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#she left for a reason she ain’t comin back
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Just Friends, Chapter One:
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: E (18+ ONLY, mutual pining, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 34), angst??, masturbation (m))
wc: 2k
joel masterlist | series masterlist
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Joel feels weak when he sees you.
That’s the best word for it. Weak. A complete lack of control—of power. Logic and reason are nothing but incoherent mumbles in the background every time you’re in the same room as him, even worse when you look into his eyes and speak his name.
He hadn’t felt this sort of tug towards someone in years, and the unfamiliar sensation of needing to simply see you at least once a day in order to function properly was beginning to consume him. He didn’t know what to do to rid himself of this infatuation, avoiding you was impossible and so was getting closer thanks to that 30-something year old patrol ranger you called your boyfriend.
He watched the two of you together as though it was his job. He watched the way you seemed to keep him at an arm’s length when the two of you were out together, always sandwiching yourself between your friends rather than beside the man you were supposed to love.
He couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you were like in private.
It couldn’t be a very passionate affair, that much he knew. Real passion wasn’t so easily concealed. It was consuming, drawing you like a magnet to your partner, burrowing beneath your skin, creating an itch to be near them—to be touching them. It couldn’t be an affair of passion.
Just now, he’s sat in his usual seat in the corner of the bar, his back pressing to the padded walls of the booth, his hand holding a crystal glass filled with whiskey, his brows drawn together, his eyes locked on the back of your head as you ordered a drink, your friend next to you. Joel wants to stand up, walk over, and offer to buy your drink right in front of him just to see the look on your face.
Would you tell him to fuck off? Or would you say yes?
The laugh you let out in response to something your boyfriend whispers into your ear stops Joel from finding out.
“God, I need a drink,” Ellie sighs as she emerges from nowhere, her backpack being shrugged onto the floor as she sits down across from Joel.
“Tough day learnin’ your ABC’s?” he quips, his tone still flat from the war jealousy was waging inside of his head.
“Ha-ha,” she replies, just as dry. She knocks her knuckles on the wooden table as she watches his eyes drift back to you, now seated at a table just five or so feet away from him—too close for his comfort. Downing his drink, he shifts his eyes back to Ellie in time to catch her chuckling at him.
“What?” he asks, tilting his head at her as though he were begging her not to read him as easily as she does.
“Nothing,” she shakes her head and laughs again before reaching over the table to swig the finger of whiskey left inside Joel’s glass.
“Hey,” he calls as he catches her mid sip, stealing the glass back. “They got rules about kids drinkin’, you know that. You itchin’ for another lecture from Maria about followin’ the rules?”
“No,” she replies. “It’s a bullshit rule anyway.”
“No, it ain’t,” he sighs as your laughter fills the room again, his chest panging causing him to physically wince. “I’m ready to go home. You comin’ or you stayin’?”
“Staying,” she says, grabbing her backpack and setting it on the table. “Have homework to finish and your sad country music being blared through the house isn’t going to help keep me focused.”
“Don’t disrespect my sad country music,” he warned playfully as he stood up with a grunt, finishing the little whiskey left in his glass in one gulp. “I’ll see ya back at home by curfew.”
“About that…” Ellie looked up at Joel with a hopeful smile. “Dina invited me over to spend the night—“
“Dina can spend the night at ours,” he argued, that protective streak of his making it’s usual appearance.
“Dina and I don’t wanna watch you drink and sing along to George Jones, dude,” she replied, frowning up at him until he broke.
“Fine. But you’re back in time for breakfast tomorrow.” Ellie grinned as she nodded at him, his eyes rolling and a chuckle escaping his chest. “Spoiled.”
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As Joel starts to make his exit, he stops at the bar to deliver his empty glass and pay off his bill. That’s where you find him.
“Hey,” you start, hoping to conceal your deeply hidden crush on the older man with friendliness. Joel’s head turns to you so quickly you swear you hear his neck crack, his unreadable eyes locking on yours as though you were some sort of apparition he was almost certain wasn’t actually there. “I just wanted to come over. Say hi.”
“Hi,” he replies, choked and unprepared. Clearing his throat, he tips his head towards your table. “I saw you were with your friends, otherwise I would’a came over and said somethin’.”
“You can always come over and say something,” you assure, fighting the urge to bat your eyes at him as you give him a smile. The man whose coat you’re wearing lingers in the back of your mind as you stare at the man you’ve wanted since he arrived.
“How’s the new fence treatin’ ya?” he asks, a smile creeping onto his face as he leans a shoulder onto the bar and faces you. You think back to the weekend he spent building your white picket fence last month, free of charge. The way his arms looked in a t-shirt as he sawed away at the wood still makes you dizzy.
“Well, it’s still upright so…you must’ve done a good enough job on it,” you offer with a smirk, earning the slightest of chuckles. You always wondered why everyone seemed to think he didn’t have a sense of humor, he seemed to find you funny enough. “I, uh, also came over to invite you over to my place tomorrow evening.”
You watch as Joel’s brow lifts with interest.
“Oh yeah? You throwin’ a party or somethin’?” he asks.
“My birthday,” you shrug. “Figured I’ve gone twenty years without celebrating it, might as well.”
“That’s what this place is supposed to be about,” he says. “Doin’ normal things again.”
“Exactly,” you smile, ignoring the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when he mimicks it. “So, can I count you in?”
“Long as you got somethin’ to drink.” You laugh and nod in reassurance. “Well, I’m in, then.”
“Alright, I’ll let you escape before someone else comes up and tries to talk to you,” you offer, reaching your hand over to touch his arm. Joel looks down at the contact before meeting your eyes again, something unreadable lingering in his dark irises that makes you flustered enough to pull your hand away. “I’ll see you.”
“See ya,” he replies, quiet as he taps the counter with his knuckles before turning and walking off. Your eyes couldn’t help but lower to his fist as it hung by his side, clenching and unclenching. With a subtle but deep breath, you turn around and walk back to your table—back to your boyfriend and all of his perfection that bores you beyond belief.
“Why did you go up to him?” Josie, a friend of yours, asks as you return to your spot at the table and reach for your beer to wash down the lingering desire.
“I invited him to my party,” you replied, shrugging as you gave her a confused look. “What?”
“Babe,” your boyfriend, Will, chuckles. “He’s…old.”
“And an ass,” Josie adds. You roll your eyes at them, knowing that neither of them ever had a real conversation with Joel, making their opinion of him mute. “Did he say yes?”
“Yes,” you chuckle, amused by the shock on their faces. “We’re friends!”
“Since when?” Josie asks with a hearty laugh.
“Since always,” you reply with a shrug before continuing, “I helped show him around when he got here since I’m right across the street.” Josie looks to Will and then Will looks to you, a look of amused confusion on his handsome face. “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him.”
“Maybe, but he’s also old enough to be our father,” Will argues. You roll your eyes at the reality of the age gap between you and your secret crush, twenty-two years to be exact.
“There are only so many people our age in Jackson, honey,” you say, irritation thick in your tone. “And besides, just because he’s older means I shouldn’t be friendly to him? We’re just gonna start shunning every person in Jackson above what, fifty?”
“You know what,” Will starts, reaching his hand over to rub your back, his warm touch only making you feel colder. “You’re right. We’ll be friendly to him too. Okay?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your beer up to your lips, wishing more than anything that the man touching you was someone else.
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Joel’s in bed, his drunk thoughts centering around you. Around the way you smiled up at him as though you had no clue that his heart was beating out of his chest. Maybe you didn’t, but how could you not notice his sweaty palms, the nervous twitch of his lips when you forced a smile onto his face?
He was sure he was going to lose it completely when your hand came to rest on his arm. He wanted to run and at the same time wanted to get closer, to feel you too. But, the falter in your smile once his eyes met yours and your hand leaving his arm so abruptly it hurt grounded him back to reality. The one in which you were a taken woman and he was a man twenty years older.
It makes him feel sick when he tries not to think about you, so he doesn’t bother as he reaches his hand over his briefs and grips his swelling girth in an attempt to soothe the throbbing ache there. He grunts as he strokes himself through the fabric, just enough to build himself up slowly.
He thinks of you. He thinks of that weekend he built your fence. He thinks about the way you looked in the sun, the green grass beneath you as you sat out on the lawn and kept him company. He thinks about your legs, bare in the summer heat, your denim shorts cut short enough to make him turn red when you rolled over to lay on your stomach.
As he rubbed his thumb over the now weeping head of his cock, he imagined what it would be like to take those shorts off of you. To lay claim to what lies underneath. He moans as he imagines the sounds he’d pull from you.
Pulling his briefs down enough that his cock was springing free, he licks his hand and grips himself at the base, another choked moan slipping free as his fist glides up and then down again, over and over.
He wonders what you’re like in bed, how you like it, if you’d let him take control or demand it for yourself. It didn’t really matter, he remembers, not when he’d never have the chance of finding out.
When he cums, he groans, his fist stroking up and down, gathering his spend to help ease the glide of his hand until he’s finally had his fill. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against his pillow, his eyes on the ceiling fan spinning above him.
“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he curses himself.
It doesn’t work.
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cosmicjoke · 3 months
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Underneath
Here's a little drabble I wrote today. I always think people misunderstand the reason Levi, presumably, killed those men that cut off Isabel's hair, so I wanted to delve into that with a short little fiction. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it:
//
Levi finds the men easy enough.
Isabel’s “friends”, hiding away in a rat-infested shithole like the snakes they are.
He’s come to kill them. He’ll give them a single chance. A single warning. But he knows already they won’t listen. Because he knows men like these.
He’s been the victim of men like these.
He’ll need to kill them.
He’d known that the moment Isabel came back, her face bloody and hair shorn. A prelude to something much worse.
Furlan wouldn’t understand. Isabel either. Because they don’t know like he knows.
Men like these…
Levi had grown up with men like these.
His mothers' men. Men who took and took and were never satisfied. Men who saw every woman and child as a doll to do with as they pleased.
Furlan had given him that look before he’d left. Had asked him where he was going. Levi simply told him “out”. But Furlan knew, and he didn’t understand.
Furlan had never killed a man.
Levi had killed many.
What these men had done was a violation. They’d taken from Isabel. And now they would want more. More of her.
They would rape Isabel. Because that’s what this kind of thing always led to.
Furlan didn’t understand, and neither did Isabel, and Levi would make sure they didn’t need to understand, because he would take care of it for them. He would take care of them.
He kicks the door in to announce himself, the thing splintering into pieces.
The men are stationed around a wooden table, playing cards. Five of them. They startle badly at Levi’s intrusion, standing with wide eyes and half-shouts.
“Who the fuck are you?” One of them sneers after a moment, regaining himself.
Levi steps into the room. It stinks like piss and cigars, and Levi frowns, disgusted.
He looks around. Assesses what they have. There’s a gun on the table. A single-shot pistol. A cheap pool table pressed up against the back wall, wooden cues laid out on the green. They’ll likely have blades on them. Nothing to worry over.
Finally be brings his eyes back to them, and steps nearer.
“Leave Isabel alone. You don’t talk to her, you don’t touch her. You don’t even look at her. Understand?” He says.
One of the men scowls, and then laughs.
“Isabel? You mean that cute little red-head that keeps comin’ round?”
“Stay away from her. Yeah?” Levi presses again, ignoring the sickness of the man’s words.
“Or what?” He says. “What are ya gonna’ do about it?”
“If she wants it, she’s gonna’ get it.” Another of the men leers. “Ain’t nothin’ a midget like you can do about it.”
Levi feels his eyes shutter, a cold certainty in his chest.
“I’ll kill you.” He tells them, voice flat.
They all start laughing then. They think it’s funny. They don’t believe him. They don’t understand, either.
“How about instead, next time Isabel comes ‘round, we make sure to show her your severed head as we fuck her raw? How about that, you little freak?”
Levi doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t show anything. Only slips the knife from the sleeve of his shirt, letting the dim glow from the oil lamps glint off the blade as he twirls it, letting them all see.
It gets them good and mad, just like Levi knew it would.
“You runt bastard.”
The first one comes at him, pulling a knife. Levi’s too quick for him. He’s too quick for everyone. The sonofabitch doesn’t know what’s hit him as Levi parries his blade. Doesn’t realize he’s already dead as Levi slices his gut from end to end, his insides spilling out, steaming onto the floor. He’s down on his knees just as another comes up on Levi from behind, trying to pull his arms behind his back.
Levi flips him over his shoulder, sending him crashing down on the wooden table, the thing shattering to splinters. And then there’s a third, coming at Levi from the side, wielding one of those pool cues.
Levi ducks under his swing, and comes up, sinking his blade into the man’s exposed neck, twisting and tearing down, ripping the man’s jugular clean from his throat. He’s dead before he hits the floor.
Two more on their feet, and they’re hesitating now, but they still try him. Still come at him, sloppy and slow. One goes for the gun which had been on the table, lying now on the floor.
Levi doesn’t give him a chance to put his hands on it. Puts his blade into his heart before he can can reach it, and into the eye of the other, to the hilt. They’re both dead in seconds. Just leaves the man on the table, groaning and struggling to sit up, too dazed to realize he’s alone now.
Levi thinks he might let this one go. He thinks he might. Only he’s the one who made the threat against Isabel, and he won’t take that chance.
He slits the bastards throat before he can recover.
He stares at them after. There’s blood everywhere, including his clothes and hands. He’ll wash them off at one of the street pumps. Furlan will know what’s happened. He’ll be disappointed. That was fine. As long as he and Isabel were safe. He could take Furlan’s disappointment. He could take his hate, even.
Isabel still had her innocence. One of the few people in this godforsaken hellhole who did. Levi’s was long gone. Gone since he was a boy, a decade younger than Isabel now. He didn’t matter. She did.
Levi takes what he finds. A couple bags of coin scattered among the debris of the table, some bills of cash. He rifles through the men’s pockets. Not much there. Some cheap knickknacks. An alright looking watch that might fetch something with one of the pawn shops.
He leaves quickly and tries not to dwell on the unhappiness in his gut.
He hated killing.
He doesn’t think Furlan understands that either. He thought it came easy for Levi. But it never did.
Being good at it didn’t ever mean it came easy.
//
Furlan is there, waiting, when Levi comes in.
He’s looking at Levi, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing. Isabel is nowhere in sight. Still in her room, probably.
Levi had washed the blood out of his shirt the best he could. But blood never came out completely. It stained pink against the white fabric.
“Did you kill them?” Furlan asks.
Levi only looks at him.
Furlan knows. He’s only asking to shame Levi. Levi lets him see his knife. And then he turns, and heads into his own room, closing the door behind.
He doesn’t know how to explain to Furlan. Doesn’t know how to make him understand.
Those men would have raped Isabel. They would have killed her, eventually. Or sold her into trafficking.
Levi knows, because he knows men like that.
Like his mother’s men.
Like the men who once had him. Who once tried to sell him into the same kind of life.
Furlan thinks Levi is becoming like those men. He knows. He sees it in the concerned glances of his first, real friend. Sees it in his worried frown.
Levi wishes he could explain. Wishes Furlan could understand.
But Levi’s never been any good with words.
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strawberryscorner · 1 year
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Forgotten Sins Chapter 6
Series Tags: Amnesia, Stockholm Syndrome, Drug Use (Bliss), Religious Cults, Fluff and Angst, Car Accidents, Family Member Death, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation
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You ducked under a window and leaned against the wall before picking up your radio and messing with the stations.
“What ya want, I’m busy over here,” a woman’s voice came through.
“Ad-Adelaide, is that you?”
“Dawn? Holy shit! Are you okay? I heard you became a fucking Peggie. I was so worried they did somethin’ awful to you.”
“No, I’m fine, they’ve been…Good, I guess. No torture.”
“Why’d you join ‘em, kid?” All of a sudden, she sounded tired. “I’ve been trying to think of a reason, but I keep comin’ up blank.”
“I had to. I found out who killed my family, and I just couldn’t come back.”
“You’re with the people who killed them right now!”
“No, I’m not.”
“No? Then who did it?”
You didn’t want to tell her, you couldn’t, “it’s…It’s not important.”
“It is, of course, it is. You lost both your family and mind and now you’re a fucking Peggie. Who did it?”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, “Hurk.”
“Hurk? My Hurk? Now, he ain’t the brightest but he don’t go ‘round killing just anybody. No matter what that damn cult leader told you.”
“He didn’t tell me anything, Adelaide, I saw him.” You lean your head back against the wall.
“You saw him? You’re remembering things, Dawn?” Even with what you were accusing her son of, her voice got lighter. You could hear the hope and joy in her voice. It only made you feel worse, for not remembering or for what you were telling her about Hurk, you weren’t sure. You just knew the guilt was not going to be letting go of you anytime soon.
“No, I still don’t remember. Although I found out I know how to shoot a gun. Anyways, no, they showed me a video. I saw Hurk do it.”
You heard her start to speak but someone interrupted, telling her it was time to go. “Alright, just hang on! Look, I need to go fuck up a silo but don’t count us out just yet, okay? I’ll talk to Hurk, I’ll get to the bottom of this, you just stay alive and out of trouble, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Good.”
While you weren’t sure you could trust Hurk or Eli, you were going to keep your word. You weren’t going to give up on Adelaide. There was something about her that made you feel like she was a good one, even if you have only ever spoken to her for a few minutes before today. But you couldn’t think about that now.
Now, you had to think about how you were going to get to the church. Surely you knew the way. You left the building you’re in and walk along the road, you were pretty sure you were going the right way.
This had to be the way.
Except, you’ve already past that house twice before. Haven’t you?
You sigh, sitting down where you stood and pulling up the radio. You fiddle with the channels again, sighing at the static. “Hello?”
“Dawn? Where are you? You should be here by now.”
“I’m lost.”
“Describe your surroundings.” He sounded amused. Bastard.
“There’s a house, it's white, made of wood. Yellow curtains and an ugly black car out front.”
“Anything else?”
“No, there’s just the house.”
“I’m pretty sure I know where you are. Stay there.”
You stay sitting on the road, looking at the radio in your hand and hoping whoever lived in that house wasn’t home or at least hadn’t heard you call their car ugly.
You don’t know how many minutes had passed, you were too busy scolding yourself for not knowing the way. You were so sure you remembered it. Was your memory this bad before the accident? You hadn’t even heard a car stop near you and yet saw a pair of military boots come into your vision. You looked up.
“Hi, Jacob.”
“Get in.” He moved his head in the direction of the car. You got up, dusting your pants off as you walked.
“Thank you for getting me,” you said as you put your seatbelt on. He hummed as he drove off.
***
Joseph Seed was in the middle of a speech as you snuck into the church, you and Jacob now staying in the back. Even with your disturbance, no one turned their head. They all kept their attention on the Father. Well, all but Faith, she had turned to give you a quick smile. You smiled back before leaning against the wall. It didn’t take long before your legs were burning from standing still. Joseph seemed to be dragging this sermon on. You were starting to wonder if contacting Adelaide was worth it, maybe you should have just come here on time so you could have sat down. Listening to his speech was torture enough without having to stand as well. But no, talking to Adelaide was what you needed. Hearing her voice was good, even if parts of your conversation still had you feeling guilty. It was good, maybe she was right about Hurk, or maybe you just needed a mother. Either way, contacting her was worth it, no matter the outcome.
When it was done, Jacob walked you to the front where the others were waiting. Well, Faith and John were waiting, Joseph was talking to the other members of Eden’s Gate who had watched the sermon.
“What took you so long to get here? I was scared you’d miss the whole thing,” said Faith, taking a step toward you but John moved in front of her, stopping her. Clearly, they hadn’t forgiven her for playing among the bliss flowers with you.
“Oh, I got lost.”
“I didn’t let her get lost, so why are you all saying I can’t look after her again?”
“I got her here, didn’t I?” Jacob said. John watched them as they continued to bicker about who made the bigger offence. Watching him reminded you that you still hadn’t received your sin. Hopefully, you’d never get one, but it seemed like everyone had one marking their skin. The most popular one seemed to be Lust.
“What are you thinking about?” John’s voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Lust.” This caused Jacob and Faith to stop their bickering, both looked at you amused. God, you wished these men would stop asking that question and you wished you’d stop answering with one word. “I just mean, it seems to be a popular sin.”
John looked at the man you pointed at, he had ‘lust’ carved on his forearm. “It’s a common one, yeah. Easy to get lost in those thoughts.”
“Have you done a confession yet?” Faith asked.
“No,” you said. While you hoped you’d never have to, it was only a matter of time. You looked at John, scared he might drag you away to wherever he held these confessions, but he smirked.
“You’ll have to stop by soon. I can’t wait to hear all your confessions.”
You felt your cheeks heating up, but you didn’t know why. Were you scared? Sure, but you didn’t know what sins you had committed in the past so what could he possibly mark you with? Forgetfulness?
The men looked at Joseph who was now coming towards you. Faith took this as a chance to get close to you. Instantly her scent affected you. You wanted to lean closer or to hold her hand and keep her close but Jacob moved his body between the two of you. Instantly, you felt colder, the warmth of Faith and her scent fading. Not fair.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Joseph told you.
“I’m sorry I was late.” Joseph just waved his hand, dismissing your apology. But really, you were sorry. Even if no one turned around to stare at you, you hated sneaking in and disturbing the sermon. You also hated standing throughout it. Joseph was talking to Jacob. You weren’t listening to their conversation, mostly looking at the floor since Joseph was the only thing in front of you.
You saw feet moving, they were leaving the church. You followed, not knowing what else to do. Maybe you should have paid some attention to their conversation. You were still in your head when you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. You hug back once you realise it’s Faith.
“I have to go, but we will see each other soon,” she said then ran into a car before the men could complain. But neither noticed, Jacob was getting to a car himself and drove off. John was busy talking to the man with ‘lust’ on his forearm. Joseph would have noticed, he was right beside you, but he didn’t protest what had happened.
You had no clue what to do, or where to go. But you also didn’t want to ask Joseph. There was something about him that still made you feel uneasy. Thankfully, someone pulled him away. His attention was now fully trained on a group of four women, all praising him before asking him questions about the faith. You wanted to roll your eyes but couldn’t, for two reasons. One, one of the women were still looking at you. And two, because you yourself had joined Eden’s Gate. You had become a Peggie. You didn’t regret it, at least, you don’t think you regret it completely, but the sermons were a bit much. The music was good though.
You felt something on your elbow, looking down John was holding your arm again. “Do you know where to go to confess?”
“I don’t remember you showing me that during your tour,” you said, almost praying he wasn’t going to make you confess now. You didn’t look back at the women or Joseph as John started leading the way. He placed your hand on his arm, at this point you weren’t sure if this was just a way to control you or if he was just slightly touch-starved and this was all a trick to feel someone’s hand on him.
“You didn’t look too comfortable back there,” he said.
“What?”
“With Joseph, you looked…Tense.”
“No, I was fine.” You earned a chuckle from him. You felt your cheek twitch like it wanted to smile at the sound.
“You have to get better at lying than that.” You looked at him, he didn’t look angry, he looked relaxed. You doubted Joseph would have been as okay if he were the one to have noticed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said mostly to yourself.
***
Once inside the room, he placed you in the centre. You turned around, there wasn’t that much in there at all. There was a chair, an old, somewhat broken wooden workbench with a toolbox on it.
“I don’t expect you to confess right now, but eventually; you’ll feel the need.” The room was dimly lit, but you could still see John clearly as he swung one foot in front of the other, placing his hand on the workbench.
You almost felt the need. You almost wanted to tell him why you were late. You didn’t though. You knew better than that, you had seen the way he held that man down in the river. John clearly didn’t take it well when people acted differently than he thought they should. You needed to stay on his good side, or at least his neutral side.
“So, this where you are all day when I don’t see you?” While you did ask this question to stop thinking about having to eventually confess, you were also genuinely curious. Until this point, you had spent most of your time with one of the Seed family members, but there was still plenty of time when you were left to your own devices. During these times, you’d either think of ways to leave or at least try to find something somewhat fun to do and you’d usually always bump into a Seed, but never John.
“Either here or filming something.”
“Like the video you showed me?”
“Yeah.” You had been woken up at night by the radio turning itself on, and the voice of either John or Joseph preaching filled the room. You’d just sit and listen. It was similar to whatever was said during the sermon, both in its message and the fact that half of it sounded like pure narcissistic nonsense and the other half made some interesting points.
You looked him over; you had never noticed if he had any sins marking him. His arms were littered with tattoos but no sins. Then finally you saw the one on his chest, crossed out. You knew he was watching you the whole time, so you just let your eyes flick past it, not wanting to let your gaze linger on his chest and let his head get bigger than it already was. He opened his mouth to say something but a knock on the door interrupted him.
“What is it?” he said, a man was on the other side. He was skinny, shaking like a leaf as he hugged himself.
“I need to confess,” the man said. John stepped aside to let the man in.
“Maybe the next time we meet, you’ll be ready to confess,” he said as you walked past him. You hoped not.
“Maybe.” You smiled.
You didn’t know where to go. You didn’t know anyone outside of the Seed brothers and Faith, neither of their guides included introducing you to people. Peggies were rushing all around you, having various jobs or places to be. You almost felt jealous. You had no job, no place to be, and no family to go back to. All you could do was hope Adelaide would tell you Hurk didn’t kill your parents, but then what? You kicked a stone as you walked, feeling tears of frustration stinging your eyes.
You made your way to Jacob. You might not be able to confess to John, and you might not be able to remember the family you were grieving but you could, for some reason, shoot a gun so that’s what you were going to do. You burst through the door, too frustrated to care about the soldiers who jumped and were now staring at you as you walked across the corridor. You were looking for Jacob. They didn’t matter.
You didn’t have to look for long, it seems someone had alerted Jacob a mad woman had stormed in, and he found you.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to shoot.”
This made him lose his relaxed posture. Now standing up straight, looking down at you and looking more like the leader everyone around the two of you knew he was. “Come this way.”
You followed him to a table holding a few different types of guns. You weren’t sure you knew how to use more than a pistol, but you guessed you’d find out. Before you could even reach for one, Jacob spoke.
“Are you okay?”
You nodded, “I will be.”
When you finally dared look up from the guns, he was already staring at you. You two stayed, studying each other’s faces for a few seconds that seemed to stretch far longer than seconds should before he nodded, and immediately you picked up the m16. Like the pistol, its weight was a comfort and felt oddly familiar.
You didn’t think, you just pulled the trigger. Letting all your frustrations fly with the bullets. Jacob didn’t speak. He just watched you, let you do whatever it was you felt you had to do to get yourself back to a state you could deal with.
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unboundpower · 11 months
Text
You and Me - CH 3
Third chapter! This is the gateway for things to start getting interesting, which (hopefully) should start next chapter. As always, please ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes you may see. Proofreading sure ain't foolproof.
Never before has a man, let alone a person in general, dominated her thoughts so much.
Before she registered it, a week had passed, and Amita was left pondering constantly about that strange farmer. She did drop by the market a day ago to see if she could spot Vegito’s stand again, but she had no luck. Either he chose a different area, or he closed up shop for the time being. The latter would be most unfortunate, as that would mean she probably would not be seeing him again until late the current year or next year entirely, as he would need to grow more crops to sell.
And, she had no way of contacting him. That alone was driving her up a wall the most.
Today, she was on shift at her workplace – an animal clinic. Normally she didn’t work the front desk, but one of her co-workers who was supposed to be there had to leave it for a while. She couldn’t decline her request to sit and manage any calls that came in.
Adjusting her scrubs, Amita had just gotten off the phone with a client scheduling an appointment for their pet when she heard the front entrance open. Looking over, she was greeted by the familiar afro and blue eyes of the “World Savior”. Attached to the leash he was holding was a beige labrador retriever, who’s tail started to wag when he saw her.
“Hey there, Amita! I’m here for Bee’s checkup.” The boisterous voice slamming into her ears caused the woman to briefly look to the side with a tired look, before properly addressing the man.
“Hello, Mr. Satan. I’ll let the doctor know, so go ahead and have a seat.” She pushed her chair back to the shelf behind her to search for Bee’s file, as Hercule sat down with the dog following closely behind. With a quick trip to and back from the “Employees Only” area of the clinic, Amita returned to the desk.
“So, how have you been? Been getting a lot of people comin’ in?” Hercule asked, while petting Bee’s head. The attempt to start up small talk, something Amita didn’t like, caused the woman to emit a soft sigh. She chose to humor him for now, as there wasn’t anyone else currently present in the front with them.
“Fine. We haven’t gotten many clients making appointments, but I suppose that’s a good thing.” Hopefully, it meant that their pets were in well enough condition and didn’t need to be brought in.
“How are you? Busy with “world champ” duties?”
“You bet! There’s never a quiet day in the life of Hercule Satan.” He puffed his chest out. Amita rolled her eyes.
“What’s more, is that my daughter opened up her own marital arts dojo not long ago. I’ve been trying to get more people to sign up. Her class still ain’t full.”
This piqued her interest, if only because it again made her visualize the face of a particular man. She highly doubted he wasn’t a fighter, but at the same time, she didn’t get the impression that he was in need of training under the tutelage of another for a very specific reason…
“Dojo, huh? Your daughter’s a marital artist?” While she has heard him briefly speak about her in the past, this tidbit of information was new.
“Yeah! She’s always been into the general sport, ever since she was a kid. She did fall out of it after she got all attached to this boy in high school though, who she did end up marrying a few years after they graduated.” Hercule chuckled.
“But after having my granddaughter, she got committed to getting back into it, and trained a whole lot for the past two years. She’s at the point now where she wants to do something with her talent, and figured opening a dojo was the way to do it. With my help, it was a breeze.”
“Hm…you said her class isn’t full?”
“Oh? You interested? I didn’t take you for the type.”
“…I’m not a stranger to martial arts. But I’m just curious.” Amita shrugged. Truth be told, her curiosity was mainly because this was the best chance she had to see him again. It was a sky-high shot with zero guarantee she would find him there, but it was all she had to go on.
“That so? Well, I see no harm in directing you to her place either way.” He shifted in his seat to pull out a small rectangle slip from his pocket, then stood to offer it to her. Taking it into her hands, she saw it was a business card with what she assumed was the dojo’s information on it: name, address, and phone number.
“My daughter’s name is Videl. She has a lot of passion for teaching, and she’s real sweet, so she’d make a great sensei for you or anyone else you know who’s looking for an open dojo.”
All she did in response was nod, which satisfied Hercule enough, as he went back to sit down and continue petting Bee. Before long, the doctor called them to one of the available examination rooms, leaving Amita alone in the lobby with her thoughts.
                                                 ༻ ❁ ༺
The afternoon had finally rolled around, and Amita’s shift was over for the day. Briefly returning to her small suburban home to change out of her scrubs and into more casual attire, she headed back out into the city in search of Videl’s dojo. She had to drive far up north into parts of the city that were unfamiliar to her, but the building thankfully stood out enough and wasn’t hard to miss.
Parking, she exited her car with a heavy sense of anticipation and looked around for the main entrance. Where two people were currently standing seemed like it was it, so she approached slowly…and was struck with surprise and slight excitement. Was that…?
“I think you’re worrying too much. You’re doing just fine.”
It WAS him! She recognized his voice instantly, thanks to how distinct it was. As she stepped closer, she made out more and more of his spiky hair. In place of the dirt-blotched overalls he wore at the market, was a simple combo of a t-shirt and jeans. Additionally, something dark brown was wrapped around his waist. It looked like some kind of belt.
“Ah…I guess the nerves are getting to me...” The woman Vegito was speaking to was completely unfamiliar to Amita, but she caught how the two of them spoke to each other with a high sense of familiarity.
“Now now Videl, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You said yourself that you haven’t heard any complaints. Just focus on being a good teacher to your students, and don’t concern yourself with problems until they’re brought to your attention. That’ll keep your stress levels down.”
“You’re right. Thank you, Vegito.” His words appeared to soothe her unease, as she smiled brightly. Amita’s head tilted.
So, this was Videl? How did she and Vegito know each other? Maybe he could be a student in her class, but it was obvious that wasn’t the case due to his words of encouragement.
“I really appreciate your support.”
“Of course. I know you’ve wanted this for a long time, and the marital arts scene around these parts could use a good woman’s presence. I’m sure Gohan would agree…”
Vegito trailed off, head turning her way as the distance closed between them. He blinked, before his eyes widened as recognition filled them.
“Amita?”
Videl’s attention was instantly put onto her as well, causing Amita’s self-consciousness levels to spike. She was already here, walking up to them…it’d be a horrible look if she suddenly lost all her nerve and just left.
“Hi…” She greeted him quietly, clasped hands pressed against the front of her thighs. The woman fiddled and played with her fingers – a nervous quirk of hers.
“Hello.” Videl politely greeted Amita with a smile. “Is this a friend of yours, Vegito?”
“Uh…yeah, sure.” He answered with a vaguely puzzled tone, and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a customer, from the farmer’s market.”
She knew it was merely to let the conversation flow more easily, but there was something about he claiming they were friends despite them hardly knowing a thing about each other that made her heartbeat quicken.
“I see. Are you here to sign up for my class?” Videl leaned forward slightly, blue eyes figuratively sparkling with enthusiasm. Amita felt a little bad at having to dash her hopes here, but she knew that honestly was best.
“No. I just…saw Vegito here, and thought to stop by.” That was partly true at least. “I have heard a lot of good things about this place though. I’ll spread word of it.”
“Ah…well, thank you. I appreciate that.” While she was visibly disappointed, Videl perked up again upon hearing she’d promote the dojo. Granted, the only people Amita spoke to on a somewhat regular basis were her mundane co-workers, but that was still something.
“I should get back to organizing things for tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Amita.”
Videl said a farewell to Vegito as well before walking away, leaving the two of them standing there alone. An awkward silence stretched over them, as Amita looked back to Vegito and saw that he had already been staring at her with a curious look.
“…Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again anytime soon.”
“Same, honestly.” She fidgeted with one of her thumbs. “Haven’t found your stall at the market. I guess you’re done selling for now?”
“Yeah. Everything I had got bought up, so it’s back to growing new crops.”
She figured that was the case. But it was solid confirmation that he’d be gone from the market for the next unknown amount of months, so this would be the last time she could talk to him until harvest time rolled around again…unless…
More silence passed with Vegito looking off to the side with a discontented expression. Amita took a moment to steel her nerves, gathering more confidence to ask a question that would only serve to make things even more awkward; but it was a necessary evil.
“Do you have a phone?”
“Huh?” His head whipped back in her direction, and a brow quirked. “…Yes? Why’re you asking?”
“…Can I have your number?”
He blinked, then did a double take.
“Why?”
Why indeed. She couldn’t put it into words, nor would she try, but there was something that just pulled her to him. There were so many interesting things about this man, things that made her intrigued and want to learn more about him, but she couldn’t do that if they parted ways now with no contact method available for her. Her intentions admittedly were selfish and nosy though, and she wouldn’t at all be surprised if he turned down her request.
“I want…to talk to you more often. That’s all.”
Yep, it sounded just as odd out loud as it did in her head. She observed Vegito’s head tilt, and his brow furrowed. Her confidence quickly crumbled, and she was genuinely waiting for him to call her weird and walk away, however-
��Ok. Sure.” He shrugged, and reached down into one of his pockets to pull out his smartphone. Amita released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, while Vegito tapped at the device’s screen with a squint. It gave off the vibes of he struggling to make sense of what he was looking at. Soon, he faced her again, seeming innocently lost.
“Uh…I don’t know my number. And I don’t remember where I can find it on this.”
His behavior was unexpected and strangely endearing, but Amita fought the amused smile that wanted to spread across her lips.
“That’s ok. I know a fast way we can exchange numbers.” It’ll be easier than he attempting to locate his at this point. He placed his phone onto the palm of her extended hand, and she made quick work of navigating to his contacts app to save her cell number with her name attached on his list. She then called her number before cancelling, feeling the brief vibration of her phone in her pocket, so his would appear in her logs and she could save it from there. Amita handed the device back to him, internally brimming with warmth.
“I’ll uh, reach out soon. Ok?”
“Alright.” He calmly answered, and she could just barely make out a red color that had darkened the skin of his face. She’s sure her own face was even darker right now as well. Vegito must have been wondering exactly why she wanted to talk to him more, but he didn’t voice it. She turned to go back to her car, feeling her heart racing and trying to keep her gait as level and under control as possible.
He watched her, staring at her retreating back, but seconds later swiftly shook his head like he was breaking out of a trance. Vegito pocketed his phone and walked away in a different direction, blush having harshened a degree.
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santademikey · 1 year
Note
Overturned for Flo
flo is fifteen in this also this has not been proofread :]
1960.
“What in the fuck were you thinkin’?” Sal practically growled at Florence from the foot of her bed.
Okay so, maybe stealing his car to go joyridin’ through the Bayou during an important meeting with The Commission wasn’t Florence’s greatest idea, but hey— it got her her ol’ man’s attention.
It also got her a concussion, a broken rib and an over night stay at Frisco Fields’ ‘finest’ hospital.
“C’mon Sal, give her a break. She’s had a long day.” Vito defended his young friend. There were many reasons why Florence was so fond of him, and this was most certainly one of them.
“And what about me?!” Sal raised his voice, before looking around to see a nurse staring over at him. He quickly lowered his voice, “My image in town has plummeted, My car’s totalled, The Commission think I’m a joke.”
“The Commission have always thought that you’re a joke.” Florence hushedly mumbled, looking down as she twiddled her thumbs.
“Stay outta this.” Sal snapped, frowning at her.
Vito sighed exasperatedly. The only reason he came with Sal when he got the call that Florence had been hurt, was because she saw the girl as his own, “Fuck your car, and your ‘image’. Flo could’ve died!”
Sal opened his mouth to retaliate, but paused. He turned and looked right at him. He hated to admit it, but Vito was right. Florence certainly wasn’t his favourite child, or even his favourite person— but she was still his beautiful Virginia’s kid. His kid, for all his goddamn sins.
He sighed, before pointing his finger at his daughter, “You’re grounded. For a year. I can’t even stand to fuckin’ look at ya right now so when you get outta here, you’ll be staying with Vito until I say so— ya understand?”
“Yeah.” She breathed, an almost dejected look on her face.
“Right well, I gotta rearrange this fuckin’ meetin’.”
Sal wandered out the room, and Vito quickly made his way to the seat on Florence’s left once he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Hey— I ain’t that bad to live with, ya know?” He jested, chuckling at himself.
Florence wiped her face with her hands, staying silent.
“Why’d ya do it, kid?” He asked, soft but sternly, “And don’t worry, I ain’t gonna tell Sal.”
“He never pays attention to me.” She opened up, feeling selfish she put her heart on her sleeve, “It’s always ‘Giorgi this, Commission that’. He’s always been like this, but I guess I never really noticed it until Mom died.”
Florence continued, “I was only plannin’ to get his car dirty. I didn’t mean to overturn it, or wreck it— not that he’d listen to me.”
Vito reassuringly put his hand on her shoulder, “Well, I get where you’re comin’ from, but maybe don’t steal his car in the future?”
Florence turned to him, “Yeah. Thinkin’ back, it was a pretty stupid idea.”
The two friends then fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Vito finally piped up:
“So uh, when you’re all better— how would ya like to help me out at the docks after school sometimes?”
It wasn’t much, but Vito just wanted to make the young girl feel important.
(x)
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cornsword · 1 year
Text
So i looked through my notes on my phone and I found this from last july and
Look.
Look I was going through a lot:
LoTRkenny
Leggsy: Anya yous seen what’s goin on edge a camp?
Eowyn: More arriving or more deserting?
Leggsy: Bit a both
Eowyn: Fuck boys this trending on twitter?
L: Ain’t breaking news, I concur
E: And yet…
L: More the reason folk’re desertin
E: Comin up on the fourth age here, Legs
Gimli: Yer outs a letters, leg o lamb, solves the puzzles
L: Yhear about this cave?
G: I’m waitin to sees if I should takes offense
L: No I mean it’s like, a famous cave, everyone knows about it, humans and elves I mean
E: You’re asking if we heard of the famous cave everyone knows.
L: Yeah
G: Nos
L: well. Thing is, about this cave. Is. Folks are sayin.
Aragorn: Fuck sake bud I’m prepared to reforge my foot in your ass, why don’t you look to the east to see if you can find the fuckin point
L: Haunted
A: Oh fer fucks sake
G: How haunted
L: i don’t know, marginally?
G: No I means haunted by what? Dwarves?
E: Elves?
G: Wights?
A: The dearly departed spirit of my good mood?
L: Humans. Warriors. Human warriors.
A: Ah well no surprise there on account a not bein immortal, surprised you can swing a dead warg without hittin the ghost of a human warrior, poor guys don’t have it so good as some of us
G: Lady Galadriels says each of us had a place and a roles ta play in this worlds
E: Does she now?
A: You got about two more Lady Galadriel Says to spend today fuck make sure you gets your money’s worth
L: See thing is, these are special guys.
E: Ug, really?
A: Okay leggsy, leggsy okay, let me ask you this: what is it that makes these dead fellas so special?
L: Well have you ever heard of the human men who betrayed Isuldur?
G:
E:
A: I recollect.
L: Well, people are sayin, that is, that it’s those….guys
G: Might want to upgrade that “marginally” to “substantially” there, Lego Waffle.
A: Yer tellin me we’re fixin to square up against half a mordor and near all what’s left a isengard, and you thought you MIGHT mention our proximity to “special guys.”
E: Hold on
A: Can’t hold it
E: Wait a second
A: I figure a whole epoch’s waitin enough
E: You’re tellin me you’re seriously fixin to consider squaring up alongside a whole mountain full a traitorous ghouls when there’s flesh and blood people here and now ready to fight for what’s theirs?
A: How many verses you got in this song,
E: I’ll keep singin until someone starts listening.
A: Right. Pitter patter
G: You certain about this course of action good buddy?
L: These’re traitorous oathbreakers.
G: Allegedlys.
L: You might wanna upgrade that to factuallys. When a friend asks for help you help em.
A: I don’t aim to sit here and debate whether or not to make a social call when the welfare a the realms a men are at stake, reckon it’s time to quit gassin and start sassin
E: You guys go on ahead, I got my own thing goin on
G: You keeps your good spirit and stays active even when your dad says you can’t rides out like you wants, that’s what I appreciates about you Miss Eowyns
E: Is that what you appreciates about me?
A: Hobbit back in the hole there, squirrelly g….
—-
Saruman: Gr-r-r-r-rima!
Grima: SRMan!
S: We are cast out.
G: exiled
S: WANDERERS
G: Homeless
S: ENEMIES made of all civilized realms
G: OUTCASTS!
S: Repetitive.
G: Saruman
S: GRIMA! Think of it. Where is the last place they will expecting our seeds to find purchase?
G: Your seed?!
S: our. Seeds. Of deeds.
G: I was gonna say
S: We dedicated servants of the <whispers> (((((dark lord)))) who are accustomed to swaying nations and kings, where would we never DEIGN to show our faces?
G: The city?
S: The opposite.
G: D-desperate
S: Depressing
G: Demonstrably
S: Determinedly
G: Distressingly?
S: DIABOLICALLY.
G: SRMAN.
S: We ride for the Shire, Grima. We hide out with the hicks.
G: Tonight?
S: to now! Make ready our steeds.
G: We only escaped with the one steed
S: THEN MAKE READY HIM.
—-
Samwise: More Lembas Mr Frodo?
Frodo: No thank you Sam. I’ve lost my taste for lembas bread.
S: You need to eat, Mr Frodo. You’ve barely slept. You’ll never make it to Mordor if you don’t conserve your strength.
F: The ring is getting heavier, Sam. I can feel him searching for it, needing it. I scarcely can bear it.
S: You will, Frodo. I know you will.
F: Sam. Thank you, Sam, i would be quite lost without your help.
Gollum: FUCKS SAKE IF YOU TWO AREN’T FUCKING INSUFFERABLE, WE’S HEADING TO A VOLCANO BUT WATCHIN YOU COWS MOO AT EACH OTHER HAS ME WORRIED ABOUT A WHOLE DIFFERENT KIND OF MOUNTIN
S: You watch how you speak to him you devil you!
G: FUCK YOU GAMGEE EVERY DAY IS SMEAGOL’S BIRTHDAY WHEN IT COMES TO KICKING TWELVE SHITS OUT OF YOU, IT’S THE ONLY ITEM THAT’S ON MY AMAZON WISH LIST THAT ISN’T SPERMICIDAL GUMMIES FOR YOUR MOM, I’LL BLOW OUT MY CANDLES OVER YOUR UNCONSCIOUS BODY AND WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN YA FAT FUCK
F: Calm yourself Smeagol…
G: FUCK YOU MASTER THE ONLY THING MORE PRECIOUS THAN YOU TWO PICKING OUT PLACE SETTINGS IS THE SOUNDS YOUR MOM MAKES WHEN SHE DANGLES HER RING PIECE OVER MY WHITE TOWER
S: Fuck you Gollum
G: FUCK YOU GAMGEE YOUR MOM SWORE ALLEGIANCE TO MY BROWN-EYE OF SAURON, TELL HER TO GO EASIER ON MY TATERS THAT SILLY SLUT LIKES TO PLAY CHEF AND BOIL EM MASH EM STICK EM IN HER MOUTH, MAYBE THAT’S WHY HER BREATH COULD BURN DOWN LAKE TOWN
F: Fuck you smeagol!
G: FUCK YOU MASTER MY ELVEN DAGGER GLOWS BLUE WHEN YOUR MOM’S FIFTH ORGASM IS NEAR, TOO BAD SHE SMELLS LIKE THE DEAD FUCKING MARSHES, TALK ABOUT STINGING THE NEXT MORNING, IF I WANTED TO CATCH FISH I’D A STAYED IN THE FUCKIN CAVE
Samwise and Frodo: FUCK you Smeagol!!
G: FUCK YOU BOTH TELL YOUR MOMS TO CONSIDER MY OFFER TO PARTIALLY SUBSIDIZE THEIR BOOBJOBS FUCKING SAGGINS OF SAG END IT’S EMBARRASSING FUCKS SAKE WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M ALWAYS CHOKING ON?
—-
Aragorn: Gandalf?
Gandalf: How’reyanow?
Aragorn: You fell.
G: At’s right. Through fire... and water... From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought him, the uh Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and everyday was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I have been sent back, until my task is done.
Legolas: (under his breath) Gandalf’s a piece a shit…..
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sophie-i-guess13 · 2 years
Text
Blood Versus Water
|Words: 1408|
|Characters: Sylvia, Buck Merrill, OC”s|
|Genre: Hurt/Comfort ig?|
|TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alcoholism|
Tag! @mjmacchio1991 @apricot-colored-feathers @pepsi-and-cigarettes @the-kneesbees @ralphmaccchiato  
The house hasn’t changed since the last time I’d been here- a couple months ago, back in May. It’s still in desperate need of new shingles, planks for the broken porch step, and a new paint job. The flakes of chipped white litter the yard, landing in the unkempt grass beside the dying flowers Aunt Carol planted when I came over.
She said she’d plant Orange Milkweed ‘cause it was native to Oklahoma, said they could withstand the summer, and she wouldn’t need to care for them. That’s all Aunt C really cared about- especially after living on the East side her whole life. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it looked pretty and stayed out of her way.
If those flowers were already wilting, I could only imagine what was going on with the girl inside.
“Was wonderin’ when I’d see you again, come on now, get inside.”
I catch the doorknob between my fingers as Aunt Carol pushes it open and turns her back to me immediately after. For being Dad’s sister, she really doesn’t look anything like him. It’s a mystery if they’re full siblings or if ol’ Mr. Merrill wasn’t as faithful as he’d promised at the altar back in the thirties. I can smell something burning as I step over the threshold and catch sight of my aunt tossing some hair back over her thin shoulders. “How’s work been?” She asks, words all slurred together until I can barely make sense of her question, “bring me anything?”
I know it’s wrong to say you hate your family, but Aunt Carol makes it so fucking easy. I’ll admit, I’m just as much to blame for her problems, though. She’s let me stay with her ever since her brother decided being a parent wasn’t his forte, and I had to be grateful for that. I was grateful for that. Then, once I looked old enough to stand behind the bar, Dad came back and filled me in on his ‘money-making ways’.
Maybe thanking my aunt for all those nights I spent on her couch with moonshine and a few bills wasn’t the best idea, because now shit like this is all I hear when I decide to darken their doorway once more. “I’m just here lookin’ for Sylvia,” I say, dragging my eyes around the six-hundred square feet I can see without stepping too far into her mess.
Gary was Aunt Carol’s second husband, and about as unpredictable as the bulls down at the rodeo grounds. Some days, he was husband of the year, spending his paycheck on everything that needed fixing, and then some. Other times, he took off for days at a time. Maybe weeks, if we were lucky. I liked him about as much as I liked his wife.
Well, I guess I can’t say that- since they ain’t even married, but he’s Sylvia’s daddy and all. Aunt Carol’s still wearing her first husband’s name around her finger like a neck full of pearls, raking in the spoils of being a ‘veteran’s widow.’ She won’t tell anyone he was a twenty-something year old kid who got on the wrong end of a rifle in boot camp, though.
“That man,” Aunt Carol huffs between a puff of her cigarette and scrubbing the caked-on grime in her sink. There’s a bitter laugh coming from her direction as the water runs still, her back still turned to me. “Couldn’t handle his little girl comin’ home late and took off. Serves her right- she shoulda known better than to come home dressed like that.”
I hated my aunt for plenty of reasons, but hearing the way she let Syl’s name fall out of her mouth topped the list. I turn my neck to the left, just enough to catch the door to Sylvia’s bedroom- and the signs she’s taped to its surface- in my peripheral vision. Light is scattered across the floor, leaking in from the gap between the carpet and the oakwood. “She’s been sayin’ your sick,” I mention casually. Aunt Carol doesn’t turn around, or even glance in my direction as I cross the floor and rest my hand on her daughter’s doorknob. “Gary treatin’ you alright?”
“It ain’t me you’ve gotta be worried about,” she scoffs. Ash trails from the end of her cigarette, dirtying the dishes she’d just cleaned in an attempt to look like a decent human being. “Sylvia’s puttin’ him through the wringer.”
I’ve learned to take everything she says with a grain of salt. Not even a grain anymore, more like a few cups full. So, I knock the back of my hand against my cousin’s door. “I can take her for the night, let you tidy up and calm down.” I don’t doubt that Sylvia can be a handful from time to time, but I do doubt the idea that Gary had nothing to do with pushing her over the edge in the first place. Aunt Carol doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s glad I’m getting out of her hair, maybe she’s finally choked on her smoke.
Maybe she’s been growing something other than Milkweed, if you know what I mean.
I couldn’t care less about what’s finally made her shut up though, not when the door finally swings open and Sylvia darts towards the door before I can get a good look at her. The hot summer air races through the mesh fabric of the screen door, messing Sylvia’s hair as she loops the laces of her converse around her fingers. Neither of us bother giving Aunt Carol any explanation as the door flies open and I fish my car keys out of my pocket.
“What’s that all about?” I ask once we’re settled into the front seats of my car. Sylvia doesn’t answer me, but I’d been expecting that. I can’t see what Gary was so upset about, now that she’s wearing a pair of shorts that almost reach her knees and a sweatshirt of mine from my freshman year of high school. The only two things that don’t fit the picture are the silver necklace hanging from her throat and the toilet paper bunched up in her fist and held against her nose.
I’m not going to ask her about it; I know better than that. The best I can offer her is a spot on the floor of my bedroom if she ever needs it, and she’s already told me it’ll be a cold day in hell before she willingly touches the floor in that place.
“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” she groans as the car lurches forwards. “Really, it don’t even hurt that much.”
My fingers ache as they wrap around the wheel and steer towards the green light a few feet ahead. Beside me, Syl’s turned her eyes back to the window, watching all the houses we pass. “That’s kind of a shame,” I mutter quietly, “I hear a chocolate milkshake’s one of the best remedies for a bloody nose.”
“That’s why you came over, you needed to bring me to DQ with you so you don’t look like some lonely loser?”
She sounds a little nasally, and her words don’t hold nearly enough venom, but at least she’s talking to me. That’s a good enough way to tell nothing’s broken. “That was my first idea,” I say as I pull into the parking lot. “But now, I wanna know what you’re doin’ with Dally’s necklace.”
I barely have enough time to shift gears before she’s thrown her door open and sped off across the cement. “Sylvia Marie,” I call after her, “we’re talkin’ ‘bout this, he’s a thug!”
“Buy me a milkshake first, an’ I’ll tell you anything you want!”
She pauses at the door, blonde hair still flying across her face and shoulders in the wind. Despite the bloody rag held against her nose and gleaming silver saint pressed against her skin, she’s smiling. Smiling at the idea of getting a milkshake, smiling at the thought of being out of her house, smiling at the idea of avoiding her mother for the next day or two.
Smiling at me.
I know it’s wrong to say I hate my family- especially when all it seems to do is shrink, but I can’t find a place in my shriveled heart for Aunt Carol and her husband. I’ve only got so much room, and I think Sylvia occupies it all.
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sekhisadventures · 2 months
Text
For Quel’thalas
Dalaran, the Legerdemain Lounge
Nelen sighed as the meeting resumed, Chromie having returned to the Dragon Isles with a promise to contact the members of Avalon and Savage Untied should Nyloc make a reappearance, but for now his trail had gone cold. He could be anywhere, and given that he was a Chronomancer and working with the Infinite Dragonflight, he could be anywhen as well.
“Right… so… that’s essentially what happened.” finished Nelen, bringing the rest of his allies up to speed. The only member in absentia was Sekhi, the vulpera having returned to Orgrimmar after their last timeline jump. None of them begrudged her however. Visiting a timeline where her family had fallen to a monster like Dissonantia was a horrible experience, she needed time to process what had happened and to be around her family in this timeline.
“Bloody fel… that’s quite th’ tale lad.” rumbled Dareley, “Still, a world where Arthas returned to th’ Light. I woulda liked ta see that one…” he smiled a bit sadly. Dareley would likely have a grown-up son or daughter in that timeline. Had the Scourge not come to Lordaeron City, his wife and unborn child would still be alive and born respectively.
Jaie sighed, “Yeah. It was really something, seeing my dad again…” she nodded, “But… I don’t think I’ll tell my mom this one. It was hard on her finding out I heard his voice in the Shadowlands. She told me she didn’t want Sekhi to help her hear him, so… yeah… I’m just going to let it go.”
Shalandrae frowned, “That last one bothers me. Dissonantia came back and was the avatar of an Old God? Can she follow you back here?” she asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.
Nelen shook his head, “Chromie said she couldn’t. Y’shaarj had some nasty powers, but none of them involved controlling time. It shouldn’t be possible… but… well… here’s hoping.” he shrugged awkwardly.
The group nodded at that, then Mola’raum leaned forward from his spot on the wall. He didn’t sit down for the meetings, the chairs were always too small for his lanky body. “Wut about dis ‘Nyloc’ mon? He froze us all in time ‘n tried ta gib ya. Wut be stoppin’ ‘im from doin’ it again?” he asked.
Nelen nodded, “Chromie told me, before she left, that she would visit Avalon House and Savage United Headquarters and set up some sort of temporal protections so that he can’t do that to us there. Its not a guarantee, but it should help.”
Zhan-min let out a harrumph, drinking down a mug of ale as he did, “Well I sure hope so! Th’ idea of someone knifin’ me when I can’t even see it comin’ ain’t exactly a comfortable one.”
Nelen nodded, “Still… that’s just a more personal problem for us. We still have to worry about those dreams we’ve all been having.” he pointed out, returning to the reason they had all gathered in Dalaran in the first place.
“Yeah… us hearing Azeroth’s voice… and this ‘Harbinger’ creature.” frowned Nitika, “I wonder, just how far are their voices spreading. Who else is hearing them?” she murmured.
Samantha leaned forward onto her elbows, “Anyone who is powerful enough magically, or connected to the Void somehow most likely Nitts.” she pointed out, then glanced to her side as her hair-tentacles twitched.
She and Annulus had a horrible suspicion that Nyloc may not be their only concern soon…
Oribos, the Shadowlands
Above the Eternal City floated the golden form of the Arbiter. Once a mere aspirant Pelagos had become so much more, taking on the role of the central figure to the realm of Death as he guided all who were brought there to their just rewards in the infinite realms of the Shadowlands.
However, when he took up the duties he hadn’t quite realized just how many souls that was. He was a dedicated arbiter and took his role seriously, but there were countless worlds in the Great Dark and people died every day. Some of the souls had been there for quite some time.
Swirling around him amid the sea of spirits awaiting judgement was one who was… well… probably bound for Revendreth or perhaps Maldraxxus, somewhere along those lines. He accepted this. He had no illusions that he was not exactly a good person. He had killed, for coin and for duty, but that was his life. For now he was content to let the stream carry him along. After all that had happened it was almost… peaceful.
… but such things were not meant to be.
With a small whisper the soul vanished… but there were so many that Pelagos didn’t even see it. Like a single ant vanishing from an army.
A Hidden Cellar in the Eastern Kingdoms
Pain, screaming, more pain, his body shook and thrashed as his nerves flared in agony! He gasped, his eyes screwed up and his jaw gritted so hard he could feel his teeth grinding.
Finally he jolted, his back arching before he fell still. “W… what… where…” he looked around. This was not the Shadowlands. This was… familiar…
He looked down at himself and saw, on his side, two massive gashes from a pair of daggers sewn tightly shut. “No…” he whispered, sitting up, then feeling over his face.
His skin was cold and his sense of touch was muted. Then he saw a mirror on the far wall and he let out a gasp of horror.
His face looked back at him, pale as death with eyes glowing a baleful red. “No… no!” he shouted, scooting back.
“Yes.” came an aristocratic woman’s voice.
His head snapped around, looking at the source of it. Standing there was a sin’dorei noblewoman in resplendent robes of red and gold, a set of three spheres radiating icy cold hovering around her head. At her hip was a sheathed dagger, and her other hip had a book of spells hanging off a harness built into her belt.
“Alalestria…” he whispered, “What have you done?!” he demanded, scrambling to his feet.
“What I must, to defend Quel’thalas. I did not give you leave to abandon your duties Sinranir.” she replied icily.
“Abandon… I DIED ALALESTRIA! I was done! Ended! Over! This…” he looked down at himself, but there was no mistaking it. He had seen Sylvannas plenty of times before she had been banished to the Maw, he knew exactly what she had done.
He had died, but now he was back from the dead. A Darkfallen. An undead elf.
“Have you lost your MIND?! You would use the magics of the SCOURGE of all things?!” he shouted at her, his crimson eyes narrowing in fury at what had been done to him.
“You did not see what I saw Sinranir.” she glared. “The ren’dorei are a greater threat than even I imagined. You will take up your daggers for House Wintersky once more.”
At this, the undead rogue smirked, “I think not. When I died your father’s geas died with me. Find yourself someone else. I wash my hands of this.” he sneered, making for the door. He got all of two steps before Alalestria gestured and pain shot through his body, the elven man falling to his knees with a gasp.
“Father’s geas is gone, yes… but I raised you from the dead Sinranir. Do you truly think I would not take measures to ensure that you would perform your duties?” she frowned at him, arching an eyebrow.
He hissed through his teeth, his eyes narrowing to crimson slits… but he couldn’t even reply in this state. Alalestria had him, whether he liked it or not.
She held him for a moment longer, then released him. “Now. We have armor and weapons prepared in the room across the hall. Go collect them and return to your quarters. You will have your orders in due time.” she nodded curtly, pointing to the door.
Sinranir got to his feet and glared at her, hatred for what she had done to him in every line of his face, but after a moment he nodded. “As you wish, Lady Wintersky.” he spat, leaving the room.
She watched him go, then frowned. She was not exactly happy about this either… but the dreams. That elven woman with the purple hair and eyes that glowed with the dark power of the Void.
Yes, Sam'ael and the ren’dorei must be dealt with, and soon…
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empresslesbiace · 3 years
Text
Ok but Peter Maximoff ends up saving Nina and Magda but like gets hit with the arrow in a leg or whatever (don’t ask me how ok) and Magda takes one look at this dude in his like early 20s and promptly adopts him lmao. Erik tried to reason with her but Magda just went, “Hes my son now” so Erik gave up and accepted it.
So Peter wakes up on Eriks couch while Eriks away or whatever and Magda is being so,, motherly,, towards him. And he’s sooo fucking confused. He’s like, “DOES SHE KNOW IM ERIKS SON” but Erik comes back home and thanks Peter and Peters like, “oh my god do they know” so he’s panicking the entire time also he got hit with an arrow so he’s bed rest for rn.
Erik and Magda meanwhile have no fucking clue they’ve actually just adopted Eriks flesh and blood son and once Peter finds this out he’s just like, “???????????”
And Peters just sitting there on the couch and Nina takes one look at him and claims him as her big brother and Magda is so proud in the background and Erik is just like,,, “there’s two of them oh no” because Nina and Magda are now teaming up to adopt Peter and he is just,,, long suffering,,,
Peters like, “I,, already have a mom” and Magda is like, “now you have two”
Peter reveals his name is Pietro and that he goes by Peter cause reasons and Magda is like, “Erik said he would have liked to name his son Pietro should he ever have one and guess what? Now he does. It’s all coming together”
They all bond as Peter recovers and Peter sends word back to like Charles or whatever cause Charles sent him and Charles is just so confused because Peter is like, “imma stay here awhile”
Ninas like, “I gotta show you my friends” and Peters like, “oh ok so I’m meeting a bunch of school children of something” but Nina brings him out back and there’s just a bunch of fucking deer everywhere and he is So Confused.
Erik sings Peter the lullaby that was passed down from his parents to him and Peter is like, “oh my god” because he’s literally just having an ongoing crisis of, “how do you tell a man who thinks of you as his son and is passing down family knowledge to you that you are actually his biological son HOW DO YOU-“
Awhile after bonding it just kinda slips out that Peter is actually Eriks son but it causes a giant confused mess because Erik literally just responds, “yeah I know” and Peters like, “no I mean like,,, biologically” and Eriks just like, “wait what” because he went through this whole chosen family crisis and Peters just there like, “yeah I’m your bio kid surprise!” And he’s having a fucking aneurysm
Magdas only response is, “ah good that makes paperwork much easier” because she’s been trying to find out how to legally adopt a 20 something year old man who has a living parent already and this news has solved all her problems
Magda and Nina are unfazed like they do not give a single fuck because they’re both badasses
At some point Charles shows up because Peters been missing awhile and he’s concerned and he just finds them having a nice family dinner
He is promptly invited by Magda to the table and the cycle starts all over again
Magda is like, “you’re my second husband now” and Eriks like, “HOW DID SHE FIND OUT I USED TO DATE CHARLES”
She had no fucking clue he dated Charles but once she finds out she kisses both of them and goes to make a snack or something and Charles and Erik are just,,, shocked,,,
So now OT3 is happening and Peter is sitting there like, “holy fuck” while Nina chats happily to her deer friend that she has two dads now
And Raven shows up and Nina looks at her and yells, “auntie!!’ And Ravens like, “?!?!?!?!!?!?” And then she sees Magda kiss Charles and she’s like, “HOW LONG WAS I GONE-“
Hank shows up and now an uncle is in the fray
Multiverse happens and Wanda shows up with Vision and Tommy and Billy and Magda has officially rubbed off on Peter because he takes one look at this shit show and says, “I’m an uncle now hell yeah” and just goes with it
Wanda is confused.
Lorna shows up one day and has metal powers on full display and Raven looks at Erik and is just like, “HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU HAVE-“
And so the cycle continues.
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shamurph · 2 years
Text
LONG LOST SENTENCE STARTERS
taken from lord huron’s 2021 album, long lost. as usual, contains themes of love, heartbreak and regret. change pronouns/wording as necessary.
‘ the moon doesn't mind that i'm left all alone and she's gone. ‘
‘ if forever gets lonely, take my hand. ‘
‘ don't laugh, you'll make me cry. ‘
‘ i know we will be together. ‘
‘ in my mind, you're mine forever. ‘
‘ if you're ever gonna leave this place, don't wait, it's time to go. ‘
‘ oh, we really should have left here long ago. ‘
‘ love is strange, i can't sleep without you. ‘
‘ everybody lies, but I'll never doubt you. ‘
‘ i don't want to die but I can't live without you. ‘
‘ i'm much too young to die. ‘
‘ if you ever want to see my face again, i want to know. ‘
‘ if you never want to see my face again, i want to know. ‘
‘ i've been lost before and i’m lost again, i guess. ‘
‘ every road and every highway led me right back to your door. ‘
‘ love me like you used to and i'll praise you like i should. ‘
‘ love me if you choose to, though you say that i'm no good. ‘
‘ i dream most every night that i never left you. ‘
‘ do you love me anymore? ‘
‘ lord i know i made mistakes, but i am different now, i'vе changed. ‘
‘ will you let me lay beside you? ‘
‘ i swear this time around i'm going to stay. ‘
‘ i curse the goddamn day that i went and left you. ‘
‘ i don’t want to lose you, i would change it if i could. ‘
‘ come on and meet me in the city. ‘
‘ put on the dress you wore the night we met. ‘
‘ am i not the one you're dreaming of, my angel? ‘
‘ forget the life you had and don't look back. ‘
‘ if our love is so wrong, tell me why does it feel so right? ‘
‘ am i not the one you want to love forever? ‘
‘ for a while, i was held by the myth of the lost highway. ‘
‘ i ain’t lonely, are you? ‘
‘ i ain’t lonely, i’m long lost. ‘
‘ i've a tale or two to tell you, but the booze just makes me slow. ‘
‘ there’s a secret to this town. ‘
‘ there’s a reason why i’m still living here, though i can’t think of it right now. ‘
‘ i made a life out of chasing a ghost. ‘
‘ twenty years takes its toll. ‘
‘ i gotta find a way out of this mess. ‘
‘ i’m in troublе and it sure looks bad. ‘
‘ i destroyed my health searching for myself, but there ain't nothing there to find. ‘
‘ i ain’t never seen you look so sad. ‘
‘ i get by, but i'm tired of myself. ‘
‘ i just want it to be like it was. ‘
‘ i just want us to be who we were long ago. ‘
‘ how i yearn for the yеars we were young and in lovе. ‘
‘ i look up at the uncaring sky with a prayer on my lips and a tear in my eye. ‘
‘ i just hope you'll be comin' back soon. ‘
‘ can we wind back the wheels to the way that it was? ‘
‘ oh, where did the time go? ‘
‘ may you learn the reasons why. ‘
‘ may you live until you die. ‘
‘ it's hard to make friends when you're half in the grave. ‘
‘ but i ain't dead yet. ‘
‘ you look like hell and you smell like death. ‘
‘ turn around and leave me to myself. ‘
‘ I've been out way too long, heading right for the edge. ‘
‘ if she asks about me, tell her i'm not dead yet. ‘
‘ i swore that i'd become a better man for you and i tried. ‘
‘ i told you i could never love somebody else, but i lied. ‘
‘ i told you i'd be coming back again for you, but i'm not. ‘
‘ i told you i'd be coming back again for you, but i'm not. ‘
‘ i'm going way out where the world will never find me. ‘
‘ i told you i would never leave you all alone, but i lied. ‘
‘ i read your letter in the morning by the lake and i cried. ‘
‘ told you i could never live without your love, but i lied. ‘
‘ floating, tired and lonesome like i promised to be. ‘
‘ i might stay in my mind just for a couple of years. ‘
‘ where would i go, and would a lone soul miss me? ‘
‘ i'm gonna get it together and i hope i live forеver. ‘
‘ try though i might, i was never a believer. ‘
‘ going to fly through my life 'til i crash into the ending. ‘
‘ i'll make a deal with the devil and live forever. ‘
‘ what does it mean if it all means nothing? ‘
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brewsterispunkk · 2 years
Text
(never) lucky
one.
Tumblr media
pairing: (eventual) clyde logan x reader
wordcount: 4.9k (a lot ik but im not sorry)
warnings: mentions of terminal illness.
a/n: WELL HI. i would like to first apologize for it taking me this long to update this fic. like actually i am sO sorry. secondly, i’m not sure about this one. i don’t know if i like it and its not beta-ed and yaknow. ya girl is an amatuer. anyway. love yall, and enjoy. i would love any and all feedback on this baby fic of mine and im excited to be updating again. 
The phone had barely rung two times before you answered, thumb punching the accept call button as soon as you glanced at the caller ID. Pulling the phone up to your ear, you looked ahead at the cornfields and the open road in front of you. Your mom’s crackly voice filled your ears.
“Darlin’,” she sighed on the other end. So, she’d gotten your message. You thought to yourself.
Mentally, you kicked yourself for giving her any notice in the first place. You knew she’d try to talk you out of it, like she had successfully done the previous two times you’d tried moving back home.
“You got out, honey.” she’d say. “You got to do what I never did. You went to college, you got your degree, you moved to the city. Don’t throw that away. There ain’t nothin’ for you here.”
And after your Gramma’s first stroke, it had worked, no matter how guilty you felt for being states away while she recovered. 
It had been a minor stroke, the summer before your junior year of college. Not fatal, or with too many lasting health complications, but it had been enough to scare you. It had been enough to scare you into almost dropping out of college and moving home, but your mother and grandmother had insisted that you go back after she’d begun the road to recovery. 
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason you decided to go back, a small voice in the back of your head whispered. Two dark brown eyes danced in your mind's eye; freckles scattered sparsely across tan cheeks, the deep rumble of a laugh, the crackle of a tape on an old car radio. You dispelled it before you allowed your mind to wander further.
That’s in the past. You insisted, chastising that quiet voice trying to bring up old ghosts. You wouldn’t let your mind go there again. He left. You reminded yourself, instead resolving to focus on the road in front of you, and the nagging voice of your mother in your ear. 
She sighed your name.
“I told you not to come, honey. This is the whole reason we were going to wait so long to tell you–”
“I’m already on the road, mom.” You interrupted her. “I moved out earlier this week, and I’m already on my way home. No use in trying to change my mind on this when it’s already done.” 
For the first time in what seemed like forever, you were met with radio silence; Your mother was speechless. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again. Secretly, inside you’re smug. You’ve managed to outsmart her.
“You’re on the road right now?” She asked in that familiar disapproving short tone.
“As we speak,” you shifted, holding the wheel with one hand and slouching in your seat. Your mother sighed again.
“Stop that,” she said, displeasure evident in her voice.
“Stop what, mama? Driving?”
“Stop sounding so smug,” She scolded in that tone that all mothers have perfected, before addressing you by your full name. “This is gonna upset your Gramma. The last thing she wanted was you puttin’ your whole life on hold for this.”
“‘For this?’” You asked in disbelief. “Mama, I can’t believe you waited a whole month to tell me the cancer was back in the first place! As if it was none of my business!” 
You could practically hear her eye-roll through the phone. 
“Now don’t be ridiculous.” She simpered. “We didn’t wanna upset you is all. And we certainly didn’t want you doin’ something so rash, like this.” 
You rolled your eyes. This woman was impossible. 
“I’d been considering leaving for a long time. This was just the final nail in the coffin. It was a long time comin’.”
“But you seemed so happy--” she countered. 
“I don’t care! I deserve to know if my grandma is dying or not, and you have no right to keep it from me!”
You were met with silence. It was your turn to sigh.
“I’m sorry,” she conceded softly. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I was just scared of something like this happening. You can’t expect me to believe that this whole thing didn’t cause you to up and move home out of the blue.”
“I know, mama, but it’s the truth. I wouldn’t make such a big decision like this out of the blue. I’m not a child.” You paused, before continuing, “I put in my notice weeks ago. I’ve missed home. A lot. The city is…so loud. And there are no mountains near Chicago. The land is so flat, and–”
“I know baby, I know.” You could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the line. She was no doubt calling from the landline in the kitchen at the old house. Thinking of it, your heart yearned. You missed it so much.
“It’s just that this was your dream, baby. And I just know your Gramma’s gonna blame herself for you giving that up.”
“Mom, I’m not giving anything up,” you emphasized the last part, trying to get it through her head. “I still have my dreams, Chicago just wasn’t it. It took me a while to realize that, but I have. And I have no idea where I wanna go or what I wanna do next, but I do know that I miss home. I was planning on coming back even before I found out.”
“Alright,” she began, but you wouldn’t let her continue. You needed to get this out. 
“And, that combined with the fact that Gramma’s cancer is back means there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”
“Alright,” she sighed on the other line. “I suppose there’s nothin’ I can do about it now. How did you find out in the first place? You never mentioned in that hysterical voicemail you left–”
“I had reason to be hysterical, don’t you think? Findin’ out from Jimmy Logan and all.”
“Jimmy Logan?” she asked in surprise. “Now what were you doin’ talkin’ to him? Did he finally buck up and get a cell phone?”
“Yes, he did,” you chuckled, “Mellie finally convinced him. Anyway, after she helped him get his contacts in order, the first thing he did was give me a ring, saying how sorry he was to hear about Gramma bein’ sick again.”
“But how? I didn’t even tell Jimmy Logan. The only people we told were the ladies in prayer group.”
You laughed.
“Oh, you know how word gets around. Jimmy heard it from Earl at the hardware store, who heard it from Irene, who heard it from her momma, who, if I’m not mistaken, is in your prayer group.”
“Well,” your mother huffed. “I suppose that is how it goes. I’ll tell you one thing, your Gramma will be happy to see you, no matter the circumstance.”
“I know,” you sighed,  glad that the air was at least a little cleared between you. You were still hurt that she’d kept something as important as your Gramma’s illness from you, but you understood where she was coming from. She just wanted what was best for you, wanted you to have everything she didn’t.
“Speaking of the Logans,” your mom said. “Have you told her you’re coming home?”
You laughed into the phone.
“Yes, Mellie knows I’m coming home.” You were surprised that she’d even assumed you hadn’t told the youngest Logan about your returning. She’d kill you if you didn’t.
“Good. I know she’s missed you. Last week while she was doin’ my hair, she told me a girl’s weekend every few months and a phone call just wasn’t cutting it.”
Mellie’s face flashed in your mind, and the feeling of dread at returning home started to dissipate. She had that effect on you; Ever since you met nearly 20 years earlier. You smiled, as your mind drifted back to then.
𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
You’d never imagined coming to a new school would ever be this hard. You’d expected it to be like how you’d seen it happen in TV shows or books or those kids movies you liked so much; Where after a rocky start with school bullies, the new kid fell in with the perfect group of friends and everything was fine. That was what you’d anticipated: The melodrama, the excitement. What you hadn’t expected was the monotony and loneliness.
Entering the third grade in october–two and a half months into the term–was never easy. At least that’s what your grandma had told you, and her being your grandma, you were inclined to believe her. 
“It’s not gonna be easy,” she’d told you. “And kids can be real mean, darlin’. Especially when you’re new and they don’t know you. But, you just show them how kind, and special, and smart, and funny you are, and you won't have a single problem fittin’ in.”
And you’d expected it to be that easy. And, boy were you wrong.
On your first day at Daniel Boone Elementary, you’d expected to be met with a little wariness (what with being the new kid and all), but had hoped, in the end, to make at least one new friend to tell your mom and grandma about when you got off the bus and went home. Instead, you got the usual strange introduction to the class by your new teacher, and that was that. No kids even came up to talk to you. You ate your PB&J sandwich alone at lunch, and spent recess alone on the swings. 
The following months went by in a similar manner: no new friends in sight. All the girls in your class were either too preoccupied with your hand-me-down clothes to play with you, or too shy to. And the boys wanted nothing to do with the weird new girl with too-knobby knees and too-big teeth because even if you liked the exact same things as them, you were still a girl, and that meant you had cooties. 
So, at home you’d drift away and pass your time the only time you knew how: through stories. Whether it be babysitters’ club books or PBS kids documentaries on your grandma’s old box TV, your head was always in the clouds. You’d be cryptic when your grandma or mom would ask about school, and they’d begun to notice. Before the snow came and the world froze over for winter, you’d also begun to explore the property behind your grandma’s house, getting lost in nature as you used to. 
By spring, your grandma was at a standstill. 
The snow was thawing, and after a winter indoors, she was at her wits end. She could recognize a depressive episode when she saw one, and the fact that she was seeing it in you, her eight-year-old granddaughter, made her heart break all the more.
She had been just about ready to call an intervention with the school’s principal and psychologist when it happened. You met the person who would change your life.
You’d met Mellie Logan once before, roughly a month after your arrival in Boone County, when you were still new enough to be considered the least bit interesting at Daniel Boone Elementary. She was a year older than you and about a head shorter, with the same shade of rich brown hair as the older boy you’d recognized her sit with on the bus; Her brother, Jimmy Logan who was a middle schooler, but not the least bit embarrassed to sit by his little sister on the ride home, tugging playfully on her braids. She was in Ms. Granfell’s class down the hall, with whom your class shared a recess and lunch time, along with some of the 6th graders. 
It had been on the bus that you’d had your brief first encounter with Mellie Logan. She and about five other kids got off a few stops before yours, down Elm street, and rather than the fact that she had one older brother, that was about all you knew about the girl, and that was all the thought you’d given to her. 
The encounter was a small one: your backpack had been in the aisle as the kids filed in from the school at the end of a school-day in early November and she’d muttered a quiet “pardon me,” as she passed you to her usual seat at the back of the bus where her brother was already seated, and that was that. You barely knew her.
Now, though, as you sat in the school principal’s office, bright fluorescent lights shining over the deep mahogany desk, you felt that all of that was going to change. Mellie sat beside you, eyebrows knit together obstinately as she stared directly ahead of her at the clock on the opposite wall, frowning.
It read: 1:23. 
You sighed. That meant that you were missing library time with the rest of your class while being holed up in here, waiting while the principal made calls to each of your parents that they had to come pick you up and discuss the incident. Your stomach sunk in annoyance as you crossed your arms and slumped down further into the armchair next to Mellie. 
 Great, now they have even more of a reason to think I’m weird, you thought to yourself. 
That was the last thing you needed. You were already having a hard time fitting in in the first place, with kids making faces at you and snickering when it was your turn to answer a question or read aloud to the class. You didn’t need to be known as the weird new girl who’d also gotten into a fight with a fourth grader. 
You groaned in realization that that was exactly what you’d be known as from now on. You ran a hand over your face. And just wait until your mom found out, until your Gramma found out. 
Your life was over.
At that, Mellie looked over at you, her formerly sour expression turned questioning at your sudden outburst.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, moving to sit on her hands. Her legs were swinging back and forth off of the edge of the seat of the chair. She looked more bored than anything else, which was wild to you, considering the insane amount of trouble you both were about to be in the moment both of your parents walked through that door.
You looked at her like she was insane, her freckled face a picture of nonchalance, and sighed. Your heart was at the pit of your stomach as you watched the small round clock tick by, each second drawing closer to what was bound to be the end of your eight years on this planet.
You hadn’t intended to get involved. You really hadn’t. But when you’d seen the trampled, embarrassed look in his brown eyes, you didn’t know what else you could do.
 It was, surprisingly, not in your nature to be confrontational at this point in your life. Though you’d later grow to be quite the headstrong person, the years spent walking around on eggshells with Keith had taken a toll on your personality. You liked to avoid conflict with even your family, nevertheless with the mean fourth graders you’d always hear snickering at people during lunchtime. But when you’d heard them picking on the lanky boy with messy dark hair something within you had snapped.
It was breakfast for lunch day, aka: the best day of the week, and when the bell rang  signaling the beginning of lunchtime you moved as fast as your legs could carry you to the cafeteria.
You stepped into the line behind a tall, lanky boy who had to be at least a few years older than you. You recognized him from your bus; He lived on the same street as Mellie and her brother, and like you, always sat by himself on the bus. You thought that he was probably the only kid who was as quiet as you. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever even heard the stoic boy utter a word in the month and a half you’d spent riding home with him. His face always seemed to stay the same too, you’d noticed. 
Not that you’d been watching him, you lied to yourself.
Right now, though, the boy smiled at you as you came up behind him. A tight-lipped, shy one at that, but his dark eyes shone with genuine kindness that you were almost too flustered to know what to do. Such kindness, even small ones like this, had been few and far between in your time in Boone County. It’d been lonely, and this little boy’s smile made it feel a little less so. A part of you wondered if this town had been similarly lonely for him too. You smiled back.
The sound of giggling broke you from your blatant staring at the boy in front of you. Two girls had entered the line behind you. You didn’t know their names, but you recognized them from the time you had spent people-watching during your month or so of eating alone. The taller one was blonde, with long straight hair and thick braces covering her teeth as she smiled right past you and to the boy standing in front of you. Her counterpart was shorter and a bit stouter, with short pin-curls that practically stuck to her hair. Your stomach dropped as you took in the looks on both of their faces. Their smiles were anything but kind as they looked right through and onto the boy who was oblivious to what was coming.
You weren’t though. Just last week, you’d the pair of girls push a little girl in your class off of the monkey bars for “taking their spot,” when you knew for a fact that that girl had been there for all of recess already. Before that, you’d seen them ridicule another girl for her new haircut that had come out much shorter than expected until she cried. These were two girls you knew not to cross, and here they were, sights set on the boy in front of you whose name you didn't even know. And you were caught in the middle of it. 
“Uhm, excuse me?” The blonde girl asked, reaching across you and tapping the boy on the shoulder. Her face was twisted in barely held-in laughter, while beside her, her friend’s face held an identical.
The boy turned, eyes wide and curious. Kind. Obviously unaware of exactly how nasty these two could be. 
“Y-yeah?” He asked, voice cracking when he stuttered. The blonde looked over to her friend and then back at him.
“Your name’s Clyde, right?” She asked, head tilting.
“Uhm, yeah, tha’s right.” He smiled, bashful. Ears twinged red.
Clyde. That was the boy’s name. It fit him, you thought. 
Her friend popped in. “Say, ain’t you a Logan?” She asked, face spread in what seemed like a kind smile. 
Something you didn’t buy. You thought as you grabbed an orange from the selection of fruit.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, moving down the line. He picked up a strawberry milk carton before moving further down where the french toast sticks were. You continued to eavesdrop, feeling the most awkward you had in a while as the conversation continued with you, quite literally, in the middle of it.
“Well, Clyde Logan,” the blonde continued, reaching for an identical carton of strawberry milk. Her face was smug. “There’s something Quinn and I have been meaning to ask you for a while now.”
“What’s that?” he asked, curious. He looked at her, eyes open and welcoming and you dreaded the next words that were going to come out of her mouth. It wasn’t gonna be good.
“We were just wondering,” she snorted halfway through, hand coming to her mouth. “Sorry, we were just wondering if you’d done something to upset your momma?”
He chuckled awkwardly, obviously confused, and flicked some dark hair behind his ear. “Pardon me?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“Oh, nothin’. It’s just you had to have done something to have earned a haircut like that.”
Beside her, her friend had given up on controlling her laughter. Wheezing, her friend–Quinn–interjected.
“Or maybe your hairdresser hates you? What did you do to make someone let you walk out of the house like that?” She giggled.
“Don’t be silly, Quinn. The Logans can’t afford a hairdresser. It had to have been his momma. I mean, really Clyde, you had to have done somethin’ bad.” The blonde chimed in again.
“Although, maybe it’s not the haircut, Heather.” Quinn piped in casually, serving herself french toast. “That’s not fair to his momma. It’s those ears. They stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Mhm,” the blonde, heather, nodded. “I think you’re right. And his nose. It's so big. That’s what makes you so unfortunate looking. Not the hair at all.”
Clyde looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Surprise coloring his features, the smallest frown upon his lips.
“Or , you know what,” Heather considered, piling bacon onto her lunch tray. “It’s probably that curse your sister wouldn’t shut up about last year. What’d she call it?”
“The Logan Family Curse.” Quinn chimed in. Heather laughed. 
“That must be it!” She giggled in that snotty, preteen way. “Who knew that the Logan family curse was being cursed with bein’ uglier than a mud fence!”
“Or having ears the size of Dumbo’s.” 
Looking over at Clyde, you saw his eyes glassy with unshed tears as he looked down at his lunch tray. Crestfallen. It sent white hot anger surging through your chest, and before you could register it, you were turning to face the two girls beside you in line.
“Just because he has straight teeth and you don’t doesn’t mean you have to be mean.” You glared at her. Her smug face morphed into one of anger as her eyes hardened into a glare.
“Excuse me?” she asked. Beside her, Quinn’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“You heard me, brace-face.” You stood your ground, glaring right back at her. She gasped at the insult, not ready for a taste of her own medicine. An identical look of horror crossed her companion’s face. From behind you, you heard a familiar high voice call out.
“Clyde? Where are you–” Mellie looked confused, her eyes following the lanky, dark-haired figure racing out of the cafeteria, leaving his lunch tray deserted in line next to you. Her gaze hardened as she looked over at you and the two girls in line. She stomped over, arms crossed.
“What did you say to him?” She demanded, looking between you three. When no one spoke up, she asked again, louder.
“What did you say to my brother?” She seethed. Heather looked at Quinn, an amused smirk on her face. 
“Oh, you mean Dumbo?” She asked.
“Nothing–we just gave him some beauty advice,” Quinn descended into the same annoying laughter as her friend. 
What happened next was a blur to you. There was a hand in someone’s hair, another pushing someone's shoulder, and the sound of a hand smacking against someone’s face. You were pushed backwards–by who, you didn’t know–and your half-full lunch tray came down on top of you, covering you in scrambled eggs and syrup. Heather screeched like a banshee, and Quinn started crying. A lunch monitor ran over to break it up, and before you knew it, Heather was being sent to the nurse and you and Mellie to the principal’s office. 
Which brings you to now.
You sat, smelling of eggs and syrup, and waiting for your life to end. After a few minutes of silence, you looked to the scrappy, brooding girl next to you. 
“Did you have to hit her?” You asked, breaking the silence. Scoffing, she turned to look at you. 
“Uhm, yeah I had to hit her.” She spat out incredulously. “She was makin’ fun of my big brother. You don’t let people mess around with your kin.” 
“But–” you began before she interrupted you, seemingly not hearing you at all. That was something you’d grow to find out was a habit of hers whenever she talked about something she was passionate about. 
“And I’d do it again, too,” she said, stubbornly. “I don’t care what Mrs. Findlay says. If you ask me, Heather Campbell had it comin’ and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. I’m only sad I got caught.”
Her matter-of-fact made you giggle a little bit. After all, you couldn’t disagree with her; You’d seen Heather and Quinn unleash their wrath before. Many times in the short time you’d been in town. They needed to be put in their place. And you were glad you’d had at least a small part in doing it, even if it did put a target on your back and was bound to make your life hell indefinitely. 
“I am sorry you got involved, though,” Mellie said. “It ain’t fair you got roped into all a’ my trouble-makin’.” 
You chuckled a bit.
“Nah,” you sighed. “Before you walked up, I did say some pretty nasty things to them. I guess I deserved it.”
Mellie, looking surprised at that, snorted.
 “You?” she asked, eyes wide in apparent disbelief. “You said somethin’ to Heather Campbell?”
“What's that supposed to mean?” you asked, brows furrowed. “And yes, I’ll have you know, I did say something to her.”
“Nothin’.”  Mellie said, “it’s just that in all the time you’ve been here, I ain't heard you speak but about two times.”
“I couldn’t let her talk to him like that when he didn’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” You said. “Besides, I was tired of hearin’ her run her mouth all the time and no one sayin’ anything.”
“Well alrighty then.” She said.
 A beat of silence passed, the only sound being the ticking of the clock. Then, “what did you say to her?”
You snorted. 
“I called her brace-face.” You admitted sheepishly. Beside you, Mellie howled in laughter and after a moment, you joined her.
“You know,” she said pensively, smiling at you, all trace of a sour mood gone, “I think we’re gonna be good friends.”
You smiled back at her, the first real one in a while. 
“Me too.” And you meant it.
𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
Your mother’s voice snapped you back to reality. 
“And what about him?” she asked carefully, words thick with meaning. “Does he know you’re comin’ back?”
You sighed. “Mama, why would he know I was coming back? Why would he care I’m coming back?”
“Darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that–”
“He didn’t bother telling me when he came back. I had to find out from Mellie, a month after the fact.” You continued, that familiar white-hot feeling in your chest resurfacing. “Besides, I’m sure Mellie mentioned it to him. She’d have to if he’s gonna continue this disappearing act of his.”
“That’s not fair, baby, and you know it.” She scolded, ever the mother. It didn’t matter that you were twenty-five, she’d always put you in your place when it came down to it. “He’s been through a lot.”
“I’m sure he has,” you agreed half-heartedly. 
“And–”
“--Not that I’d know about it! He hasn’t spoken so much as a word to me in years. Not for lack of trying on my part either, you know that mom.”
“I know, baby, I know,” she said. This was a conversation you’d had before. And no matter how many times you did, she’d always brought up the same points. 
And now, Clyde Logan had been home for six months, but felt like a ghost. Your family hadn’t heard a thing from him. According to your cousin Zach, Jimmy had wanted to throw a coming-home party for him, but had canceled it last minute. 
You knew better than to ask Mellie about it. She was your best friend, yes, but you wouldn’t put her in that position. You wouldn’t make her choose sides or play middle-man between you and her brother. And she knew better than to bring it up with you, too. She saw her brother’s idiocy, and, more importantly, she saw how hurt you were after all that had happened. So, Clyde generally wasn’t brought up between the two of you. Not in great detail, anyway. No matter how much you knew she had to reign herself in over it. Your best friend was a fixer at heart, and that instinct didn’t go away when it came to her best friend and her brother. 
“Let’s just drop it, mom.” You said. “I am not coming home for Clyde Logan, of all people. I’m just happy to be coming home again.” 
“Well, that makes two of us.” she laughed lightly on the other end. “How far out are you?” she asked.
“I’m about halfway through Indiana right now.”
“Whew,” she whistled. “What a drive.”
You laughed at her sarcasm. “Oh yeah, nothin’ but cornfields for miles. That is somethin’ I won’t be missing, that’s for sure.”
“Good.” she said, “You’d better get a move-on if you wanna be home before nightfall, then. I’ll call your cousins and see who can make it for dinner.”
Your heart leapt at the thought of it, seeing the family again. You’d missed living in the same county as them all; Not having to drive hours to hug your grandma, to hear your aunt Nikki’s laugh, or to engage in yet another political conversation with your uncle Mike. 
“That sounds perfect.”
“Alright then. Your Gramma’s gonna be surprised, that’s for sure. And i’m warnin’ you now: She will not be as easily swayed as I am at your comin’ back.”
“Yeah, I know.” You shook your head. “I’ll start preparing my speech now.”
She laughed, “you better!”
“I’m gonna let you go, babe. Call your aunts. Love you.”
“Love you too, momma.” You sighed, as the call ended. 
The late May sun shone through the clouds, as you steered off of the freeway to continue south. Toward home.
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Hayloft (p.1)
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Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader
Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts...) 
Warnings: Abuse, mentions of drinking, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!
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When your car finally pulled up the old dirt driveway to your family's farm house, the sun was already setting, casting an orange hue over the acres of land that your father had inherited from his father. It was beautiful, really. The sun was behind your old two story home made of wood planks that were covered in chipping white paint. The door’s paint was also chipping, only this time it was old navy blue paint - at least that’s the color it was supposed to be when it was painted who knows how many decades ago - that peeled back to reveal the wood beneath. 
Your father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway yet when you pulled up and you sighed in relief because it gave you the opportunity to get dinner started before he got home. You headed straight for the kitchen. The only moment taken for yourself was the moment of silence when you leaned against the counter top and stretched out your back from the long day's work at the diner. The refrigerator was mostly empty and you made a mental note to run to the store after work tomorrow before your father could notice the lack of food. Thankfully, there was still enough scraps to piece something together for tonight between the fridge and the cupboards. 
The house was swimming with the delicious scent of herbs, onions, potatoes, and stock as you boiled a stew on the stove when you heard the front door open. “Hi, Daddy! How was work?” You asked over your shoulder before you even heard his steps enter the kitchen, not actually caring but knowing he’d be upset if you didn’t ask. 
He came around the corner but you could hear from the moment the door opened that there were the footsteps of more than one person entering your home. With a frown, you turned from the stove and took a few steps so you could see around the wall that blocked your view of the front door but your father and new mystery person stepped around that corner and into the kitchen before you could get that far. You stopped in your tracks, startled by their sudden appearance, and your hand flew to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry!” You chuckled awkwardly, apologizing for your jumpiness, “Didn’t think you’d be comin’ in here.” 
It was a man about your age that stood just behind your father, a navy baseball cap twisted in his hands and his footsteps light so as to not knock dirt off onto the floor from his work boots, both welcomed displays of manners that you appreciated, unlike your father who left a trail of chunks of dried mud and grease everywhere he walked. This new boy, though, he was cute. Short curly hair that was messy, either from work or wearing the hat, big expressive brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy in the best possible way, a tight lipped expression that showed he was a little nervous and uncomfortable to be here, they were all a welcome, albeit unexpected, surprise. 
"Work was good. This here is Arvin Russel. He'll be staying with us, at least for the night." Your eyes flicked back to the boy you now knew as Arvin when your dad introduced him and your heart skipped a beat at the eye contact. 
  He nodded his head slightly, a small cordial smile flashing on his face for just a moment, "Pleasure to meet you,..." 
"Y/N. It's nice to meet you as well. If you're staying the night, let me add some water to the soup and then I'll go make up the spare bed." You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the pot of stew that was nearly done. 
"That's very kind of you. Thank you." 
Before you could notice him moving, your dad was already beside the fridge and you reached out to try to stop him before he could open it. "Let me get you something! What about you, Arvin? You want a beer or some water?" You scurried to try and beat your dad to the fridge that you knew would earn you a reprimanding that you didn’t deserve. 
You were too late though and your dad already swung the door open wide. You stepped back nervously, rubbing the sharp edge of your nails against your thumb. "It's damn near empty." He noted, voice stiff and dissatisfied. He stood, managing to produce the last two beers from the refrigerator before slamming it shut. 
You flinched at the loud sound, hearing the few glass jars of preserves and jams clanging against each other inside from the force. Your eyes rolled beneath closed lids at his overdramatic reaction, even though it was one you expected. "I'm gonna hit the market after work tomorrow but I checked that we have enough for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow." Your voice was sweet and placating, careful to respond in a way that would keep his temper in check. 
  "It's that damn job of yours. I told you women shouldn't be working. They belong in the house where you should be. Now look. You went and let the kitchen run out." He passed Arvin a beer, which he reluctantly accepted, watching the way your father pointed his finger at you accusingly. “Ain’t no man gonna want a wife who can’t even keep the kitchen stocked up.” 
Your tongue was raw inside from biting down on it so hard in order to keep yourself in line, as he called it. You didn't need a blow out tonight, not with Arvin here. "I manage to work and keep up with the house just fine, Daddy. We just got a little low on groceries but I'll be heading to the market tomorrow to fix it. Don’t you worry." Even you were surprised with how even and sweet your voice came out, that ever present fire of anger towards your father having been fanned into a decent blaze.  
He popped the tab on his beer and sighed, dropping the topic for the time being, "Fine. But make sure to pick up some fixin's for that chicken roast you make. Patty is lookin' nice and fat in the coop so why don't you cook her up tomorrow." 
You grimaced at the thought. Patty was one of the chickens in your coop out back that had been pretty slow when it came to laying eggs but you’d grown attached to her nonetheless. Ever since you were a young girl, your daddy warned you not to become attached to the animals out back but you never listened. Back then, you’d had your mother to step in and convince him not to kill the animals for whatever reason she could come with and opt for buying meat from the market instead. You hadn’t been able to convince him like that since she’d passed. Everything had been different since she passed. 
“I don’t know, Daddy. Patty’s been layin’ a lot of eggs lately and we’ve been gettin’ extra money from sellin’ all those eggs. Why don’t I just pick up a chicken in town tomorrow at the store.” You insisted, walking back over to the stove to stir the stew. 
“Don’t go wastin’ money on things we already got! We got some chickens out back. Just cook one of ‘em up tomorrow!” Your father’s voice was hard and stern now, enough to fill the air with tension in Arvin’s presence. You turned slowly, making eye contact with Arvin briefly before quickly avoiding it. You didn’t like the way he stood awkwardly, silently watching the interaction he clearly didn’t think highly of. Your father was already getting worked up and it would only get worse the longer the night went on. 
Biting your cheek, you nodded, “Yes, sir. Now why don’t you boys go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in just a minute.” 
**
Dinner went relatively well, despite your father’s occasional grumblings about there not being any beer. Once you finished, you stood up and picked up yours and your father’s bowls before noticing Arvin’s was empty as well. “Did you want some more? There’s just enough for one more if you’d like it.” You offered Arvin that last bit of stew but he just shook his head and stood up. 
“Oh, no thank you miss. Dinner was delicious though. Let me help with that.” He grabbed his own bowl before your hand could reach it and then took the bowls from your hands as well before setting them down at the sink. 
You chased after him, “Thank you but you don’t have to do that! Please, sit. I’ll make your bed up when I’m finished cleaning up dinner.” 
“She’s right, son. Kitchen ain’t no place for a man. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you the room you’ll be stayin’ in.” You father’s chair screeched against the beat up wooden floor as he stood, beckoning Arvin to him. 
Arvin was standing right beside you, his arm only a few inches from yours as he lowered the stack of bowls into the sink. He looked over at you with deep soulful eyes that seemed to look right through your calm facade in a way that made you feel seen like never before. It was highly uncomfortable, almost violating after all these years of hiding away what you felt for the sake of keeping the peace, and you forced a smile, “Please, you’re our guest. It wouldn’t be right to make you do the dishes. You go with him.” 
He gave you a drawn out hesitant look but turned away nonetheless and walked towards your dad. “Thank you again for letting me stay here till I get things figured out. It’s mighty kind of you.” Arvin thanked you and your father for your hospitality, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder before following your father down up the stairs towards the spare room. 
You made quick work of the dishes, having cleaned most of them as you were cooking earlier anyways and scurried to the closet that held your extra sheets. As you passed the bathroom, you heard the shower running and knew it was your father bathing after his long day of work, like he always did right after dinner. The man was a creature of habit. 
With your arms full of neatly folded faded steel blue linens and the thicker burnt sienna colored wool blanket, you made your way towards the guest room Arvin was staying in to find the door wide open and the man looking through his bag that was set on the bed. “Knock knock,” you announced your presence, waiting at the entryway for Arvin to notice you before entering. 
He spun around, dropping something that you didn’t see quickly into his bag and pressing it down while flashing you a small polite smile, “Hello, ma’am.” 
You walked into the room, raising the linens in your hands, “I brought some sheets so I could make up your bed.” You walked over to the wooden chair and set the top sheet down before making your way back over to the bed, unfolding the bottom sheet as you did, waving it up and down in the air to straighten it out before laying it flat on the bed. 
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, miss,” He moved his bag to the ground and jumped to lift the corner of the mattress and tuck the sheet beneath it. 
You blushed at his kindness, not used to such help from your father, but shook your head, tucking the sheet beneath the mattress on the opposite side of the bed “If my daddy came in and saw you fixin’ the bed yourself, he’d kill me,” you chuckled to make it sound like a joke but you knew better than that. He wouldn’t actually kill you but you would certainly get some less than kind words thrown your way, maybe even a few beer cans thrown your way depending on how drunk he was. 
Arvin shook his head, his hands falling on his hips, “Looks like you do most the housework ‘round here.” What he was insinuating was clear even though his tone didn’t change but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t need to concern himself with the difficulties between you and your father. 
“So how’d you and my dad meet?” You changed the topic, going to grab the top sheet and unfolding it. You laid it over the bed and tucked your side in, Arvin reaching down to tuck his side in as well in a silent act of defiance against your insistence that he didn’t need to help. It occurred to you suddenly after the question left your lips that you didn’t actually know anything about this boy but, for some reason, you still didn’t feel uneasy around him.  
Arvin pulled the top corner of the sheet up to the head of the bed as he answered, “I just started workin’ at the garage with ‘im.” 
“You like cars?” You questioned, spreading out the final layer on the bed, the wool blanket. 
Arvin shrugged, “Never been really into ‘em but I can fix ‘em alright enough. Just needed the work and happened to see the wanted sign when I was passin’ through town.” 
Your brow raised in curiosity, “You were just passin’ through and stopped in this old town cause of a help wanted sign?” The little town you lived in wasn’t terrible but it was far from a destination that people really moved to for work unless you a doctor desperate for a place to practice or something like that. “You must really be desperate,” you joked but immediately felt a slight pang of regret when a shred of truth could be seen in his eyes. 
“Just tryna figure out where I’m goin’ ‘n what I wanna do. Figure I’ll find somewhere I like eventually.” Arvin picked up his bag and set it off to the side where it was a little more out of the way. 
You stared at the man standing before you, taking every bit of him from the grease stains on his white t-shirt to his scuffed up brown work boots to his messy hair, dirty from dried sweat. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you realized that you’d been staring in a settled yet weirdly comfortable silence. You stood up straight and smiled to diffuse the awkwardness you’d unintentionally fostered, “You’re more than welcome to take a shower. My daddy should be finished any second. I’ll set some extra towels in there for you.” 
“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation but offered no further conversation. You could tell from the moment of silence that it was time for you to make your exit. 
“Well, uh, I better head to bed. You need anything before I go?” You asked, backing towards the door and swinging slightly with it once your hand hit the old bronze knob. 
Arvin shook his head, “No, thank you. ‘M all set.” 
“Alrighty, then. You have a good night.” You chewed your lip as you opened the door to make your exit. 
“G’night, miss Y/N.” 
Butterflies flew wildly in your belly as you walked to your bedroom. It had been a long while since you’d seen somebody worth looking twice at in this old town but now a mysterious handsome man rolls into town and stays with you. In your house. It probably wasn’t the safest of situations but Arvin genuinely looked like a nice man. From your very brief interactions with him, you couldn’t really imagine him trying to hurt you or your father for no reason. Even if he did, you knew where your daddy kept his shotgun and you had no problem defending yourself. But like I said, you had an unearned sense of peace with Arvin that you hoped wasn’t a misjudgement. 
“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” Your father’s gruff but thankfully not entirely drunk voice made you stop in your tracks and turn towards his room with a suppressed groan. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but an undershirt and long johns with his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides.
You shook the smile off your face. “Just thought of somethin’ funny that happened at work,'' you lied. “You need somethin’?” 
“I watched you come out o’ that boy’s room with a big ol’ grin on your face. Better not let me catch you ‘n him. Ain’t no daughter o’ mine gonna be whorin’ around with some boy blowin’ through town, y’hear?” He threatened, his hands reaching down to pull up his worn out long johns. 
Your blood boiled at the accusation and despite your best efforts to keep peace while Arvin was here, you spat words with venom, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ with Arvin. God forbid I have a damn smile on my face.” Your voice was low enough so that you hoped your guest hadn’t heard your outburst but when your father’s face darkened and he began taking slow, heavy steps towards you, you weren’t sure if your charade of normalcy would last much longer. 
Your father hovered over you, exaggerating the size difference between the two of you, “I put a roof over your head. I put food on the table. You play make believe with that little diner job but I'm the head of this house. I'm your father. You watch that fuckin’ tone with me girl."
Your jaw was clenched tightly, matching your fists, as you glared up at him with indignantly furious eyes. Father your ass. He once had been your father, an imperfect but loving man who used to try. Now he was merely a selfish broken sperm donor. He inherited this house from his father, didn’t pay a darn cent, and you couldn't remember the last time he pitched in a dime for anything but alcohol and the occasional dinner he made when he was in a good mood. He did do that- have these strange out of character nights where he pretended to be kind and loving. They were far and few between though and, while you enjoyed the change of pace, it felt like walking on eggshells in some fantasy world. 
A heavy silence settled between the two of you that crackled with a tension that could snap at any moment and turn into a full blown fight. Your eyes were narrowed on his as you refused to let him think he intimidated you anymore. Nevertheless, you turned on your heel, nails digging into your palm, and walked down the hall towards your room, leaving him alone. 
“He wouldn’t want you anyways, fuckin’ attitude like that.” Your father grumbled to your back, hoping for one last reaction out of you that you refused to give. 
It took all the control in the world to not slam the door in his face but you knew there was no way it would escape Arvin’s attention. You’d have to resort to the therapy of muffling your furious tear-soaked screams into your pillow until you finally fell asleep, like you did many nights. 
459 notes · View notes
wienerbarnes · 3 years
Text
Italian Heart
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Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader
Word Count: 4,867
Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol
A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3
MAIN MASTERLIST
Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.
Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.
As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.
Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.
“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.
“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.
When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.
Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.
A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.
“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.
“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.
Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.
“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.
You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”
“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.
Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.
“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.
You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.
“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.
A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.
His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.
“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.
“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”
He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”
“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.
“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.
“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.
You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.
“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”
You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.
Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.
“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.
“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.
“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.
“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.
“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”
You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”
Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.
She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.
“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”
“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”
Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.
Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.
Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.
“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.
One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.
“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.
“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.
“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.
“It’s pork, you asshole.”
Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.
“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.
“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.
“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.
“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.
“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.
“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.
Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”
“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.
Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.
“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.
“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.
Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”
The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.
You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.
“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.
“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.
“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.
“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.
“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.
Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.
You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.
Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.
There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.
You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”
“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.
“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”
“Can I -”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“But -”
“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.
You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.
“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.
You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”
“Would you let me explain?” He tries.
“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.
“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.
“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.
The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.
“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.
“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.
...
Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.
They don’t question it.
“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”
Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.
His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.
“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”
“Safety.” Bucky answers.
“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.
“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.
“One I can’t refuse?”
“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.
Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.
“Easy - peasy.” You respond.
The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.
About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.
You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.
“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.
It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.
He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.
He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.
It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.
Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.
“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”
“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.
You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.
“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”
“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”
“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.
“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.
“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.
He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.
He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.
“Don’t kill the guy.”
You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.
You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.
“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.
You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.
He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.
“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.
“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.
He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.
Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.
The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.
He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.
“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.
“Just - Let me, would you?”
He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.
You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”
“I don’t.”
“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.
“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”
He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”
“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.
“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”
You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.
...
Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.
“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”
“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.
He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.
It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.
One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.
“You got company, Boss.” He says.
You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.
“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.
“What’s in the box?”
“Cannoli.”
You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”
“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.
You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.
The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.
But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.
“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.
“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.
His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.
“Let me take you out tonight.”
“Maybe I’ve got plans.”
“Cancel ‘em.”
“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”
“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”
“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”
He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.
He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.
“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.
“I get to pick the place.”
“No.”
“The kind of food.”
“No.”
“The -”
“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.
Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?
“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.
He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.
200 notes · View notes
anika-ann · 3 years
Text
Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)
Type: one-shot, songfic
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 4700
Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.
Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.
Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.
Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language
A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.
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You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.
It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.
Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.
You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.
You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.
Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.
You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.
You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.
You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.
“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.
 There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good
 “Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.
Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.
“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”
You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.
Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.
Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.
It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.
You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.
Dammit, Steve.
“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”
“I guess…”
 Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?
 This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.
Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.
“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.
Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.
Right?
Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.
Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.
And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.
“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”
“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.
“…and?”
“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.
Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.
“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“
“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.
Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.
Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.
It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.
“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”
“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.
God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.
Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.
Huh? He… knew?
“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.
“Why?”
Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.
Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?
No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?
 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside
 The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“
-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.
One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.
“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“
You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.
He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.
“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”
You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.
“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”
Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.
“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”
You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.
A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.
“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”
He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”
 There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm
 Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.
Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.
Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.
On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.
“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.
It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.
It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” –  a whisper full of honesty.
“Uh-huh.”
Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.
Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.
“…are you? Okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.
“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”
A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.
Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.
“What about it-?“
You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?
You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.
Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.
“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”
The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.
“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.
You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.
“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.
The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.
Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.
“How did you know?”
“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”
“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.
Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.
And you were alright with that. More than alright.
Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.
You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.
“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it.  “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”
“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.
“Yeah, so am I.”
Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”
“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“
Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.
You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.
“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”
You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.
“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”
Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.
“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“
Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.
“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.
“Huh?”
“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”
“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.
“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.
Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.
“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”
Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.
You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.
Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.
“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.
Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.
So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.
“Always.”
You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.
 Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on
 You reached the Tower hand in hand.
Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.
You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.
Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.
“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”
That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.
“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“
Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.
“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”
You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.
“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”
One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.
“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”
You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?
His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.
Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.
“Steve!”
Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.
“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?
I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.
Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.
“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”
“See you in ten then.”
You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.
 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside
*✧・ Bonus *✧・
If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.
He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.
He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.
Probably.
*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・
S.R. masterlist
*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・*✧・
Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.
Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?
Thank you for reading!
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doyouevenshipbr0 · 3 years
Text
gruvia drabble
author’s note: ok. hi. here we are again. i go on a 1948392 year hiatus and then become inspired to write something from the most RANDOM thing. but this was too good to pass up. so essentially i saw a headcannon by @incorrect-ft-ez-quotes and then @bbygirljuvi added onto it:) look at my most recent reblog for reference if u want hehehe. yeah ok maybe i did add some bs healing abilities to juvia’s powers... sue me! ok here we gooooo i hope u cuties enjoy!!!
*
“Popsicle,” Natsu sighed. “What the hell are you doin’ back here?” He held his door in one hand as he stared at a recently familiar face.
“What, a guy can’t stop by and visit his best friend?” Gray nervously chuckled.
Happy and Natsu weren’t buying it, exchanging suspicious looks as Gray impatiently stood at the door frame.
“Best friend?” Natsu rose an eyebrow.
“And for the 4th day in a row?” Happy jabbed, hovering beside Natsu’s head
“Would ya’ just let me in?” Gray spat out, clearly looking jittery.
“Fine.” Natsu groaned, stepping aside so Gray could step in.
“But we’re gonna’ start charging rent!” Happy exclaimed.
“Whatever, I don’t care, just as long as I can hang out here for a little while.” Gray hustled in, plopping himself onto Natsu’s worn down couch.
“Ok, you can stay here on one condition, tell me what it is you’re freaking out about. And gimme’ the real reason you’ve been comin’ here.” Natsu folded his arms.
“Aye!” Happy mimicked Natsu, crossing his little paws.
Gray let out a groan, bowing his head between his legs before whipping his head back up. “It’s Juvia, ok!?”
“Juvia?” Happy asked.
“But, you haven’t tried avoiding her in forever. You guys have been all buddy-buddy lately.” Natsu was trying to piece this all together in his head.
Gray blushed, averting his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“So what’s the deal?” Natsu was doing his best to get straight to the point, as nuance was not his strong suit.
“W-well... we... kind of... sort of...” Gray scratched at the back of his head, searching for the gall to say it. “We got drunk the other night at the guild, and then I went to walk her home since she was pretty wasted, and...one thing lead to another and... we almost kissed.”
Natsu was as confused as ever. “So?”
“So?!”
“Well, don’t ya’ like her?”
“W-well-!” Gray stammered, and gave out a defeated sigh, bowing his head again. “Yeah.” He mumbled to the point that Natsu or Happy could barely hear him.
“So then why don’t you wanna’ smooch her?” Happy was almost as dense as Natsu.
“Gah! You guys don’t get it!” Gray sprung up. “Forget it. I’m gonna’ find a new hiding spot. Preferably, one that asks less questions.”
Just as Gray made his way to Natsu’s front door, there was a sudden knock. Gray froze in his tracks as a chill went up his spine. He had a knack for this sort of thing, knowing when Juvia’s around, and that chill only ever meant one thing.
“Shit.”
Gray needed an escape route, but his head wasn’t on straight. He frantically scoured the little house, looking from wall to wall, but there was only one door, and Gray was just feet away from it.
“Natsu, whatever you do, don’t-“
“Be there in a sec’!” Natsu shouted at the door.
“You idiot!” Gray whisper yelled.
Natsu opened the door to none other than Juvia. She was known for her expressive nature. The look on her face could tell you anything you want to know, without her having to say a word.
“Hi, Natsu-san.” Juvia said both frantically and nervously. “Juvia was just wondering if Gray-sama was here.” She held her hands together promptly, hoping that he would be there.
“Actually Gray-“ Natsu was cut off at the sound of shattering glass. He instinctively spun around to a disastrous scene, displaying a broken window, shards of glass everywhere, and no Gray to be found. “Just left.” Natsu finished the thought differently than he originally intended.
Juvia heard the shattering too, and she had her answer. Her Gray-dar never failed her. Using her Gray-dar she quickly scurried to the back of the house, crossing her fingers that Gray hadn’t gotten away yet. The first thing she heard was a hiss of pain, and as she turned the corner, there sat her Gray in the ground, holding his bloody knee.
“Son of a bitch!” Gray yelled in pain, applying more pressure to his cut knee. Sure, he was used to getting beaten to a pulp in a fight, but he wasn’t exactly expecting a busted up knee right about now.
“Gray-sama!” Juvia’s eyes widened at the blood, and she hurried to his side.
Gray finally realized her presence. He stopped writhing in pain for a moment, and tried to appear as casual as usual. “Oh...” He forced a laugh. “Hey Juvia. what are you doin’ here?”
“Juvia should be asking you the same thing.” She knelt by Gray’s side. “But first, let Juvia help.”
“I’m fine.”
“Let Juvia see it, Gray-sama.”
He sighed, giving in and releasing his hold. Juvia quickly took her hands and placed them on Gray’s knee. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and suddenly her hands became water, but it wasn’t normal water. It was soothing, and it was making the stinging in Gray’s knee go away.
“Juvia has been working on some healing techniques. It’s nothing like Wendy, but I can heal some minor, surface-level things.” She explained, using her water hands to massage the area.
“Now that Juvia has finally caught you, why have you been avoiding me?” She finally looked at Gray who blushed at the sudden eye contact.
“I haven’t.” Gray tried to sound as natural as possible.
All Juvia had to do was give him a look that practically screamed “oh, please.” before he cracked. “Ok, fine. I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Juvia knows!” She exclaimed.
“I just don’t want things to be awkward between us!” He explained.
“But you don’t think avoiding me for days would make it awkward?” Juvia finally finished his knee and reverted her hands back to normal.
Gray groaned. “You’re right.” He ran his hand through his hair, trying to hide his face.
“Is this about... the other night?” Juvia finally asked.
“Do ya’ really have to even ask?” Gray avoided eye contact.
“But Juvia thought the night went well! I had a lot of fun!”
“So did I! Until...” He cut himself off.
“Until we almost kissed?” Juvia finished it for him.
“Yeah.”
“I see.” Juvia paused. “Are Juvia’s lips chapped?”
“Huh?” He finally peaked up at her.
“Or did Juvia have something in her teeth maybe?” She was going into panic mode.
“No that’s not-“
Juvia cut him off with as gasp, and her hands slapped against her mouth. “Or does Juvia’s breath stink?! Is that it?!”
“Would you knock it off!” Gray finally stopped her. “It doesn’t have to do with any of that stuff.
“Oh.” Juvia sunk. “So Gray-sama just does not want to kiss Juvia then.”
“No!” He instantly cut off that thought, even though he was embarrassed by how eager he sounded. “Not that either.” He grumbled.
“Then..?”
“We were drunk. Yes, we were having fun and all, but, I dunno’.” Gray grumbled, looking for the right words. “We haven’t had our first kiss yet. So when we do, I want it to be... kinda’... special. I guess. In a way.” Gray finished with some filler words to try and take the heat away from his face, but it was no use.
“S-s-special?! Gray-sama wants our kiss to be special?!” Juvia lit up, almost freezing in time waiting for someone to pinch her, because she figured this had to be a dream. However, she still was a bit lost, so she put a pause on her momentary fantasy. “Wait, so then why have you been avoiding me?”
“Because I didn’t know how to tell you all that. I was trying to buy some time until I could figure out what to say.” Gray released a deep exhale. “But I guess I’ve said it all now.”
“You sure have.” Juvia said giddily right before she launched herself at Gray, tightly clutching Gray’s shoulders in her arms as her cheek was pressed up firmly against his.
“Gah!” Gray shouted in surprise, trying to keep his balance as Juvia leeched onto him. They were still sitting, but she almost knocked him flat on his back.
“But you know what, Gray-sama?” Juvia broke her clutch, making sure she was looking right at Gray.
“What?” He looked down at her curiously.
“Juvia thinks every moment with Gray-sama is special. So to Juvia, any time is perfect for a first kiss.” She smiled so sweetly is made Gray’s heart just about burst.
“Yeah?” Gray felt the corner of his mouth tug up.
“Yep.” She nodded in assurance.
“If you say so.”
And without a second thought, Gray closed the gap between them, planting a sweet and soft kiss on Juvia’s lips. As they parted, they leaned in and pressed their foreheads against each other, both wearing matching grins.
“That looked pretty special from in here!” Happy interjected from inside the house, followed by Natsu’s laughter.
Gray and Juvia jumped, startled by the sudden noise. “Happy, shut it!” Gray turned his head, looking through what used to be a window, and seeing Natsu and Happy standing in their living room.
“Maybe we wouldn’t be able to hear you two slobbering on each other if there was a window here!” Natsu yelled, referring to the gaping hole in the middle of his wall.
“We were not slobbering, you moron!” Gray blushed furiously, finally standing up and facing Natsu.
“That’s what it looked like to me!” Natsu teased back, wearing a devious smile.
“Aye!” Happy seconded.
“Mind your business, flame-for-brains!”
“Next time you need to hide out for a week, you ain’t comin’ here!” Natsu shouted.
“Fine by me.” Gray scoffed.
He then looked back at Juvia as she appeared a little on edge, wondering if she was going to have to break up a fight between Gray and Natsu.
He grinned once again, at the girl he couldn’t wait to spend more special time with, making more memories, and growing even closer
He reached for Juvia’s hand and squeezed it. “I was gettin’ tired of running away anyway.”
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babbushka · 3 years
Note
please can i have 9 from the nsfw prompts with pale please;)
2.2k, NSFW (rough sex at the dinner table, naked woman clothed man spanking, PIV, fingering, dirty talk)
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The first time you sigh, Pale doesn’t think anything of it. You sighed sometimes, for lots of different reasons. Not everything had to fuckin’ mean something. It was a lovely evening, Pale was home early from work, you had the day off so he gave you some money so you could pamper yourself from head to toe, he cooked up a big delicious dinner -- if he says so himself, which he does -- and he even turned on the stereo set to play some soft music while you both ate.
The second time you sigh, Pale debates bringing it up. But then he figures nah, you’re the type of woman that says what’s on her mind. You don’t dilly dally around your opinions like some of these other broads do, trying to get their men to guess at what’s botherin’ them. No, that isn’t your style, not usually anyway.
“Alright,” He levels you a look, setting his fork down on the third time that you sigh, eventually giving into the bait and asking, “What’s the fuckin’ matter with you?”
Your eyes widen at the sharpness of his voice, and it’s then that Pale realizes maybe you didn’t know you were makin’ all them huffing puffing sounds as you pushed your dinner around your plate.
“Nothin’!” You frown, shruggin’ with one of your shoulders in that way of yours that meant something was definitely wrong. “Nothin’s the matter. It’s just...”
“Just what, c’mon, spit it out sweetheart you know I can handle it whatever it is.” Pale steels himself for something disastrous, holds his breath.
“You didn’t fuck me this morning.” You announce, sounding halfway between sad and annoyed, and if Pale had been chewing anything, he’d be choking.
“What?” He stares at you with a frown, and you shrug again, waving your hand around, sounding too much like your feelings are hurt when you explain;
“This morning. You left, without wakin’ me up, you know. Without givin’ me a good morning.”
Pale wracks his brain, because that didn’t sound right. That didn’t sound like Pale, not fuckin’ you or at the very least makin’ out with your cunt before he had to go to work. But then, oh right, he remembers that he had to leave too early, and wanted to be sweet to you for once, wanted to let you get your rest. Especially because,
“The last time I woke you up on your day off, you threatened to scratch my eyes out with your nails.” He reminds you, pointing the fork in your direction, belatedly noticing, “Which look real good by the way, I like that color.”
“Thank you I got them done before lunch, I thought I’d try somethin’ new out.” You brighten up for a moment, holding your hand out properly for him to take a good look at, before sighing again, “But you didn’t fuck me, and I’ve been thinkin’ about it all day.”
Raising your brows at him from across the table, he catches the desperation in your voice. That was the edge he had heard: you were hungry, but not for dinner.
“Oh, I see.” He pushes himself back from the table then, real slow-like.
It’s an invitation, one that you take immediately. Standing up from your chair, your hand trails along the table-cloth as you round the corner and settle yourself between his spread legs. From here, Pale can appreciate the tight, short dress you’ve got on, the gold chain around your throat, the diamonds in your ears. You look like a million’ fuckin’ bucks, and he’s hard in his pleated trousers because you’re all his.
“Do you?” You whisper, your voice gone all sultry as you bite at your lip. “Do you really? Because it’s real mean to make a girl wait all day long, especially when she looks like this.”
Tantalizingly slowly, you reach behind yourself and grasp at the little zipper that holds your dress up, tugging it down down down, the dress loosenin’ around your body and fallin’ to the floor as it goes.
“Are you asking me to fuck you stupid right here?” Pale’s gaze immediately goes to your breasts, his hands rushin’ up to give them a firm squeeze, thumbs rubbin’ circles over your nipples as they stiffen against the cool night air, “Is that it?”
“I’m not askin’.” Your eyes glint.
With one quick movement, Pale’s surging up to kiss you, hot and heavy right on your mouth, messing up your pretty lipstick, smudging and smearing it all around. And then as quickly as he’s there, he’s pulling away, turning you around and bending you over the table at a nice clean spot that doesn’t have any dishes, kickin’ your feet apart.
He doesn’t waste time shoving one of his hands between your legs, because of course you ain’t wearin’ any panties, of course not -- why would you when it’s just the two of you here in his apartment?
“Christ look at how wet you are baby, been wet for me all fuckin’ day huh? Did you touch yourself and think of me? Think of how I can do it so much better for you?” He drapes his body over you, relishes in the way your ass is already pressing against the hard line of his cock in his trousers.
Pushing his pointer and middle finger all the way up into your pussy, it’s all you can do to gasp out a moan and clutch at the tablecloth. He wishes he could watch the way his fingers disappear into you, but he’s glued to your back and biting sucking licking at your exposed shoulder, drinking in the sound of your moans and that’s good enough for now.
“Yes!” You push your hips back back back against his hand, grinding down as they crook and curl up inside you, searching for that special spot that has stars dancing behind your eyelids, “Fuck I love your fingers, you make me feel so good Pale.”
“My little slut can’t go one day without somethin’ up her cunt, ain’t that right. I’m sorry sweetheart, I shoulda known better, shoulda given you somethin’ to hold you over ‘til I came back. But I’m here now, I’ll take care of this pussy just the way you need.” With his other hand, Pale fumbles around with his belt buckle, wrenching it open so that he can yank down his zipper and fish out his cock.
“Please! It’s no fun comin’ when you ain’t here.” You moan as he slips in his ring finger too, the stretch of all three making your knees turn in, your thighs shake.
“That’s what I like to hear baby, spread your fuckin’ legs for me.” Pale grunts, and you do as he says, knowing you’ll get the best fucking of your life for it -- because that’s what every time you have sex with Pale feels like.
Barely the tip is in before you’re already having to take deep breaths, having to steady yourself and open up your hips, because of how fucking huge his cock is. You’d been together for damn near two years, and it still always came as a surprise. He rubs the head of his cock through your soaked folds, and even though he fingered you open, it’s still an effort to thrust himself in, his cock so big that if you didn’t know you could take it, you might panic.
“Shit you’re tight, damn, relax for me, one day without my dick ain’t an eternity, your pussy remembers, just relax.” He’s right there, draped over your back again, his mouth right on your ear as he coaxes you and soothes you, and he’s right, even though it doesn’t feel like it.
“It feels like an eternity! Oh fuck, yes Pale, keep goin’ please, please I want more.” You moan when your body listens, when you let your hips widen, your legs spreading even further, thighs already shaking and toes already curling as he manages to push in deep deep deep -- bottoming out with only a few more thrusts.
And then, once it’s in, Pale’s pulling out -- thrusting back into you so hard that the sound of your moan is swallowed by the scrape of the table against the floor, as he builds up a brutal rhythm that has you holding on for dear life, your mouth dropped open from pleasure.
“Got you trained for my cock don’t I? Ruined you for everythin’ else, just my girl. Goddamn you’re beautiful. You know I don’t get to see your back all that fuckin’ often?” With his fingers pulled out of your pussy, Pale keeps one hand on your hip to steady you, and slaps your ass hard with the other one, the sound of sweaty skin smacking together going straight to his cock.
“Yeah ‘cause I’m always layin’ on it.” You laugh brightly, the tail end of it dissolving into a throaty moan that has Pale sweating in his fuckin’ dress shirt, has him biting down against your shoulder, marking you up.
“When’s the last time I told you you’re perfect?” He grunts as he thrusts into you hard hard hard, fast and steady, his cock pulling out and then slamming right back in, slapping your ass again so hard that you’re keening, that you’re shouting out his name.
“Pale! Tell me again anyway -- oh! Oh right there, fuck, oh my god!” Your shoulders jolt and shiver, because he’s found the spot his fingers had missed, and he’s got to press you back down onto the table when you try and snap up from the surprise of it.
“That’s it baby feel how deep I am inside of you, I’ll treat you right, make you come so hard.” Pale pets back your hair as he grinds his cock into your pussy, his dick hard and throbbing inside the tight clutch of your velvety walls.
You’re getting fucked so hard that your feet are barely on the floor anymore, legs kicking up from the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so full.
“Yes!” You moan, clenching and squeezing around him, wanting to give as good as you get, “Yesyesyes, more Pale, harder I can take it.”
“That’s fuckin’ right you can, my best girl, fuck, fuck you’re so good on my cock, I could live here, right inside this pretty pussy that’s all for me, feelin’ you come again and again. You want that? Want to be my little cockwarmin’ slut forever?” He grunts, punctuating his sentences with slaps to your ass, licking up your cheeks where tears have spilled over, your chest heaving against the table, begging for more.
“Yes!” You keep pushing back against him, chasing the feeling, hot pleasure coiling up inside your stomach, rising on the edge of tipping over, you’re so close, just a little more, that’s all you’ll need -- and Pale knows it.
“Gonna come all over me?” He asks, but it’s more of a plea, and he kisses at your throat as he fucks you through your tears.
“Y-yes!” Your body is pinching up then, and you’re hiccuping around a moan, and your pussy throbs and pulses around him as you shout, “Oh fuckfuckfuck -- !”
“Attagirl.” Pale doesn’t let up even as you come, even as the slick drips down your thighs, soaks into his trousers. The hand that’s resting on your hip reaches around and toys with your swollen clit, making you whine out his name, “That’s okay baby keep sayin’ my name, let the neighbors know who’s treatin’ you right.”
“Pale...! Pale oh -- oh I’m --!” You shudder again, whole body goin’ through it, as pleasure crashes through you hard, hard enough to pull Pale over the edge too, and he presses you against the table a little more forcefully under the weight of his own body going limp on top of you.
After a moment, when you’ve both had the chance to catch your breath, he blindly reaches behind him until his hand manages to grasp his chair, and then he’s sitting back down onto it, taking you with him.
You look like a fucking mess, completely glassy-eyed and smiling like the cat that got the damn cream, and Pale doesn’t want you anywhere or anyway else all night, saying as much, “You better just sit here for the rest of the night.”
“Oh yeah?” You giggle, love drunk in the best way, your bones like jello.
“Yeah, it’s safer here.” He kisses your cheek, wishes he had a cigarette to light up. He could go get one from his jacket pocket, but then he’d have to get up, and there’s no fucking way he’s doing that.
“Okay. But my dinner’s over there.” You protest, settling firmly on his cock that’s still hard, still pumping you full of his load.
“Yeah well, shoulda fuckin’ thought about that before you decided to go and be a brat.” Pale sighs, making you lightly swat at his chest. “Alright alright alright, you can have some of mine.”
Brightening up at that, you reach for his fork that had gotten all jostled in the meanwhile, and reach out to pluck something off his plate, being nice enough to let him have the first bite, before eating the rest.
“And then when we’re done eatin’, I’ll fuck you again. Ya know, for good measure.” Pale licks across his teeth, making you grin, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s got a whole day to make up for.
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Tagging some Pale loving friends!
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