head over heels. It was an odd feeling for you, men and boys never really interested you when you were younger, liking a good book or a soothing walk more. And then there he was.

You were cleaning up your family’s shop when he walked in, all smiles and laughs. He started asking you about the little charms your family made, making general conversation, then he left with a few things. You thought nothing of it, until he kept coming back. Slowly, but surely, you started to develop what your friends would call a crush on this man that, at this point, you didn’t know the name of.

You’d see him on the street, this kind mystery man, he’d smile widely at you, occasionally giving you a kiss on the hand if he was feeling more gentlemanly. Every time, you’d blush like a fool, giggling like a school girl. He made you feel something, like butterflies in your stomach, making your heart skip a beat.

One fateful day, he came in the store, looking for something for his friend. You were feeling rather brave that day and, as you were showing him around for the umpteenth time, you asked him what his name was.

“Oh! My name is Robert. Robert E. O. Speedwagon,” he funnily exaggerated the last name, making you giggle more than you probably should have. He told you that it was a mouthful to say, so you can just call him Speedwagon. You smiled. Speedwagon. Stupidly, you thought of what your name would be like if you had his last name. (Y/N) Speedwagon. It sounded nice.

The rest was history. Occasionally, you’d ask him if he wanted to go on a walk, but then he’d start coming by every day for a daily walk. He’d walk you home after you finished cleaning the store, which made your heart flutter. Soon, you were looking for every excuse to be with him, to hear him talk, and laugh. Reminding him every chance you got that he was amazing, complimenting his hat or his coat.

He would always laugh, tell you thanks and then compliment something on you or say that “you’re too kind, (Y/N),” or “how do you have the capacity to say such things to someone like me?” You’d always blush like a fool and tell him that you just like making people happy. Which, wasn’t wrong, but more specifically, you want to make him feel happy.You didn’t know a lot about him, but there was something about him that made you feel like he needed a reminder every now and then.

Your parents would give you a knowing look when he’d come over to the house. You were always confused when they did so. Were you too obvious? Oh, no. What if he knew? Was he being nice so you wouldn’t get hurt?

The thought made you love him more, in a self-pitying way. He was so kind, even if he wasn’t interested in you, he’d still laugh with you, make you smile. Whoever his wife was or would be, you envied them. You knew that no matter who he was with, he would make them feel more loved than ever before. You wanted that. A lot.

Speedwagon was walking you home one day, when some rude assholes decided to try and steal your bag. Two large men with knives in their hands and alcohol on their breath cornered you, threatening you with the edge of the knives. He was quick to punch them, fending them off while you ran away down the street. You found yourself in an alley way, panting, clutching your bag close to you. Did he really do that? Did he just risk himself so you could get away?

The sound of footsteps running got closer and closer to you. Panic began to set in. What if he didn’t get away. Tears started rolling down your cheeks as you began to imagine the blood pooling on the cobblestone, washing down the drain in the rain.

You held your breath as whoever was running came around the corner.

“(Y/N)!” It was Speedwagon, thank god. “(Y/N), are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” You shook your head no, you were fine thanks to him. He smiled thankfully, pulling you into a giant hug.

You were shocked, but didn’t push him away. It was greedy of you, really, to want to take him away from everyone else, but feeling his arms around you, holding you closer than anyone ever had. You never wanted this to end. Your arms snaked around him, pulling yourself into him.

He stayed there for as long as you wanted. You needed this. So bad.

“Thank you,” you said weekly. He pulled you back slowly, brushing your tears away gently with his thumbs. He smiles at you, filling you with warmth, making you do the same.

“Hold on to my arm, I’ll keep you safe the rest of the way home, that’s a promise,” Speedwagon offered you his arm and you clung to it, thankful for the stability next to you.

Finally at home, he walked you up the steps, then stopped. “(Y/N),” he said, holding your hand in his. He was visibly struggling to find the words to say. But, he smiled, then just pulled you towards him, kissing your cheek gently, catching you off guard. “Stay safe for me.”

#speedwagon jojo #reo speedwagon #what a good lad #10/10 would recommend #speedwagon x reader #robert speedwagon #robert speedwagon x reader #ask #answer

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dothwrites · 4 years

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Prompt for destiel where one of them saves the other from a calamity, au or canon/humans or human & angel, but they get severely hurt instead, and other gets to comfort them and help them heal, and they get to confess

---

It’s his fault.

That’s all Dean can think as he kneels on the grimy floor, slick with Cas’ blood. His fault.

He was the one who insisted on pressing forward with the hunt, who overrode Cas’ desires to wait. He should have listened. After all, it was just him and Cas, newly human and still a little fragile with it. He should have listened to Cas’ objections, should have listened to the little coil of unease in the pit of his stomach warning him that this was a bad idea, should have, should have, should have.

It should have only been one demon.

There had been more.

The demons had fought with brutal efficiency; within a few seconds, he and Castiel were separated from each other. From far away, Dean had heard the struggles, the snap of electricity that signaled a demon’s death and the grunts from Cas that accompanied the sick, wet sounds of fists striking flesh. At least Cas was still fighting. Dean was less than useless, caught in a chokehold that slowly obstructed his airway. His joints screamed in pain while black and red crowded at the edge of his vision.

“Dean Winchester.” His name was spoken in a sneer, contempt dripping from the lips of the leader of this little outfit. In a former life, her meatsuit must have been some kind of model--she was all lithe lines and sleek muscle and tall enough to look Dean in the eyes. Her eyes flashed black as her fingers gripped at his chin. Five bright pinpricks of pain blossomed across his cheeks as her nails dug in. Dean grunted, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of crying out.

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? The whole world, open for the taking, room enough for everyone to spread out now that you killed the man upstairs, and you still couldn’t let us be.” A thin trickle of blood dribbled down Dean’s chin as her nails broke skin. “Well, you should have kept your nose out of it.”

She drew her hand back, silver glinting as she moved. All Dean saw was the wickedly sharp point of her angel blade. He remembered how it felt, skin and muscle splitting underneath the force of the blow, how easily the blade slid into his body. Looked like he was going to get to experience it again, except this time without the failsafe of the Mark to pull him out again.

“Dean! Dean!”

The blade started to plunge down and Dean closed his eyes. They hadn’t had enough time, him and Cas, and now he was leaving Cas to the rest of a mortal life, alone. I’m sorry, Dean thought, tensing in preparation for the inevitable blow. Cas, I’m so sorry...

The blow never hit. Instead, what hit was a dervish, a whirl of blows and snarls and yelps. Somewhere, in the mad scuffle, Dean recognized the shock of dark hair and the flash of Cas’ shirt. Seeing that gave him enough strength to break free of the hold. His own blade slipped into his hand and he plunged it into the gut of the demon who had been holding him.

He’d had just enough time to feel triumphant before he heard the low grunt of pain.

He’d known what it was, but he still turned around to confirm. His eyes landed on a nightmare.

A demon stood tall, blade in hand. Crimson liquid dripped slowly off of the tip of the blade to splash upon the ground. Though it was impossible, Dean would swear that he heard the impact of every drop. A sick, twisted grin spread across the demon’s face as they looked down.

Castiel staggered backward, hands clutching at his stomach. Already, a dark stain spread across his shirt. Horrified, Dean could only watch as Cas dropped down to one knee, before he finally collapsed to the ground.

Dean’s still not sure the exact sequence of events. He knows that he charged forward, a pained shout erupting from his throat. He knows that there’s a dead demon. He knows that his fumbling fingers managed to find his phone and call Sam, leaving bloody smears on the screen.

And he knows that Cas is dying.

“You stupid son of a bitch, why the hell did you do that?” He won’t cry, not here and not now, but he wants to. Cas moans lowly in pained protest as Dean drags him into his lap. He ignores the sticky warmth leaking into his jeans from the ragged wound in Cas’ stomach the same that he ignores Cas’ eyes squinting shut in agony. He’ll deal with those later, push through those nightmares when Cas isn’t gasping for air right in front of him. Dean lays his hand on Cas’ neck, fingers pressing down on his pulse point. It’s thready and rabbit-fast.

“You have to ask?”

“Dammit Cas.” Dean bends down low over Cas’ body, as if he could shield him from the rest of the world. Too little, too late. He’d screwed up and now Cas was paying the price, like always. “You know that I’m not worth it. You know it.”

“Dean.” Cas’ mouth moves like he wanted to say more, but all that comes out is a dribble of blood, leaking from the corner of his mouth. His hands grasp at Dean, but his grip is so weak that it slides off without ever making an impression. “Dean,” Cas manages to say, breathing in deep and forcing the single syllable of his name out with extreme effort. “I, I--”

“Don’t you say it,” Dean hisses, pressing down hard on Cas’ stomach. The sound of Cas’ agonized cry is enough to twist a knife in his heart, and the feel of warm blood gushing over his hand makes him sick to his stomach, but at least it forces Cas to stop talking.

“You’re not fucking dying on me,” Dean almost snarls, voice wobbling towards the end. “You hear me, Castiel? Not yet.”

Cas’ eyes close. He doesn’t respond.

---

Dean watches the skip and jump of the heart monitor and listens to the steady beats. Like a metronome, it counts the beats of Cas’ heart. Each rise and fall, each electronic beep soothes Dean’s rough edges, as it acts as a reminder. Cas is still here. He didn’t lose him.

Twenty-two stitches. That’s what it had taken to save him. That and some very good surgeons, some impossible luck, and a series of driving maneuvers delivered by one Sam Winchester. Dean would doubt that his brother was capable of such driving, if he hadn’t been in the back seat with him for the full duration.

They’d cut the margin of error so thinly that it was translucent. Minutes, the doctors had said, with the vague whiff of suspicion that came from bringing in a stabbing victim. If traffic had been heavier or if Sam hadn’t been driving quite so fast and furious on the Fury Road...Well, Dean would have another corpse on his hands to burn. Again.

Dean’s attention is caught by a low groan coming from the direction of the bed. Within seconds, he’s at Cas’ bedside so that he can see the exact moment that Cas’ eyes flutter open.

He’d been so angry earlier. Furious, that once again, Castiel saw fit to throw himself to the wolves, all for Dean’s sake. He’d been ready to give Cas an earful when he finally woke up (once they discovered that he was going to wake up). But seeing the hazy, pained look in Cas’ eyes vanish to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile erases all thoughts of rage from Dean’s brain. All it leaves him with is sweet, clear relief.

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, as tentatively as though Cas were made of porcelain. “How are you feeling?”

Cas pauses to consider. “Numb,” he finally rasps. He glances to the side, where the IV stand drips down into various tubes connected to his body. “I assume that there’s a large amount of medication responsible for that?”

“Yeah, you’re getting the good stuff,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas’ hair. It’s a little gross--Other than a few quick sponge-baths from the nurses, Cas hasn’t bathed and his hair has taken the brunt of that. It’s a little greasy, but Dean couldn’t care less about that. Not when Cas smiles up at him through a grizzled beard.

“Don’t be angry,” Castiel says. His fingers wrap weakly around Dean’s wrist. “I know that you’re probably furious with me.”

“Damn right I am. How many times do I have to tell you, I ain’t worth--”

“Stop.” Cas squeezes his wrist. His grip is pathetic enough that it forces Dean into silence more than if Cas had managed his usual bone-bruising force. “Nothing you say will ever convince me that you’re not worth saving. Nothing,” Cas says, as severe as his voice will allow. He strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. His eyes look at something faraway only he can see. “I sometimes think that I was created in order to keep you safe. Please don’t deny me that.”

And what can you say to that?

Dean lifts Cas’ knuckles to his face, brushing a gentle kiss over them. “Way to make a guy feel guilty, asshole.”

Cas smiles wanly. “Whatever it takes.” His voice turns thin and ragged around the edges. Dean knows that it’s not going to be long before he slips back into sleep.

“But you have to try and stay around.” Dean takes in a deep breath. The words sit on his tongue, ready to taste freedom. “It’s not fair to make me go through this without you. I love you, dumbass, and if you go off and get yourself killed just because you were trying to save me then I’m going to be really pissed at you.”

They haven’t said it. They’ve kissed, they’ve fucked, hell sometimes they’ve even done what Sam would probably call making love. They live together and they’ve died for the other. But they’ve never said the words. Dean had been convinced that he never would. Cas knew. That was enough for him. Everything else was window dressing.

But there in the backseat, with Cas’ limp and bleeding body pressed against him, forced to listen to Cas’ pained wheezes, and his hand pressed against Cas’ stomach trying to keep Cas’ blood inside, Dean had been overcome by only thought.

Cas is going to die and I never told him.

The thought that Cas could die without knowing exactly how much he’s adored has kept Dean awake for several nights.

Cas’ eyes are wide as his fingers clench reflexively around Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he finally gets out. He blinks quickly, obviously fighting against impending sleep. “Dean, I--”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean brushes Cas’ hair off of his forehead and leans down to press a kiss against the clammy skin. “Go to sleep.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?” Cas’ voice is already slurred, sleep wrapping around him and tugging him deep into oblivion.

Dean settles onto the edge of Cas’ bed, unwilling to release his hold on Cas until he absolutely has to. Cas murmurs happily, nonsense words that trail off into silence.

Dean runs his finger down Cas’ cheek, bristly and unshaven. It’s warm to the touch. When he pulls away, Cas almost follows after him, squirming in his sleep until Dean takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. Only then does Cas subside into peace.

“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, despite the fact that Cas can’t appreciate his words. “Yeah, I’ll be here.

---

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #canon!verse #angst #happy ending #dothwrites

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