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mccall-muffin · 1 year

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Love vs. Hate - Part 13 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appear to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language, little smooch

A/N: Ahhhhh I'm so excited... Finally business is going down. Sorry to let you wait so long ;) Finally we have our first Joe and Liv moment. Whuuup!

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

July 31, 1944 - Aldbourne, England

I stand outside the barn where the others are already eating and wait for Don. He wanted to get something with Alton. I look impatiently at the clock when I hear a motorcycle. And then I see the two of them. They're coming at me, and I almost have to dart out of the way to keep them from running me over. "Holy fucking shit!" I curse lightly and glare at the two. They get off the bike, grinning. "Are you guys in your right mind?!" I shout at the two of them. "What's the matter, Liv? Nothing happened," Alton laughs, and I shake my head. "No, nothing at all... You guys just almost ran me over." Don puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me to the barn. "Now, don't get carried away, sweetheart." "I know it's your birthday, Don, and we still want to celebrate your promotion, but that doesn't mean you have to be negligent."

Don shakes his head and leads me inside. I go to the table and sit in the empty seat next to Tab at the table next to Skip, Penk, and George. I don't realize until later that Liebgott is also at that table. Don and Alton get us something to drink. "Hey, Hoobler. Be quiet for the man," Skip calls out, and Hoobs looks at us with a grin. Then we quickly realize Smokey is standing out front, about to say something. "The Night of the Bayonet," he announces, and we're all laughing already.

The night was filled with dark and cold When Sergeant Talbert The story's told, pulled on his poncho And headed out To check the lines dressed like a Kraut

"Why is everyone in such a hurry to get back? Hospital food don't suit you?" now asks Don, who has returned and squeezes himself between Liebgott and me while Alton settles down opposite Tab. "We don't need you anymore, Tab," he says, and we laugh.

Upon a trooper, our hero came Fast asleep, he called his name Oh, Smith - Get up; it's time To take your turn out on the line, So very weary Cracked an eye, all red and bleary Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry Hearing Floyd but seeing Jerry

"Way to go, Smithy," someone calls, and I glance briefly over at Smith, who is holding his hands in front of his face in shame.

'It's me,' cried Tab. 'Don't do it,' and yet Smith charged Tout de suite, with bayonet He lunged, he thrust, both high and low And skewered the boy from Kokomo

We cheer and clap as I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Buck, gesturing with his head for me to follow him. I stand up, and Don looks at me questioningly for a moment, but then he's listening to Smokey again. Buck leads me to Nixon, Winters, and Harry, where Nixon explains the next steps. I glance briefly at Don, who looks at me skeptically. "Sergeant Stark, would you please brief the men?" Winters says, and I nod. "Yes, sir." The officers then leave the farm. I take another quick breath and then continue into the room.

"Couple of announcements, men," I call out, and some listen up, but not all yet. "First... Hey, listen up!" I call out again until everyone is listening to me. "First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been canceled," I say, and the men start cheering. I smile briefly. "Secondly... all passes are hereby revoked." Now the men are no longer cheering. Some boo, and others discuss disappointedly with their neighbor. "We're heading back to France. So, pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys. Anyone who has not made out a will... go to the supply office. The trucks depart for Membury at 0700. As you were." With these words, I leave the barn.

Outside, I take a deep breath and then light a smoke as Lip approaches me. "Back to France, huh?" he asks, and I nod. "Looks like it, yeah." For a moment, we stand silently next to each other. "How are you doing?" Lip asks, and I look at him from the side. "So far, so good... Why do you ask?" "No reason. It's not always easy, and breaking this news to the men isn't pretty either." "Well, they'll be aware that we're not here for fun and that it was bound to come to this sooner or later." "I guess you're right."

As I finish, I toss the smoke on the floor. "So, I'm going to see how we can improve Don's birthday. See you later, Lip." "See you later, Liv."

I step back into the barn as Don is already walking towards me and thrusting a beer bottle into my hand. "Thank you for this lovely birthday gift," he says, and I look at him, slightly shocked. "Come on, as if I could do anything about it." "I know, Sweetheart, I'm just kidding. But still. Come on, let's get drunk."

Turns out we weren't sent to France after all. Plans changed utterly, and we stayed in Aldbourne. We have received some replacements, but they are having trouble fitting in. The so-called Toccoa men won't let them in and are usually rather dismissive of them, which I find obtuse. They had the same training as we did. They may not have fought in Normandy, but still, they kind of earned their wings.

Anyway, we're still in England. Still in Aldbourne waiting for further orders.

September 10, 1944 - Aldbourne, England

Laughing, we sit in the pub. Don, Muck, and I have our pints in front of us and are studying the new replacements they sent us. "Some of them look like they haven't even had their voices changed yet," I grin, and Don nods. "Definitely," Malarkey laughs. "So when do you get yours changed?" Liebgott, sitting next to us, asks and looks at me. "Again, Liebgott? Really now?", Muck groans and looks at him. "What? That's a legitimate question." I defiantly stick out my chin and turn in my chair in his direction. "Probably when you get yours," I return, and the men around us laugh. Liebgott squeezes his eyes shut and looks at me angrily. If you can dish it out, you have to take it.

Next to Malarkey, one of the replacements sits down with Bill. "And this here is Sergeant Olivia Stark... Don't screw up with her, or she'll chew you up and spit you out." The replacement looks at me with wide eyes. "This here is Babe Heffron. He's from Philly, too," Bill introduces him. "Welcome," I laugh and shake his hand. "Take special care of her here, all right? She's our fucking Sweetheart. But hands off, yeah?" says Bill, pointing his finger at Babe. Liebgott, next to us, snorts, earning him a look from Don before turning to Babe as well. "She's my best friend, you understand? No funny stuff, or I'll come after ya," Don threatens. "Guys! Guys! Let him have it... Don't take them too seriously, will you? They're just kidding." "We just want to make it damn clear that you're important to all of us, Liv, nothing more," Bill grins. Beside us, Liebgott nearly chokes on his beer, and I turn back to him. "Okay, what's your fucking problem now?" I ask him, annoyed. Liebgott slowly starts to stand up and looks at me. "They are speaking for themselves, but I don't like you," he hisses before leaving the room and walking outside. His words hurt, even though I shouldn't care about them. I press my lips together and watch him go. "Don't listen to him, Liv... Come on, you know how he is," Don says, but then I'm already standing up, which makes Don, Muck, and Bill groan. "Leave him, Sweetheart; he's not worth it," Bill says, but I don't listen to him and follow Liebgott outside.

In front of the bar, I see Liebgott walking away, and I follow him quickly. "Hey!" I shout, but he doesn't listen to me. I catch up to him and hear him groan in annoyance. "What do you want, Stark? I really don't have any fucking nerve for you right now, okay?" I ignore his words and stand in his way. "What's your fucking problem with me? What did I do to you to make you hate me?" I ask him, staring into his dark eyes. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. "Because, as far as I know, I'm relatively likable," I say, and he snorts. "How modest," he says, taking a drag on his smoke. "I'm serious, Liebgott. What have I done to you?" "Nothing," he then says with a shrug. "Then why do you hate me?" "I never said I hate you. I said I don't like you. There's a difference." My breath is quickening now. "And what did I do to make you not like me?" I then ask desperately, not knowing why he drives me to despair. "Jesus Christ, Stark!" Liebgott then says a little louder. "There are just people you don't like for no reason. Get over it!" he says and wants to go on, but I stop him again. "I can't accept that, however... If we're going to get through this war with each other, then we have to be able to trust each other, and I'm going to try to do everything I can to make you..." I babble, and Liebgott rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Liv," he curses before taking my face in his hands and placing his lips on mine.

Completely startled, I stand there and am so surprised that I don't move. Liebgott wets my lips with his, and slowly I awake from my rigidity. I put my hands on his chest and return the kiss. Joe's lips lie sweet on mine, and his hands wander to my hips. Suddenly he breaks away from me, turns on his heel, and disappears into the darkness. Still perplexed, I stare after him, not understanding what the hell just happened.

"What the fuck?" I hear behind me and turn around, only to discover George Luz walking towards me. "That... That was Liebgott. Did he just really do what I think he did?" asks George, and I nod slowly. "And that to you?" I nod again. "Oh fuck! This is too good," he then laughs and wants to go in. "George! No! Wait!" I call after him and quickly follow him. "George Luz! You don't say a fucking word about this, or I'll sit on you," I call after him, but that doesn't stop him. As he runs into the bar, I reach him and wrestle him to the ground before sitting on him and twisting his arm back. The men around us start laughing. "Jeez, George, what did you do to piss Liv off now?" laughs Don, looking down at us. "Liv, come on! Get off me!" whines George from under me. "No. Not until you promise to shut up!" "I can't, and you know it!" "Promise!" "I can't." I tug a little harder on his arm, and George groans. "Promise! Come on, George! And this all can be over real quick." Suddenly I notice someone standing in front of us. It's Lip, looking down at us with raised eyebrows. "Oh, hey, Lip," I say, looking at him sanctimoniously. "Liv..." he says, and with another look from him, I slide off George and push him off me. "One word George and I'll do worse to you than that," I hiss at him, and he grins at me. "It's okay, Sweetheart. My lips are sealed." I stand up and go back to Don and the others.

"Hey, you all, listen up. I got an announcement to make." Smokey then calls out. "This here is Carwood Lipton." "He's already married, Smokey," Don calls out, and we laugh. "This here is Carwood Lipton: The new Easy Company 1st Sergeant. As befitting his position... he says he has to make an announcement". Smokey continues, and I grin at Lip for getting promoted. "Sorry to spoil the mood, guys, but we're moving out again," Lip says, and the mood immediately plummets. He presses his lips together and looks at me briefly before leaving the bar again.

My gaze sinks to the table, and I push my glass in front of me. "Hey, cheer up, Sweetheart," Don tries to cheer me up and puts a hand on mine. I look him in the eye and smile forcedly as the door opens beside us, and Liebgott walks back in. Our eyes meet, then he briefly looks at Don's hand on mine and immediately turns away. Again my gaze lands on the table, and I withdraw my hand from Don. "Okay, what the hell was that?" he asks, looking at me. "What happened between you and Liebgott?" he asks, looking at me promptly. Muck also slides closer and looks at me as well. "I'd like to know that, too," I smirk briefly and then look at my best friends. "Well, we've been bickering... Then I yelled at him, and he yelled at me..." "What's new?" grins Don, raising an eyebrow. "And then he kissed me." My two friends stare at me blankly as if they didn't hear me.

"He what?" asks Muck after what feels like an eternity. "He kissed me." "You're shitting us, Liv! No way! Liebgott? Kissed you? Kissed?" then Don says, and I raise my eyebrows. "Yes, Don... Kissed me on the lips. But if you don't believe me, ask George. He saw it." "Is that why you sat on him?" I nod. "It's not like everyone has to know what happened. Besides, I'm still fucking confused myself." "Holy shit. So what did you do?" asks Don then. "What do you mean?" "When he kissed you... What did you do?" "I just stood there at first, not understanding shit anymore, and then..." "And then?" "Then I kissed him back?" "Wow, Liv! That's really... Something," Muck laughs, and Don smirks to himself, too. Then Don holds out his hand to Muck. "Payday Skip," he grins. Confused, I look at the two of them. "What the fuck is going on here?" "Oh, just a little bet between us. I've known from the beginning that Liebgott was only acting this way because he's into you. And you got involved in his squabbles because you're into him," Don says smugly.

"This is bullshit! For the thousandth time: I'm not into him," I say, crossing my arms. "Ah, is that so?" asks Don, amused. "Then why did you kiss him back? Usually, when a woman doesn't like you kissing her, you get slapped in the face, or at least she pushes you off herself." "That' s... Not true. I was just too startled to realize what was happening," I try to talk my way out of it. Suddenly Don leans over the table and presses a kiss to my lips, but I immediately push him away. "Don?! What the fuck?" I ask him, surprised, and he grins. "See?" "Fuck," I curse, and Muck and Don laugh. "That doesn't mean a fucking thing, Malarkey!" I grumble. "And Liebgott kissing me is probably part of his deranged plan to mess with me," I say, waving it off. "Oh yeah?" now Muck grins. "Then you should have just seen the deadly look our dear Joe just gave Malark when he kissed you." I look up at Liebgott, but he is looking stubbornly ahead. "I knew it. So come on, Muck. I wanna see your money." Don grins, and I roll my eyes. "Can we stop this now, please? I'm so sick of you guys," I say, but that only makes Muck and Malarkey laugh harder. "You love us, and you know it, Sweetheart," grins Don. "Yeah, just keep on saying that to yourself until you believe it."

Suddenly George comes to our table. He is still grinning. "What are we talking about? About that little kissing game, Liv played with Joe outside?" I groan in annoyance. "Please tell me you didn't tell anyone, Luz!" "Don't worry, sweetheart. My lips are sealed. But what exactly is going on? Are you and Joe a thing?" "What? No! We're not!" "That's unfortunate." "Why?" "Because you guys looked really cute together. Like two drowning people finally getting their breath back. Except you were each the breath." "Jesus Christ!" I put my head in my hands as the other three laugh. "Come on, Liv. We're just kidding. I'm still interested in where this is all going," George continues to quip. "Nowhere at all! There's nothing between Liebgott and me, and there never will be, got it?!"

Angrily, I stand up. "Come on, Liv, stay. We really are just kidding," Don tries to hold me back. "Stick your kiddings somewhere else. I don't want to talk to you anymore today!"

Don's POV: Angry, Liv stomps away from our table and joins Joe Toye and the others. "You think she's really mad?" I ask around the table. "Oh, come on," George waves it off. "She's just pissed because she knows we're right." "You guys really think Joe is into Liv?" Skip asks. "Why else would he kiss her?" I ask, looking at my best friend. "Well, who knows... Maybe he thought he could hook up once, and then he changed his mind?" "You don't believe that yourself!" I raise an eyebrow. "Who knows..." "No, he's totally into her. And she likes him." "I agree with you, Malark," George says, and we both look at Skip. "Joe wouldn't risk getting kicked out of the Airborne, or even the Army, just because he wants to get Liv laid. That would be stupid. There are plenty of willing girls out there for that. But in the Army, fraternizing is strictly forbidden, and you know it."

"Should we go for it then? Help these two lovebirds?" Skip then asks, and I think for a second. "Hmm, I rather think not. I could see Joe pulling away from her for now after today. He's revealed himself too much." "That's true..." I glance over briefly at Liv, who is already laughing again, and then my gaze wanders to Joe. I watch as he keeps looking over at her, which makes me smile. Maybe my stubborn best friend will manage to be happy someday, after all.

#Band of Brothers #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott #Don Malarkey #Skip Muck #George Luz #bobedit #bob #Part 13 #I love that chapter #Joseph Liebgott

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beetlejuiceearrings · 1 year

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Music/sound neopronouns

as per a request!

(Under the cut)

(I have a bunch of sound related ones since I love them lol)

Bam/wow/pow/pop/fizz/bang/wham/bonk/bop/clang/clash/clank/zip/zap/whirr/flink/fsst/fwoosh/honk/clak/nyoom/wow/smooch/tap/thud/thunk/whirr/whomp/hum/do/re/mi/fa/so/la/ti/do/(badum/tiss)/baa/bang/buzz/pluck/strum

(Music ones, some are more Italian or other languages, that's because music heavily came from other countries, like France and Italy)

Alto/bass/bari/tone/beat/rhythm/synth/wave/carol/(dub/step)/MP3/chord/lyric/tune/note/strum/vocode/(wave/table)/tempo/(melo/maniac)/melody/soul/music/(con/certo)/acoustic/treble/strum/forte/mezzo/morendo/(mor/endo)/timbre/pitch/clef/coda/(contin/uo)/(contra/alto)/contralto/(cou/rante)/dirge/duet/duo/fugue/(en/core)/(ga/votte)/hymn/jam/key/(metro/nome)/(min/uet)/muse/(noc/turne)/note/ode/(ora/torio)/(oue/vre)/(over/ture)/paean/operetta/play/(re/prise)/reprise/requiem/(so/nata)/rococo/(ro/co)/quartet/(sere/nade)/rondo/solo/soprano/(symph/phony)/symphony/tenor/tempo/trio/trill/waltz/(voi/voice)/radio/(sing/song)/play/listen/string/brass/(wood/wing)/mic/percussion

Text based:

♩/♪/♫/♬/♭/♮/♯/ 𝄞 / 𝄡 / 𝄢 / 𝄫 / 🎶 / 🎼 / 𓏢 / 🎧 / 🎤

#🍯.neosuggestions #💾 pk;m Dirk/Zynth #music neopronouns #music #music themed neopronouns #neopronouns are valid #neopronoun #neopronouns #neopronoun suggestions #sound themed neopronouns

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aphrodite-made-me-write-it · 3 years

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Everything Stays

Part Four: Love, Lust, Prophecy

(A/N) Hey I’m alive! Sorry I’m just out of it. Got a new tattoo and I am back to normal(ish)? Work is killing me :D s/o to the anon who gave me the idea of vampire r freaking out over what we’ve done to fruits and veggies over the century. alskdfj i will throw in several mentions of this from here on out

♫ ♫ ♫

Rating: M (This Chapter, E Later)

Warnings: French Slander (Sorry), maybe some smooching, heavy themes of heaven/hell/demons, lovable succubus influencing bad decisions

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Vampire!Helsing!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,092

Total Word Count: 18,972

Synopsis: You and Natasha follow up on the lead in France and fall victim to the influence of a tricky demon.

| i | ii | iii | iv | coming soon |

“I hate France,” you mumble for maybe the hundredth or so time since you arrived in Paris. Natasha snorts, rolling her eyes at you. Somebody knocks into your shoulder, only further irritating you. “And I hate the French.”

“Don’t be mean,” Natasha scolds, looping her arm through yours.

The streets of Paris haven’t changed much. Well, no, they’ve changed a lot, but it’s still easier to navigate than a lot of Europe. Missing a few big wars will do that to the layout of any country, but at least the French have upholded their ever-stubborn hold on ancient traditions. (Or, at least, the ones that don’t involve monarchy.)

“Can’t believe they’re keeping that eyesore,” you comment, scowling at the tower in the distance.

“The Eiffel Tower is, like, the symbol of France, now.” Natasha smirks at you. “It’s actually considered romantic, these days.”

“What’s so romantic about a fancy capital A?”

Natasha scoffs incredulously, placing a hand over her chest as if in shock. “Maybe you just have to be there to understand it.”

“Please, Miss World Wonder, show me your ways.”

Natasha’s laughter is free; the most relaxed you’ve seen her in a long while. She’s always so tense - as tense as used to be, when your world didn’t revolve around a prophecy - but since you’ve left the states she’s loosened up ever so slightly. Maybe it’s because it’s just the two of you, and a world full of strangers.

It’s a wonderful glimpse into that part of her, but it’s only a glimpse.

“After the ballet.” She tuts, not breaking her stride.

“I still don’t understand why we have to go.” You sigh. “I love the dancers, but it’s so-”

“I learned ballet, long ago,” Natasha hums, almost wistfully. There’s a bit of pain in the tightness of her smile. “Even danced as Odette for a job once.”

You arch an eyebrow at her curiously. “Oh.” Your eyes dart down to her legs. Yeah. That explains a lot. “So that’s why your legs are so nice.”

Natasha, to your delight, blushes. “You like my legs, of all things?”

“I’m not some lowly man, Natasha. I have standards.” You huff dramatically.

“What, so you don’t like my tits?”

“I never said that.”

“Uh-huh. Now who has to keep it in their pants?”

It’s jarring to think that apparently much of your life has been predestined, and you can’t help but wonder if that means you were meant to meet Natasha, too. It’s a distant thought, but a nagging one.

“You must have been good at it, is what I meant,” you clear your throat but Natasha doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. “My mother always wanted me to involve myself in the arts, but it was always obvious that I wanted nothing more than to be like my brother.” You chuckle at the memory. “It was quite scandalous of me to wear trousers all the time.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh. “You sound like you were a real rebel.”

“Who said anything about ‘were’?” You open the door of the theatre for her, giving a playful wink as she steps through the threshold.

Yes, you think as Natasha looks over her shoulder at you, you are indeed in deep shit. Maybe it’s just the way she smiles at you, her green eyes sparkling with the dazzling lights of the lobby, but you swear there’s something shifting between you. Unstoppable, unpredictable. You find yourself wanting to throw yourself into the unknown.

“Come on, rebel girl,” Natasha pulls your arm expectantly. “We’ve got a ballet to watch.”

According to SHIELD, your target is going to be attending tonight. You aren’t meant to approach her, but if you can get a read on her and figure out what she is, you can better prepare for the ‘ball’ she’s throwing. (She’s got to be centuries old to still be using that term, even in France.)

You find your seats easily enough, Natasha looking a little eager. It’s unbearably cute how excited she seems for this. Does she miss dancing, you wonder? You’ve missed out on a lot, but you know some of the basics at least. A good waltz or two.

The ballet begins, and your world feels like it’s curving in on itself. The crest of a wave, ready to crash around you. You can’t tear your gaze from Natasha - though you do try. Her features just look so soft in this light, her expressions more vibrant and readable than you’ve ever seen before.

Here, Natasha is an open book, and you’re an avid reader starving to memorize each and every line in her pages. The way her lips will curl up or down, eyebrows twitching with every little shift of mouth movement. It’s making you feel lightheaded, dizzy.

Natasha glances at you out of the corner of your eye. You wish you could look away, but your eyes are glued to her even as she faces you with a smirk that says, ‘caught you’. It takes all of your willpower not to connect your lips then and there, but she turns back to the ballet with a dark blush on her cheeks and a heart hammering so loudly you can hear it as clearly as the music.

When intermission comes, Natasha pulls you aside in the hallway and your head is just starting to clear up.

“Are you okay?” She asks, looking genuinely concerned. “Did we pack enough, um- y’know, food?”

You blink away the last tendrils of fog. “Yeah, I-” you stop yourself. What the hell are you going to say? ’I just got caught up staring at you because you’re gorgeous and I’m a walking nightmare?’ Nope, not acceptable. Not even a little bit. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“You’re sure you aren’t hungry?” She presses.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really. No need to get all steamed up about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press the matter any further.

The rest of the performances follow much the same way. You end up thinking about Natasha the whole time and, no matter how hard you try to fight it, you end up looking at her like some kind of nutcase. Your relief only comes with the intermissions, but Natasha doesn’t seem to have noticed your gawking or if she does she doesn’t call you out on it again.

At last, the evening comes to an end and you still haven’t located the woman you’re looking for. Natasha looks just as disappointed, but hides it well and convinces you to follow her to the Eiffel Tower.

There’s something breathtaking about it. You can’t quite explain it. It isn’t just the stupid tower or the stupidly gorgeous view below. If you came here alone, it would just be another stupid tower with another stupid view, but with her…

When you were alive, you never had a moment like this. Where the world doesn’t feel like it’s seconds away from ending. Moments where it’s just you and this person - this wonderful, understanding person - on top of the world.

“I think I get it, now,” you admit when a particularly bitter gust of wind causes Natasha to huddle closer to your side. “It is just a little bit romantic up here.”

“I’m never wrong,” Natasha hums. You’re not sure how she managed to slip under your arm, but you aren’t complaining. It’s unbelievably nice to hold her like this. You feel like this is all some strange dream. Will you wake up, back in your tomb, waiting for the apocalypse?

“Except when you try to get warm by cuddling up to a walking icicle.” You huff, shrugging your jacket off to give to her. “Or are you just collecting my jackets?”

“A good girl never spills her secrets,” Natasha winks, resuming her comfortable position once the jacket is properly around her shoulders. You keep an arm around the fluffy lump that Natasha has become, a warmth spreading through you like midsummer.

This is dangerous. you’re dangerous. She should be terrified of you - disgusted by you. But here she is, cuddled against your side like a satisfied cat like you don’t have the ability to drain her of her blood in a few short seconds.

I shouldn’t be letting this happen.

But you are.

(You were always a little selfish, though, weren’t you?)

- - - - -

“Jesus, what a weird dresscode,” Natasha comments, turning around to look in the mirror. The bathroom is small, so you’re a little too close for comfort. Then, there’s the added bonus of the singular bed because of course the one time Tony isn’t in charge of booking a room you’re stuck in this hole of a place.

“Supernaturals are a bit on the dramatic side, in case you couldn’t tell.” You slip the masquerade mask around her face, grinning at the effect of it. You’d bought it when she wasn’t paying attention; a sleek, silvery mask that resembled a swan. It goes remarkably well with the black material of her dress, the smooth black loosening into almost wistful grey at the bottom. She’s a summer night, and you’re helpless to those stars. “And who doesn’t love a themed party?”

“Well, let’s hope these at least give you more cover than last time. Don’t want you to be recognized again.” Natasha finishes the last touches of your makeup, grinning to herself. She reaches out with her thumb to rub at your bottom lip, probably to wipe away some lipstick, but lingers just a touch longer than necessary. She takes a step back, as if to clear her mind from your presence, and grins. “You look fantastic.”

“Not as good as you,” you tell her, eyeing yourself up in the mirror. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

“That’s a good thing, remember?”

Your dress is a deep, deep purple that shimmers under certain lighting. Your mask resembles a butterfly’s wings, intricate glittered patterns exaggerating the beautiful features. Because both of your gowns trail to your feet, you and Natasha holstered weapons beneath the skirts. You made sure she had a stake on her, just in case, as well as whatever else she wanted to use.

Before leaving, you feed on one of the blood pouches that you’ve been regularly provided. They started keeping them in solid black bags, except for the few times Tony Stark managed to put some strange label on them. ‘Capri-Sun’ claimed to be some sort of ‘all-natural’ juice, but apparently they come in pouches like this. What sort of natural juice comes in a fucking pouch?

Futhermore, the amount of fruit and vegetables you don’t recognize is fundamentally alarming. What the absolute hell did they do to bananas and why? And watermelons, too! You make a mental note to ask Natasha what the fuck is happening to the natural food sources when you finally pull up to the building the masquerade is being held in.

It’s some sort of hall that’s definitely rented out regularly by the rich and snobby. The architecture is beautiful and ornate, though you expect nothing less from the elite of Europe. Some things never change.

The rest of the attendees are as extravagantly dressed as you’d predicted. You keep an arm around Natasha as you lead her through to the main area, where bodies are pressed together and happily mingling.

“Most of them are business owners and politicians,” Natasha notes quietly. “From all over.”

“How can you tell?” You snort. “You can’t even see their faces.”

“Wouldn’t that be the point of a masquerade?” She questions. “If the paps happened to get wind, they’d have a hard time getting a real scandal out of it.”

“You’ve got a point,” you hum.

Something itches in the back of your mind. The sense that a supernatural is here, lurking, and it makes your skin crawl. Natasha stiffens a little, her eyes focusing straight ahead. You follow her gaze to where two marble staircases meet, a huge statue between them. You stop dead in your tracks, a familiar cold rush running through your entire body.

Depictions of her all over the world vary, but there’s a consistent factor: her beauty. The statue is so life-like in its details, you almost thought it was REAL. The veil, the robes that drape across her curvy features like water. Her face is hidden, but you can see her smile from here. A wicked smile, barely containing extended fangs. One hand is outstretched with an apple in her palm; the other rests at her side, just beside a dagger barely concealed by the rest of her robe.

“Nat,” you murmur. “That’s-”

“The Maiden of Death,” an unfamiliar voice makes you nearly jump. It’s a friendly looking man, definitely human by the smell of him. He has a very faint accent, though you can’t place where it’s from. “Commissioned by Lady Elana herself.” His mask is a fox, or something similar to it. The scarlet of the mask matches his tie, and he looks just a little bit out of place amidst the rest of the dramatically decorated guests.

“She’s fond of the occult, then?” You inquire, trying to sound casual despite the sickening feeling twisting in your gut.

“What?” The man blinks. “Oh, I suppose it appears rather dark. I’ve heard she’s fond of ancient history, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she found an interest in mythology.”

You grit your teeth together. If this man is going to be useless, you have no time to listen to him.

“Is she here now?” Natasha asks, her tone oddly flirtatious.

“The Lady likes to make her presence known once the guests have all arrived,” he explains. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” you tighten your grip around Natasha just a little bit, not hiding your displeased expression. “I think they’ve brought out the champagne.”

Natasha gives you a sly smirk, but nods, following you through the crowd until you’ve reached the large serving table. Sure enough, the champagne is out and you hastily hand a fluke to Natasha. The redhead eyes you questioningly, and then flicks her gaze to the statue. The table is closer to it, allowing a perfect view of the exposed smirk of the Goddess.

“Is that the one who…?” Natasha asks quietly, audible only to your ears. You nod subtly, sipping your own champagne with a scowl. Eating and drinking just isn’t fun when you feel no satisfaction from it. “So, I guess the odds of this person being a friend are…”

“Slim to none,” you confirm softly, looping your arm back with hers. A wave of emotion has suddenly overcome you, just as it had at the ballet. This time, though, it’s so intense you have to stop yourself from pulling the redhead into you. You force yourself to take another sip, the orchestra beginning to play a familiar jaunty tune.

“I feel like I went back in time,” Natasha jokes as the partygoers begin to flit around the dance floor.

You hum, watching the way her lips press against the glass, her throat bobbing as she swallows. You notice you aren’t the only one watching - men always look at Natasha like that. It definitely bothered you before but it was easy to hide it; at the moment, though, all you can think about is mine.

“Do you want to dance?” You ask, hoping you sound less annoyed than you feel.

Natasha, puzzled but blushing slightly, nods. You finish your drinks and you lead her onto the dancefloor with an odd determination. You can’t quite control yourself, thoughts consumed only by Natasha. You definitely hadn’t had enough alcohol to be this impaired - especially as a vampire - and Natasha was far from a lightweight, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say her gaze was just the faintest bit cloudy.

Once you’re able to put your arms around her, you’re lost to the rising storm beneath the surface of your skin. It’s unsettling without the drum of a heartbeat, but your slowed beat quickens noticeably. Natasha seems to have a bit more awareness, her fingers toying with the enchanted ring as she keeps her arms around your neck. Your hands at her waist, you guide her through what few slow dances you remember without making it look too obvious that you’re fighting the urge to capture her lips with your own.

A powerful scent hits your nose, sweet and floral. Roses and wildflowers, a summer afternoon. And suddenly you’re drowning in Natasha. Her pupils are dilated, her own heart leaping into action as you mindlessly lead her away from the main hall and towards a sectioned off hallway.

You push Natasha against a stone column with a little too much force, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her legs wrap around your waist easily, your lips clashing together with such force and passion you’re dizzy for a moment. Her lips are softer than you’d imagined them to be, warm and wet and welcoming as you deepen the kiss by shoving your masks aside and plunging your tongue into her mouth.

You swallow her quiet noises eagerly, relishing in the desire flooding through the both of you. Her hips grind hard against you, your hands pushing the skirt of her dress up and up and-

Wait.

With a shock, you realize that cloudiness has faded. You’re still horny as hell, and this is definitely something you’d like to continue, but the force that had made you lose yourself into the feeling has loosened its grip on your mind.

Natasha stiffens, taking a sharp breath. Your name leaves her swollen lips in a rasped whisper.

“Lady Elana is a succubus,” you murmur.

A delighted cackle makes your skin crawl. You set Natasha down before facing the unearthly beautiful woman standing in the archway separating this section from the rest of the building. She’s gorgeous - velvet-smooth voice, naturally plump lips and curves. The more popularized version of the ideal woman, at this point in time.

“I was wondering when you would figure it out, sweet thing,” she croons, taking a step towards you. Her dress is long, a train behind it and everything. She still manages to walk with grace and confidence, like you were any normal party guests and this was a regular conversation. Of course, this is neither of those things. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t tell the difference between your own carnal desires and your… influenced ones.”

“Enough of your games,” you snarl, showing your fangs in a dangerous smirk. “We didn’t come here to be toyed with like puppets.”

She rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip and pushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please,” she scoffs. “You needed the push. You’re the most powerful vampire and you can’t even let go of your own human idiocy-”

“Wait, stop,” you interrupt. “What are you talking about?”

Her eyes widen. “Tally-kins told me you were nearly helpless but I hadn’t realized-”

“Do all supernatural creatures talk in riddles?” Natasha asks.

You snort. “Practically-”

“I also didn’t realize she was serious about your… pet.” She eyes Natasha curiously, but there’s a dangerous smile on her face that you don’t like. “She’s a lovely specimen.”

“She’s not a pet,” you instinctively step in front of Natasha, blocking her from the hungry gaze of the demon. “And I’m tired of riddles.”

“Well,” Elana crosses her arms over her chest. “You know as well as anyone how this works.”

“Information doesn’t come easily, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Ridiculous attempt at civilizing a bunch of-”

“Insulting me is a poor way of getting information, VAN-HELSING.” Elana warns, a flash of red in her gaze.

You take a forcefully steady breath. “Alright, Lady Elana,” you begin with what you hope is a sweet tone, “please explain to me what this prophecy is. How am I the most powerful vampire?”

She lights up immediately, like a kid in a candy store. She pauses and looks around suspiciously. “Not here,” She whispers, nodding towards a door not far off. “That’s an old storage room. C’mon.”

Both you and Natasha hesitate before following, exchanging nervous glances. Her hair, you realize, has become messy and her mask is still hanging loosely around her neck. Yours is much the same, forgotten and irritating as you slip into the dark storage room.

Elana flicks on a light, illuminating dusty old boxes and crates filled with who-knows-what. She eyes you and Natasha for a long time, seemingly contemplating how best to begin. You wait as patiently as you can, though you’re achingly aware of the way Natasha’s lips had been pressed to yours mere minutes ago. You’re still aching for that touch, the fire she spread deep into your core.

Maybe that’s Elana’s influence again.

“Ever since he was created, Harkon was destined for his Throne. He absorbed his Goddess, drank of her blood and took her powers. His Throne is all that remains of her,” Elana begins quietly. You lean forward with a frown. “As the Goddess of fate, she ensured a prophecy that would remove him from his crown.”

“She can just… do that?” Natasha snorts.

Elana frowns gravely at her. “Contrary to what the Helsings taught, she was not a malicious force. Being from the Underworld doesn’t mean you’re a monster.” At this, the succubus glares directly at you. “The prophecy bound Harkon to a family of noble warriors who had once worshipped her. If a child of that family were ever to be turned by Harkon, they would become the product of two powerful and conflicting magicks. A perfect storm to defeat the King.”

You stare blankly at her. “You can’t- you can’t seriously be suggesting that-”

“You,” her expression is entirely serious, as opposed to her seemingly natural teasing attitude, “are going to travel the rings of the Underworld to confront Harkon’s true demonic form and stop the end of the world.” She takes in your gaping expression before adding, “I suppose you would have preferred a riddle?”

“This- this doesn’t make sense.” You shake your head. “Arthur was- he was bitten-”

“By a vampire lover of his,” she chuckles mischievously. “She was powerful, yes, but his turning was not what began the incident a century ago.”

“Then what was?” You can’t hide the desperation in your voice.

She hesitates a moment. “Your brother was involved, yes,” she licks her lips slowly. “But only as the sacrifice that needed to be made to bring the savior.”

Your heart clenches painfully; a surprising reaction given your current state of existence. “I-I caused it? And I’m causing it again?”

“I’m afraid so.” Elana, to her credit, really does look apologetic. “But your victory is important to more than the vampires. Harkon had overthrown so many overlords in the Underworld - freeing his reign would improve life for all of us.”

“Why would I want to help demons?” You snap.

“Because,” Elana’s eyes narrow. “Your human concept of good and evil, of heaven and hell, are miniscule compared to reality. Come now, you’re a Helsing. This should be common sense.”

“So that’s it, then? That’s my fate? Waltz into Hell and overthrow the devil?”

“No,” Elana smirks. “Waltz into Hell and overthrow a God.”

- - - - -

You don’t talk about what had happened when you return to the hotel. You just change into your pajamas and lay in the dark while Natasha sleeps, your mind running through several different thoughts all at once.

Another apocalypse was coming. The apocalypse, apparently. One that will be a hell of a lot harder to stop than the previous. One that requires you traveling into the unknown. You’ve journeyed through dark forests, ancient towns and broken castles - but you have never walked through the Underworld.

Could you trust what Elana said? That not all demons were bad? That those from the Underworld weren’t just forces of evil? It was too complicated, too complex to understand and sort through. Even worse, it sounds like you have no choice in this. Fate was always a looming figure in your life. When Arthur was the heir and the favorite; when you became the heir… now you realize, even when Arthur had the family magic, he was never the true heir. He never excelled the way you did, never committed like you.

This was always your destiny. To become this monster. To become- become-

You don’t have any other options, do you?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags! @nobody13 @fireflyglass @swords-are-cool @artapdarkstr @pasta-bandit @multi-images @blackxwidowsxwife @angelwolf-20258 @bebe404 @fayhar @darkangelxoxo @username23345 @blackluthxr @meloncholymaz @imdreamingblo @tomy5girls @trikruismybitch @rice-wifee

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years

Note

what it feels like to hug allies? (+Canada)

Yes! All the fluffy scenerios!

America

Hugging america is like hugging the best bro friend you could ever ask for!

He comes in rather quick so try and be sturdy on your feet!

Even if you're in a wheel chair he's gonna duck down and give you the most excited hug he can.

It's a rather short, but cozy hug that starts out with a light squeeze, his head resting against your cheek, or shoulder.

Once his arms relax a bit he pulls back, hands still on your upper arm and it's like he's trying to see if you've changed since last you saw each other. Then he goes right into asking about your day, and if you need a hero.

England:

A very gentleman like hug. It's soft, yet firm.

He starts by coming in face to face, but then moves to the side to give a rather meaningful embrace. Looping one arm behind the head while the other wraps around your back.

It's a semi long pause with a couple pats to the back.

France:

Okay this depends on how intimate you two are.

If you are close you get a kiss or two on the cheek (or lips) before the actual hug.

France's hugs can be either be really long, or really short. And they're actually really nice.

One way or another one of his hands will hold the back of your head to hold you closer.

Now if your just friends, or hardly know each other it's just a simple hug, but it won't save you from his rose scented cologne.

China:

Another really soft hugger. He gives a moderately long hug, and that's simply because he's also talking to you. And as he pulls away he smells like tea, and honestly it's the most relaxing hug.

Also the kind of person to go back for a second hug if he hasn't seen you in a long time. But he will give the biggest smile.

It's really just a weird thing with china. He is so strong and powerful, but yet any close physically contact like hugging him almost feels fragile.

But please, give him a little squeeze! He loves it, and will return the favor with a small grunt!

Russia:

Another one who will give you a kiss on the cheek before giving you a hug.

It's really just a Russian thing, and he's use to it.

His hug on the other hand can be very gentle, or very bear hugish.

It's a hit or miss if he smells like vodka, but it's never too over powering.

The best part is, even though his body is pretty firm, it also has this softness about it. Like hugging a stiff pillow.

Except Russia isn't stiff. And he won't let go unless you start to pull away, and even then he might be a bit playful and hug just a tad bit tighter before letting go.

The best part is, of you two are really close he is not against picking you up and spinning you around.

If he can't do that, you will get an extra smooch on the forehead. (And he makes the Mwah sound, just to drive his point).

Canada:

He's not use to getting hugs to be honest, so you'll have to make the first step.

He will always stiffen up but immediately relax once he realizes you actually want to be hugging HIM. Not his brother or anyone else.

You will feel him relax, and then he will most certainly nuzzle into you.

Your cheeks will not go un-nuzzled!

Oh but the best hugs you will receive from him are the ones he gives after he's had a confidence booster, like when he's played hockey, or when you call his name on first sight.

He'll come running and will skid right before he more or less holds you in his arms.

The sound of sneakers squeaking will gather some attention so be prepared!

All in all their hugs are comforting, and unique to each person they know!

#hetalia american #hetalia #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia canada #gotta squeeze them all

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grelleswife · 3 years

Note

DomiJeanne!!! (for the Domesticity Meme)

1. Who cooks normally?

According to this extra Mochizuki drew, neither Domi nor Jeanne is a particularly amazing cook. 😂 Although I can’t read Japanese, I think I remember one translation (it might have been on @popopretty ‘s blog?) saying that Domi considers cooking a job for the servants, while Jeanne is mainly a foodie rather than a preparer of said food (though she does know survival cooking). So Domi probably just hires the finest chefs de Sade money can provide to make all her girl’s favorite dishes!

2. How often do they fight?

Not very often! They have a natural rapport, with each bringing out the other’s gentler side. I have a feeling most of their fights would either be related to Vanitas (Domi’s antipathy towards him is stronger than ever, even after Jeanne broke up with the human) or stem from Domi’s lingering insecurities (for example, she notices someone flirting with Jeanne and gets jealous). But with time, they’re able to work through these issues.

3. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Since Jeanne still serves as Luca’s chevalier, most of her time is spent accompanying him during his daily routine or when he’s out on official business. In those leisurely moments when she isn’t able to see Dominique, Jeanne might read a novel, go strolling in a nearby park, or stop by one of her local cafes or restaurants for a quick bite to eat!

Domi remains part of the royal guard, and regularly practices with her sword (in addition to competing in the occasional fencing match). I don’t remember if this is canon, but I could also see her enjoying horseback riding. If she can’t spend time with Jeanne, she’ll seek out the company of her other favorite person, Noé, or write him a letter if he and Vanitas are off chasing curse bearers. She also likes to go shopping to add to her extensive wardrobe, and typically gets a new outfit, box of chocolates, etc. for Jeanne while she’s at it. Domi’s girlfriend never strays far from her mind. ☺️

4. Nicknames for each other?

Domi calls Jeanne “ma belle,” “ma chérie,” “mon amour,” “mon trésor,” “mon ange,” “ma colombe”...you get the picture! For some reason, I have a hard time imagining Jeanne using pet names, but the moment when she finally felt comfortable enough to call her lover Domi instead of Lady Dominique made our favorite de Sade blush like a schoolgirl.

5. Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

Dominique, since she’s the aristocrat.

6. Who steals the covers at night?

Hmm...maybe Jeanne? She always apologizes profusely after she wakes up and becomes aware of her blanket crimes. Domi just winks and says Jeanne can make it up to her by warming her back up with cuddles, which Jeanne is happy to do. 💕

7. What would they get each other for gifts?

Since Jeanne hasn’t had many people in her life who bothered to make her feel special, Domi goes all-out with lavish presents—sweets from the most acclaimed confectionery in France, or a season’s worth of dresses, or a pretty pony. Jeanne’s gifts are equally heartfelt, even if they aren’t as extravagant. She might try to make something for Domi by hand, like a scarf and mittens, or write her a love poem (which of course Domi would treasure 🥰🥰🥰)

8. Who remembers things?

Maybe Domi? Jeanne might be more forgetful and prone to distraction.

9. Who cusses more?

Though neither is prone to swearing in public, Domi uses more profanity when they’re talking in private. Jeanne might be a cinnamon roll, but she can and will say fuck if sufficiently enraged. 🔥 Dominique thinks her girlfriend is even hotter when she curses. 😏

10. What would they do if the other one was hurt?

In both cases, their first priority would be patching up the other’s wounds, making sure they were okay, and fretting over them. Step two would involve slicing whoever was responsible for those injuries to ribbons. 🔥 Jeanne is a little better at keeping a cool head under pressure in these situations because she has more experience on the battlefield. Because both ladies have lost loved ones in horrifically violent ways, they’d be extra protective in the wake of the injury and reluctant to leave the other’s side.

11. Who kissed who first?

Domi kissed Jeanne first. They were taking a walk together through Paris and happened to be in a quiet, out-of-the-way area...so Domi used Jeanne’s parasol to shield them from any prying eyes, and gave her a smooch! 😘

12. Who made the first move?

Maybe Jeanne? After Domi’s curse was lifted and Jeanne dumped Vanitas (I leave the details to your imagination 😉) the chevalier reached out to her friend out of worry and a desire to reconnect. The letters they exchanged over the next few weeks helped repair their bond and paved the way for subsequent dates.

13. Who started the relationship?

Jeanne. As they grew closer, Domi realized that she’d fallen for the other vampire but was afraid to push her luck for fear of rejection (she stills struggles with self-esteem issues and remorse over fighting Jeanne under Misha’s influence, even though that obviously wasn’t her fault 😭). But one day while they were having tea, Jeanne worked up the courage to tell Domi point-blank that she wanted to be more than just friends, and that she understood if Domi didn’t reciprocate...but she couldn’t keep these feelings to herself any longer!!! Dominique promptly burst into tears (which left poor Jeanne more than a little confused), but then rushed over to hug the chevalier and sob out that she’d be honored to court her. 🥰

#domijeanne #dominique de sade #jeanne the hellfire witch #vnc #vanitas no carte #vnc asks #domestic headcanons #thanks for the ask!

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 4 - The Guest

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @sunwoowuvbot @hyunjaethereal

“Get the guest out of my fucking office.”

Jang Won grimly knocks on the door, looking down to ensure Younghoon was carrying more than a fruit basket - a briefcase, worth half a million in cash, in case she needed to bribe a certain someone. Her eyes befall the apple sitting in the fruit basket, and she peels apart the wrapper to remove the bruised item, mindlessly hurling it into the trash can right by the lift.

The door clicks open, the sound of the door chain reminding her that she needs to handle this one with care and caution.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi Mrs Nam, I’m Kim Jang Won and this is--”

“I know who you are. I’m asking what you’re here for.”

“Straight to the point I see,” Jang Won cocks a brow. “Look, we don’t want to make things difficult for you, but we’d just like to find out if you happened to know anything about the body swap regarding your husband.”

Mrs Nam’s breathing gets stuck in her throat. She swallows, eyes flitting back and forth between Jang Won and Younghoon.

“I know nothing. After he died, I visit him every month. I didn’t even know his body was moved until the news.”

Jang Won feels like she’s being strangled, all her nerves shutting down one by one like a tidal surge through her. But Younghoon tugs on the end of her blazer, out of sight, and shifts to talk to Mrs Nam instead.

“Do you mind if we come in and have a chat about it? We’d just like to know more about Mr Nam so we can figure out who did it. Don’t you at least want to know who shifted your husband’s body?”

A hint of curiosity and anger flickers in her eyes despite the slight hesitation. Mrs Nam subtly nods, head looking down but gaze still stuck to Younghoon as she gently closes the door.

“You don’t have to be in there if you don’t want to,” He murmurs, loud enough for her to hear while watching her in the corner of his eyes.

Jang Won sniffles, finger rubbing the tip of her nose as she composes herself. The jingle of the chain being removed sounds through the door.

“I’ll be in there because I want to, not because I can.”

The door clicks open, and Mrs Nam keeps it wide for Jang Won and Younghoon to enter. The apartment is rather neat and simple - a couple of single sofa seats around a circular table and a standing television. Pictures on the shelves framing the television.

Drawn to the pictures first, Jang Won wanders to the photographs.

A son, older than Younghoon, stands in most of the pictures. A degree in culinary sciences. A picture shot in Paris. Multiple pictures in Europe. A family portrait of him and his wife, Caucasian.

Younghoon sits opposite Mrs Nam, who looks more tired and drained than anything else, like the anger from before has completely dissipated.

He glances through the pictures, aware that something must’ve caught his sister’s attention because Jang Won wasn’t being very focused now. “We just wanted to know more about him. He might’ve worked at Artemis and I’ve yet to check with his ex-colleagues but I just wanted to know if he was happy there, or if he wasn’t, did he have any... enemies?”

Mrs Nam takes in a deep breath, rubbing an eye before her hands come together on her lap. “No, he was happy, as far as I knew. The only thing he was upset about was my son moving to France and settling there. But otherwise, he was easy-going. Kind. Helpful. I can’t think of anybody who would want to deliberately shift his... body... because he had offended them.”

“I hate to be the one to suggest this but could your father have done anything to anger your son... to the point where--”

“No,” She says with such resolution, it finally tears Jang Won’s attention off the photos. “Never. Their love might’ve been tough but they’ll never do anything to hurt each other.”

Younghoon glances at his sister before returning to Mrs Nam. “So... nobody, huh?”

“None that I can think of.”

Jang Won blinks her emotions away, fingers fiddling with her rings as she looks to Younghoon. His eyes sink to the floor, licking his lips in slight anxiety as he realises they’ve hit a dead end.

They leave the apartment with only the briefcase, and Mrs Nam closes the door before they can even walk off. The lift ride was exceptionally quiet, Younghoon merely watching Jang Won zip in and out of reality in the reflection of the lift mirrors.

He looks over, watching the layer of tears thicken over her eyes. Reaching out and rubbing her shoulder, he contains the emotions he’s feeling, just by watching his cold-hearted sister reveal the hint of humanity in her.

“I told you not to go in if you couldn’t.”

“And I could,” Jang Won clears her throat. “I don’t need you to baby me. It’s been a long time anyway. I’ll deal with it.”

The lift door dings open, and sees Jang Won walking out the doors, leaving Younghoon behind as she struts off.

Unfortunately, this soft side of Jang Won remains short-lived, for Younghoon finds himself holding her back from tearing the skin off their father’s face when they reach home.

“What the Hell is this?” Jang Won frowns, facial lines deepening in her skin when the staff is crowded in her office but none of them were moving. Her father, standing by her desk, looks up from the loaded query.

“Ah, child! I was just waiting to--”

“Are you... moving into my office?”

Her father opens his mouth, lips wide enough for her to see her teeth when Mr Ro finally joins the party.

“What is going on here?”

“Sir,” One of the housemaids lowers her head, almost like she was embarrassed. “Our guest-- Mr Kim... asked for us to help shift Miss Kim’s belongings out of her office. We were told not to tell you.”

Jang Won’s eyes almost double in size when she processes the words, the tips of her feet already turning to her father. Mr Ro looks up from his subordinate with distaste and disapproval, unable to believe the things he was trying to accomplish.

“Just which part of June did you not fucking understand? Huh?” Jang Won takes one step forward, but Younghoon grabs her wrist and then wraps his palms around her upper arms. “Playing possum killed your braincells too?”

“No...! No! I wanted things to be early, smooth. So that you wouldn’t be pressured to shift out in June--”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get it in June!” She hisses, harshly ripping herself out from Younghoon’s grip. “From now on you are a guest and a guest only. This is my house and you will touch nothing that does not belong to you.”

“Aw, come on, daughter--”

“Don’t--” She seethes, finger almost at his nose now. “Call me that. From now on, we just share the same surname... But if you want mercy on the account that I am something you created, then I’d rather you wait until I die.”

The staff in the room lower their head as she storms by them toward the door, and as dramatic as she is, she pulls the doors open and smiles widely at her staff. “A kind, kind reminder that all these people standing before you, Mr Kim Jo-Pil... they work for me. They answer to Mr Ro, and Mr Ro answers to me. So, shall you require any assistance in possibly fucking something else up... do get it to me through Mr Ro.”

She smiles sweetly, tilting her head to the side. “Now, get the guest out of my fucking office.”

The wind brushes through Juyeon’s hair relentlessly, his dark blue, almost black, locks ruffled and made messy in the wind. The yacht makes small jumps against the water, the sun reflected off the surface of the water and into his eyes, the motion of the vehicle spraying some of it onto his hands that were over the railing.

“Are you sure you want to get yourself involved in this... Jang Won and The Board, I mean,” Sunwoo joins Juyeon by the cockpit, grabbing a bottle of Sprite and cracking the cap open. He takes a sip and smacks his lips, letting the wind do its job in his hair too. “I mean, I know it wasn’t your choice but... that stunt at the press conference last week? Damn, son.”

Juyeon smirks and scoffs, looking at Sunwoo through the lens of his sunglasses. “Maybe it was fueled by her, I don’t know... But I’d be lying if I said being at the same table with her doesn’t make me feel powerful. It feels like I could do anything I wanted as long as she was by my side and it’d... it’ll work, you know?”

“‘It’ll work’?” Sunwoo chuckles sarcastically. “You’re talking about the most powerful figure of The Board of your generation. Hell, it’s Hera’s Princess you’re dealing with here. I’m sure if you played by her rules a hundred percent, she’d buy you an island if you wanted.”

The continuous splash of the water just a few metres down the railing brings some kind of peace to Juyeon, despite the idea of being married to Kim Jang Won being tasteless.

“What about her brother? The Prince of Artemis, right? Kim Younghoon. He must’ve had something to say about Apple-Korea’s next director smooching his little sister on national TV,” Sunwoo snorts, taking another gulp of his drink.

Juyeon shakes his head, apart from providing Sunwoo a patient smile. “I haven’t met her brother, actually. But word has it he’s the calmer of the two, which I’m actually pretty grateful for.”

“Maybe you should get acquainted with him. Get on Kim Jang Won’s good side by making friends with Kim Younghoon,” Sunwoo places the bottle back into the ice box, noticing the yacht slowing down to a halt. Juyeon peels himself off the railings, finally standing and giving his own limbs a big stretch.

“Nah,” Juyeon shakes his head and pulls off his sunglasses, squinting away from the harsh sunlight. “The thing about Jang Won is that you shouldn’t indirectly find ways to get on her good side... you gotta do it in her face. That’s how she plays her games. Straightforward. Ruthless.”

“So like... borderline crazy and a control freak too, right?”

Juyeon snickers, pulling off his shirt to reveal the diving suit he’s got underneath. “Pretty sure if your dad came back from the dead and took over your life’s work, you would too.”

Sunwoo smirks, stripping the pieces of clothes off himself too. “Defending the missus already, I see.”

Rolling his eyes and pulling on an oxygen tank with a mask, Juyeon then glares at the younger. “Well, if she’s offering me all the cents I can count, I might as well work it to my best effort, right?”

He cocks a smug brow, giving his goggles one last adjustment before heading to the edge of the yacht. The hues of blue calm his nerves, already able to see the world of life beneath the surface. It has always been his paradise, and always will be.

“Today, we celebrate the love between two of The Board’s most powerful figures: Lee Juyeon, the next director of Apple-Korea, and The Board’s very own Hera’s Princess, Kim Jang Won. Just a last month, the return of Kim Jo-Pil shocked the country...”

Jang Won dips her finger into the glass of lemon-infused water, contorting the image of the television beyond the table and the space of the room. Still in her pajamas, she cannot find the motivation and strength to leave her bed. She can already hear the crowd bustling downstairs, getting ready for her hair, makeup, fittings--

Knock knock

“Oh, Mr Ro,” She covers her eyes, tired. The door clicks open and she groans to herself, refusing to open her eyes. “Please just kill me. I hate it. I hate all of this. Why did he have to climb out of his own grave?”

“I don’t know. His body was swapped, wasn’t it?”

The voice jolts Jang Won out of her laziness, and she sits up like she had been summoned from the dead too.

“When did you get here?”

Juyeon smiles, somewhat genuine, and leans against the door frame. He was already in a simple button up shirt, meant to be hidden under a gorgeous, white and silver blazer. His hair’s still wet though, his fringe covering his eyebrows and some portion of his eyes.

Jang Won can’t help but soften at the sight of him half a foot into his room - if only Lee Juyeon knew how much her friends back in high school swooned over him.

“Also, I don’t think killing you would be a great idea. Wouldn’t want to see you climb out of your own grave too. Family traits seem to run in the blood of the Kims.”

Jang Won rolls her eyes and crawls her way out of the bed that’s too big for her, feet finding her fluffy, cotton slippers by the bed and shuffling about the bedroom with her hair in a mess.

“Not very good at answering questions, are you?” She sniffles, not bothering to close the bathroom door behind her as she ties her hair gracefully, pulling a hair towel over her head to keep her fringe out of her face. She hears the door click, and Juyeon appears behind her in the reflection of the mirror.

The scent of mint from the toothpaste wafts through her nose.

“Well,” He shrugs and leans against the doorframe again, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “I answered yours.”

Jang Won chokes on the toothpaste foam, gripping the edges of the sink as she retches into the marble. “Your butler... Mr Ro, called me over. Offered to cover my fitting and everything for today. He said it’s on the house, or rather, yours, I suppose.”

Jang Won finishes up on her brushing, spitting out the leftover foam. “Still didn’t answer my question, y’know.”

Juyeon removes himself off the doorframe, watching her struggle by throwing her hair behind her shoulder. Some locks keep sliding back down around her neck, and her hands are already lathering some facial wash. She tuts in frustration, unable to get her hair out of the way.

Then Juyeon gently gathers her hair behind her neck, his warm fingers barely brushing against her skin. “Morning. Just about two hours ago,” He waits for Jang Won to squint at him, before she provides enough trust to shut her eyes and rub the lotion into her cheeks.

“Mr Ro wanted to come wake you up, but something seemed to crop up with the tea and cake catering, so.”

“What? What’s wrong with the tea and cake catering? I paid good money for that bullshit,” She looks up from the sink, face smeared in some greenish-blue cream.

He grins, chuckling under his breath as she glares at him in the mirror. “Paying good money for ‘bullshit’, huh? How much did the ‘bullshit’ cost then?”

“Well,” She hesitates and frowns, creating lines in the lotion on her face. “Enough to piss me off if they don’t give me what I want.”

Leaning towards the sink, she runs her hands under the water and washes the lotion off her face.

“What company is the catering from? Need my help?”

She scoffs, waving his hand off her hair, grabbing a cotton towel and pressing it to her face. “To what? What are you gonna do? ‘Hey there, I’m the next director of Apple-Korea and I’d like my tarts and cupcakes this afternoon’.”

He leans his rear into the edge of the platform where the sink was built into, back facing the mirror while she carefully hangs the towel over the metal bar mounted into the beige marble wall. “What else would you want me to say, since that’s just exactly what I want?”

“I’on’t know, buy the company or something.”

He raises both brows in extreme shock, his lips pouting in disbelief that he should’ve been prepared for anyway. “What a solution.”

“Got a better idea?” She rolls her eyes, pulling a robe into the shower cubicle. “Also, are you going to stand there and watch me strip?”

Juyeon’s eyes flit off her instantly, hands pushing himself off the edge of the sink. “Could’ve just asked me to leave instead of being so crude.”

“Well now, I didn’t ask you to leave, I asked--”

“I know- I know what you asked-” Juyeon grimaces, blowing some air into the pockets between his teeth and lips. He sucks in a deep breath and exhales loudly through an ‘o’, giving Jang Won some kind of sadistic pleasure. “Do you ever get tired of that? Messing with people?”

Jang Won’s brown orbs rise to the ceiling, actually giving thought to the question. Her lower lip juts out as she shrugs. “Well... yeah. Yeah,” She finally nods. “But hey! I have different degrees of messing-with-people. There’s the I-kinda-wanna-mess-with-you-by-making-you-awkward kind and there’s the I-might-wanna-rebury-my-dad kind-”

“Alright, you have a nice bath.”

Snorting, Juyeon waves her nonsense off and walks out the bathroom, sliding the door shut.

#juyeon #lee juyeon #juyeon fanfic #the boyz juyeon #juyeon scenario #the boyz #the boyz scenario #TBZ #tbz juyeon #tbz fanfic #love me a little less

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

Let's make the next chapter pink.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Undying Admiration

Chapter 21 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

back at it again with the piccrew

If I Remember Correctly

Maxine Winters

Safe House 110197, Brazil

Maxine looked at Samantha and smiled. They were finally together once again, as roommates, but this time, the room was huge and they were surrounded by strong men who were willing to risk their lives to protect them.

"How are you holding up?" Maxine asked.

"Everything's a swirl of hazy incomplete memories. It feels like I'm mostly recalling them back, but the details are a bit mixed. It doesn't feel right that I recall Alex as someone from work, right?" she chuckled. She must've been going through a lot of things right now, and it looked like Alex successfully helped her recall most of her forgotten memories. Maybe all she needed was someone to influence her.

"Hey Sam, what kinds of things have I told you about my past? France already told me some of my unforgettable memories but they still seem too unclear." She asked, Samantha looked excited as she began recalling something from the unaltered part of her memory.

"Well, for starters you told me a lot about your little sister. However since your mother died, the two of you were always together solving the problems as a team until you both decided to enlist her in the army. You told it was both the happiest and saddest moment of your life." She said with a smile on her face. Maxine never felt anything but knowing that that was their situation, it made sense how France was trying hard to win her back. She was the only one she had. And it must've hurt that the only companion she ever had didn't even remember her.

"I… I didn't know that…" she faltered. Samantha quickly reached out a hand to hold hers.

"Just take your time to remember… I'm sure France understands the situation." Samantha replied, turning to the door as it slowly pushed itself open. Alex peeked from the said door and asked.

"Am I disturbing any girl talk?"

"A little. But I'll forgive you for now." Samantha grinned as Alex entered the room, dressed in comfortable sleeping wear.

"I made a deal with France to swap sleeping positions for tonight. Make sure skipping tomorrow's pancake will be worth it." he winked as he settled behind Samantha, the spooning was awkward as his metal leg was unbendable and heavy, but Maxine noticed the smile in Samantha's eyes and how it quickly forgot the uncomfort he was giving her. Maybe that's true love.

"Aw… I was about to add extra honey to your plate, Alex. What you did to Samantha was the sweetest thing ever. I guess France is up for a treat." She joked, making the girls giggle while Alex furrowed his brows.

"Well then, this night better be worth it." He proceeded to tickle Samantha and they found themselves rolling and rolling. Maxine took a minute to admire the scenery before her eyes slowly closed itself to sleep.

Ever since being brainwashed, Maxine wasn't able to dream of something, every morning she would be greeted by the same empty feeling, her thoughts would always consist of recent events.

This night was different. She vividly recalled a rainy afternoon. She and Francine stood by their mother's grave.

"I'm going to the army next week, Mom. It might take a while since I'll be seeing you again." Francine knelt and placed a small floral pot they arranged.

"Yeah Mom, your daughter finally used her toughness somewhere other than fighting me!" She remembered herself joking and nudging her sister. These were things that they did on a weekly basis, visit their mother’s grave and talk about their week.

“And since she’s out training for the rest of her life, I decided to move to California, maybe look for restaurants to work on maybe look for someone special.” Maxine mused. She could hear France giggle.

“I, on the other hand, won’t let myself fall for any of those tough army men.” France added.

“Are you sure about that? It’s like… turning down a million dollar offer.” Maxine teased.

“It really depends on the person. But while I’m in training, I’ll focus on improving.” She amended.

Then the memory faded, it felt like tv static started to consume her whole dream until she found herself awake, gasping for air.

“You okay?” Alex groggily asked her, cuddling Samantha who was sound asleep. She nodded and got up, she felt very thirsty.

Maxine hurriedly walked down the stairs quietly passing the empty command center. Oddly enough, the kitchen light was open and she could hear soft clanking of cutlery. She took a peek at Gary Sandersom, who’s sticking his tongue out and too busy making finishing touches on a cake of sorts. She knew they didn't have the right mould for basic pastries but seeing him actually holding a cake, surprised her.

“So this is the reason I wake up to missing ingredients.” She spoke firmly and crossed her arms, walking closely to Roach who scrambled and immediately hid the cake behind him.

“I’m just trying out new stuff. Baking looked fun.” He lied, stepping further back until his butt hit the sink.

“I already saw what you’re working on Gary. How did you form the shape? We didn’t have any mold.”

“When there’s a will, there’s a way.” He smiled proudly and showed her his cake. It was cylindrical, almost like that of a

“Mugs.” he explained as Maxine crept closer to his work, her eyes probed around it like a judge from masterchef.

“Wow. This looks nice. Is this for you?” she asked, feeling Gary’s body shake differently.

“Actually, it’s for you… France told me about your birthday and since I already missed it. I wanted to share one with you. You know… for uh… formality.” he stuttered. It was obvious that Gary was nervous. She felt this ever since they started cooking together, and she noticed that he was improving around her.

“Aww… thanks. No one’s ever baked a cake for me. Samantha just buys them.” Maxine chuckled and sat on the chair as Gary pulled out a candle and lit it.

“I’m supposed to give you one before we leave tomorrow. I guess you got too excited.” he laughed nervously and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Maxine gently reached for the hand and grazed it softly, smiling at Gary’s excited face.

“Make a wish.” Gary whispered, his minty breath tickled her nose. Maxine closed her eyes as the warm flame heated her cheeks. She would have wished for something personal, but instead she wished for something she thought needed to happen first.

“I wish… that this war will be over.” she opened her eyes and blew her candle as Roach silently clapped and cheered.

“Belated Happy Birthday Maxine.” He greeted with a warm hug, Maxine slowly gave in to his embrace and faced him. Tension sparked in the air between them as the chemicals moving between them started to react to each other, drawing their lips closer to each other. It was almost automatic, none of them held back as their lips clashed into a soft yet intense kiss. Their tongues were too shy to act but the lips were eager to meet again, soft smooches filled the quiet kitchen as their hands started to climb up to their faces.

“I.. um..” Gary shyly held back, his hands parted from her cheeks as they both stepped back from each other.

“It’s okay…" She whispered quickly, turning back to get herself a glass of water to calm herself from her nightmare and to cool off the heat of her body.

"I take it you're going back to bed?" Gary asked, leaning his arms across the table, looking at the cake.

"I think I can't sleep after that dream." She muttered. The reply signaled Roach to grab a fork and sit beside her.

"Dream? You're having dreams now?" Roach asked curiously, taking a slice off the cake and pointing the fork to her mouth.

"Yeah." Maxine continued with a vivid description of her dream, Roach momentarily spoon feeding her with cake every after thought.

Maxine actually stayed all morning talking to Roach, they discussed mostly about her dream and Roach was there to listen. He was what Maxine needed at the moment, a great listener who happened to be someone she's starting to fall for. She could also feel him growing close to her, that wasn't just any birthday kiss… I felt something else.

Maxine was almost jealous of Roach's colorful life. He shared so much of him that she actually felt guilty that she was only able to share one. He had lots of stories involving encounters with animals and most of it was about his dog.

"If you were to choose… Which animal would you prefer as a pet?" Gary asked curiously. The question made Maxine stop and think, admiring the slowly rising sun as she goes.

"Parrots sound fun. They talk back."

"Only if you teach them to…" Gary responded. He always does that, he's adding comments to her replies until they both agreed on a thing.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Maxine finally asked.

"Do what?"

"You know, influencing me to agree on your opinion?"

"I just want you to think I actually have something to say… Plus it keeps the conversation going… because I never really wanted it to stop." He smiled.

"Oi, Roach. Why is there no hot water yet?" Price yelled.

"Hang on Captain! The kettle isn't whistling yet!" Roach replied running to the kitchen leaving an amazed Maxine behind. A few minutes later Francine approached her.

No words were spoken as Maxine immediately wrapped her sister around her arms, she was really all she had and she was guilty that she couldn't remember her when they first met.

"I'm glad you found me… even amidst this mess." Maxine whispered to France's ears. She could feel her tears falling on her as they enjoyed the tender moment of their reunion.

"I remembered only one memory. Of us before we separated and lived independently. I think it's all I needed to truly tell who I am." Maxine said as Francine sobbed.

"I love you sis." France hugged again as they both cried.

Next Chapter : Going Dark Part 1

Notification Squad my Beloved

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

#horrayfic #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1 #gary roach sanderson

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winchester90210 · 4 years

Text

The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x15: Palm Springs (AKA A Fling in Palm Springs)

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

Chapter Summary: The gang heads to Palm Springs for President’s day weekend.

Warnings: swearing probably, lots of fluffy feelings, mentions of sex.

Words: 2,900

My work is not to be reposted and/or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is fine and encouraged!!!)

Feedback is incredibly appreciated!

A/N: Hope everyone enjoys this week’s episode! We are going to be skipping the next one but Laverne the gum-chomping waitress WILL make an appearance at some point in the series, so don’t worry. Next week the reader moves out with Brenda and deals with Class President election!

“You’re really gonna stay and work all weekend?” You launch yourself backwards onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble against your legs, “Kelly says anybody who’s anybody goes to Palm Springs.”

“You’re talking to Kelly again?” Your brother cocks an eyebrow at you as he cuts himself a brownie, stuffing half of it into his mouth.

“Well, no… Kelly told Brenda who told me— but what does it matter?” You steal the brownie pan from his other hand, and place it out of his reach, “Just because it’s from a secondary source doesn’t mean it’s not true. It’s a ritual. Like the geese flying south or something.”

“How do you expect to get there? It’s not like you have a car, or a bike, or can afford a plane ticket.” You stay silent for a moment, then give him a pleading, rosy smile. “Oh, no. No! You’re not taking Duke to Palm Springs.” Duke was Eric’s beloved cherry red ‘48 Ferrari. It was given to him on his eighteenth birthday, previously loved and adored by your father, and his father before that and blah blah blah.

“Please? I always take good care of it!” You beg, “I’ll even fill up the tank when I get back! What is it, a dollar per gallon?”

“Sorry. No way. You’ll have to ask Brenda,” he shrugs stubbornly, reaching around you and swiping the pan while you're preoccupied with the argument.

“I can’t! She’s riding with Kelly!”

“Then ask Brandon— look, this isn’t my problem, Y/N/N. Either find another ride or don’t go.”

“It has the original interior, the original grille work. It’s gorgeous,” Brandon enthuses, slipping his hand under your shirt and to your sides as you both lie in the backseat of Mondale, mid make-out session. Well, you were making out. Until he decided to stop it to talk about that car he wanted. Like guys often do. “and it’s only twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Twenty-five thousand? Brandon! No wonder your dad won’t buy you that thing. Dads are cheapskates, It’s just a fact of life.”

“Dylan‘s dad bought him a Porsche.”

“Babe, Dylan’s dad is facing a grand jury indictment,” you stifle a giggle as you pop a button off of his shirt.

“But my dad knows how hard I work,” Brandon grumbles, “And to top it all off, last night Nat told me that I can’t go to Palm Springs this weekend with you, and all of my friends because his sister is sick and now I have to work all weekend. But hey, you don’t hear me complaining, do ya?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Hey there!” You’re greeted almost immediately by Brandon upon entering the Peach Pit, who’s over at the far end of the counter with a little blond boy. “What a nice surprise. I thought you’d be in packing mode for your trip… but knowing you, you packed early, didn’t you?”

“Always do,” you nod, taking the seat in front of him. You hand Brandon a modest wad of cash and kiss his cheek, making him smile. He mumbles a thanks as he stuffs it into his pocket and hands you a menu.

“Hey… do you ever get the feeling that the entire world is flying in first class, and you’re stuck with a folding chair in the baggage compartment?” He takes your hand in his, leaning over the counter.

“Never,” you deadpan. He studies your face, causing you to giggle into his shoulder.

“Liar!” He laughs genuinely, his eyes crinkling at the edges,“you total liar!” He straightens himself out, “This is Curtis.” He gestures to the adorable little boy beside you, “the hangout king of Beverly Hills.”

“It’s a free country, I can hang out if I want!” The little boy whines.

“Hey, hey, relax, sport. No one said you couldn’t… but does your mom know how much time you spend here?”

“She’s the one that brung me! I told her the food’s not that good," Curtis criticizes, mowing down a plate of greasy french fries.

“See what I have to put up with to make a buck?” Brandon teases, grabbing a plate of food from the kitchen and dashing off to deliver it to a table. Once he’s gone, Curtis turns his stool to you.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh! Well, uh… no. But he’s… not not my boyfriend,” you waffle. Curtis narrows his eyes, confused. “Look, it’s complicated, kid."

“You give him that friendship bracelet he’s wearing?”

“Yeah, actually… he told you about that?”

The kid dodges your question, chewing on the straw of his drink, “Why aren’t you wearing one?”

“It's a long story, Curtis. Certainly one you don't have time for, okay?"

"I got plenty of time."

You couldn’t ride with your brother, you couldn’t ride with Brandon, there’s no way in hell you’re riding with Steve… that left one option. Brenda, Kelly, and Donna.

“Donna,” Kelly giggles, “we’re not going to Europe. You don’t need three bags!”

“Kelly, I have to dress according to the guys we meet. I mean— high school guys, college guys, grad school guys, dropout guys— you cannot dress the same for all guys. No,” Donna shakes her head disapprovingly, like she just dropped a fashion truth-bomb on all three of you. To be honest, though, she kind of did.

“I guess she has a point,” you laugh, propping yourself up against a locker, “Bring everything.”

Then Steve saunters over, in his usual confusingly patterned button-down, an agitated look spread across his face. He nods down to the innumerable bags on the floor.

“What, are we going to France?” He scoffs, only taking a moment before continuing, “Will you guys come on? There’s gonna be a lot of traffic on the roads." Gee, wonder what’s making him so delightful this afternoon.

“Hey gang!” Oh no. David Silver? What was he doing here? “Are we going to have a blast or what? Huh?” We?

The rest of the group is just as lost as you are, exchanging silent looks of terror to the person next to them. Steve takes note of this and clears his throat.

“There’s been a uh, slight change in plans.”

“It’s weird, I mean I want to be with Dylan and everything, but part of me just wants to get it over with. Like I’m the last person that hasn’t done it yet." Brenda confides uneasily as you all stand against Kelly’s convertible, waiting as the tank fills up.

“Brenda… you are,” Kelly replies.

“No you’re not!" You assure her, "Look, Bren, you’re really gonna like it… I think." Ha. Like you know any more than she does. Donna nods in agreement.

“Yeah, totally… probably. Maybe? I—“

Kelly cuts Donna off, “Listen, who would you rather be with? Dylan McKay or David Silver?”

“Bren, Dylan’s a wonderful guy. You’re gonna have a great time! And you brought protection, so there’s nothing to be worried about!” You place a soothing hand on her arm.

“Right!” Brenda smiles, “I mean, I care about him, he cares about me, it’s gonna be great, right?”

“My grandparents collect anything they can get their hands on,” David guides the four of you, sans Brenda plus Steve, as you wander his grandparents' house. It’s definitely nice, definitely big… kinda smells like patchouli and sunscreen in the best way. “When I was younger I used to travel with them but my dad’s mad at them about something so I don’t see ‘em much anymore.”

“What’s he mad about?” Donna asks.

“Well, my grandparents like my mom and think it’s, y’know, bad he wants to divorce her... Come on,” he waves you all over to him as he escapes through the back door, “I saved the best for last.” You reluctantly follow behind him, your shoes clacking down the concrete steps and into the depths of his backyard. It was gorgeous— a huge pool, palm trees, brick-lined lounging areas. You could get used to this.

“Dude, we are definitely styling out here in this little desert oasis,” Steve grins, “David, I always knew you had potential.” No you didn’t.

“Thanks, Steve,” David begins to venture further back, “but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! Look, if anyone gets in the mood, you climb up this little terrace here to this hidden nook and nobody will bother you.” You step up another flight of brick-lined concrete stairs and through a small patch of greenery, to be met with a cute little private hot tub… with people in it.

“David?” The old woman gasps, clutching her small champagne flute.

“Grandma?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” The senior man, presumably (and hopefully) his grandfather groans.

“It was an amaaaazing trip!” David’s grandmother raves, pouring pretzels into a glass bowl as the group is gathered around the kitchen island.

“It was indescribable,” his grandfather agrees excitedly, “we would dance every night under the stars.” He pulls Kelly from her stool, picking her up and spinning her around as if they were about to tango.

“Ooh! Can somebody pull the ice cream?” His grandma asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Donna smiles.

“Triple. Chocolate. Chip. I mean, If we’re gonna do it, we should do it right.” Steve chuckles politely at the woman, though he looks like he wants to put a gun to his head.

“Well, I’ve never seen so many old fogies on one boat in my whole life. I mean, a floating rest home is what it was!” His grandpa laughs heartily, getting ice cream bowls from the cupboard,

“Oh, Henry, that’s not so. But hey, one day we woke up on the boat and we both said ‘Let’s go home!’” Funny. That’s exactly what you were thinking. “I mean, we missed our little house in the desert.”

“We sure did,” Henry smiles happily, grabbing his wife’s jaw gently and planting a big smooch on her. “And lucky for us, we would have missed you if we didn’t cut our trip short!”

“Uh, well you guys must be really tired. Huh?” David chuckles awkwardly.

“Oh, we’re exhausted!” The woman nods, “but hey, who cares? I am so excited to see you! And to finally meet some of your friends! Hey! Why don’t we all stay up late, chow down on the snacks, and get to know each other?” Oh, joy.

“This way ladies,” David’s grandma guides the three of you upstairs, her hand on your shoulder. “You’re gonna go up these stairs, down the hall, first door on your right, and you are gonna love it.” You hop up the steps with Kelly and Donna, bags in hand.

“Did you guys hear her?” Kelly starts, opening the door to the room and throwing her bags on an empty bed. Hey, she acknowledged you. That’s a start. “She said she was gonna invite all the cute guys from the neighborhood over to the pool tomorrow!”

“Steve is not gonna like that,” Donna

“Oh, who cares?” Kelly snickers, “I wonder how Brenda’s doing.”

“‘Oh! Dylan, what beautiful eyes you have!’” You joke, throwing your hand to your forehead and bowing backwards.

“‘Oh, Brenda, you are so exquisite!’” Donna joins in, giggling.

“Barf.”

You splash your feet in the Silver's pool, crowds of people surrounding it. Overwhelmed by the vast amount of new people, you're off by yourself, kicking the water around, staring at your feet.

"You know, there's room on this raft for two." You look up to Steve, lying back on a giant inflatable alligator. Ugh, if only it was a real one.

"Why don't you ask your new girlfriends?" You point behind you to the two girls, who you could only think to describe as biker babes, lounging together. Porcelain white skin, spiked black bikinis, way more makeup than you need for a pool party. "They look pretty interested."

"Can you imagine what it would be like if you were interested? You know, me instead of Brandon?" You feign a gag, shaking your head.

"I don't really want to, Steve," you cringe dramatically as he chuckles, "but thanks for getting that thought haunting my dreams forever. Really appreciate it."

"Remember—" He wags his pointer finger at your face, eyes narrowing lightheartedly, "I saw you first." He puts his foot flat against the concrete wall of the pool, kicking off, but as soon as he's far enough— he guffaws. Of course he laughs at his own jokes.

"Dylan, hi!" You practically leap over to him in the foyer, your damp feet leaving faint footprints on the cold floor. "So?"

He shakes his head, brows furrowed ever so slightly, "So?"

"How'd it go?" You raise your eyebrows excitedly.

"How'd what go?"

"With Brenda!" He groans at that.

"Don't ask."

"Well, it's too late, I already did."

"What's with you girls?" Oh, this should be good. "You see a guy with another girl and you immediately think they're sleeping with her?! What is that?! I mean, every time a female customer goes into the Pit-- do you lose it at Brandon?"

"Can't say I do. They usually want him. But thankfully it's not the other way around… look, if this is about the other Walsh-- and McKay, it better be, or else I have questions-- just talk to her about it. Have an adult conversation."

"Easy for you to say, you're dating the king of good family values. The kid's a Hartley House episode."

You open the fridge in the kitchen, helping David’s grandparents scoop out ice cream. You fidget with the scoop in your hands before setting it down. After a devastating loss of Charades, you had to comfort your friends with ice cream. It was the only option, really.

“How do you guys do it?” They both look up from the bowls to stare at you. “The whole long-term relationship thing,” you clarify. “It’s just so… scary.”

“You’re right,” Henry nods, “It’s very scary. Trusting someone, with your heart, your intimate feelings. I mean, before we got married, Adele broke up with me seven different times. Running for the hills was our solution to every problem. Giving yourself to that person— trusting that they’re going to cherish you, to value you and every intimate part of yourself— that is the hardest thing.”

Adele jumps in, “And you have to accept each other for who you are. For every flaw and every perfection, you have to let the other person be who they are. But when you do find the person you can really be yourself with, who you can have fun with, and fully trust… it is the greatest feeling in the world.” She takes the scoop from in front of you and begins scooping. “Who is he? It’s not David, is it?”

You giggle, “No. No, it’s not David. His name’s Brandon, he’s—“ you can’t stop a grin from slowly breaking out on your face, “He’s great. He’s kind, and considerate, and totally crazy about me... but it’s still scary, y’know? My last relationship didn’t exactly end on great terms. And if I barely even liked the other guy but I was still totally obliterated by it ending… I can’t imagine how I’d feel with Brandon. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life. I guess you can imagine how much of a major scare that is, huh?”

“Seven break-ups, sweetheart. I can imagine.”

"He even set up a meal plan for the kid! I can show you the security cameras if you want to see them," Nat indulges. You never thought you’d say this, but you were thrilled to be back in Beverly Hills. You missed your own bed, the Peach Pit… the cute waiter at the Peach Pit. And you’re thrilled to be eating something that isn’t ice cream.

"Oh, don't you dare! I cannot handle any more of that guy being good with kids or else he's gonna get me to procreate with him-- and nobody wants a bunch of little Walshes running around here," you snort, stirring your water mindlessly with the straw. Nat shrugs as he picks up an order.

“I could use the extra help!” As per usual, he booms out in laughter, walking away with the plate of food.

“What’s he so happy about?” You twist your head to the kitchen and you’re faced with your overtly-paternal and charitable lover.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just you fathering a sweet little homeless boy for the weekend,” you have to halt yourself from fawning over him. He’s probably the only teenage boy that would tolerate a little kid, let alone help them out like he did.

“He told you about that?”

“You mean how you not only befriended the little boy, but fed him for free, and made sure that his whole family would stay fed until they got back on their feet? Yeah, he might’ve. I mean I laughed, I cried— it was the feel-good story of the year, B.” He smiles at his feet as he ties his apron around his waist.

“I really missed you this weekend, Y/N/N.”

“Well, I’m here to stay now,” you smile as he kisses the top of your head.

“I’m a real lucky guy, you know that?”

“That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

Taglist: @be-patient-be-good @mpmarypoppins @bevelyhills90210 @blueoz @harleylilo88 @princess-ghost-alien @hueycat2004 @l4life @keepcalm-and-beyou @palefiregiver @bitch-imma-head-out

#beverly hills 90210 #90210 #bh90210 #bh 90210 #rewrite #brandon walsh x reader #brandon walsh #brenda walsh #shannen doherty #luke perry #dylan mckay #beverly hills 90210 imagine #beverly hills 90210 x reader #brandon walsh imagine #kelly taylor #david silver #donna martin #jason priestley

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parkeraul · 5 years

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pull me in — 2

a/n: this series is my new baby, pls don’t get mad at me. heads up: emotions ahead. warnings: cursing, fluff, smut & use of other languages. words: 5,258k.

pull me in — 1 | masterlist

The Sunday morning had never felt this warm before — which was weird, since the rain washed Pickering all over during the night and turned the waterdrops into snowflakes, colouring the glass of her still opened window in a vivid white — and home had never felt so cozy. She’s thankful he’s asleep in front of her instead of giving that typical stare that insists on discovering every single thought passing through her mind, because he would definitely make fun of her poker face and tickle her body until she says those three words she never says. And it’s so hard to resist when Shawn is finally quiet and peacefully asleep on her bed. Not the she doesn’t enjoy his voice or those weird whimpers of his that he always lets out when he’s falling asleep more deeply, but she never thought that words were necessary as long as you’re showing your love with attitudes. Shawn, on the other hand, is the complete opposite — his notebook pages are never blank because the papers are filled with loving words for Alyssa. There are songs he plays for her until nowadays and there are songs he’ll probably never let her know about, fearing rejection or the possibility that they’re not in the same place. It’s been tricky since the beginning, and Shawn’s the only one being patient and polite, he thinks.

“May I call you just Lyssa?” He asks with pity eyes, feeling his frame softening to the sight of Alyssa blushing while she curls a strand of her hair with her forefinger. Her smile is timid, but he doesn’t stick to this impression. Ever since Alyssa and Daniel stepped into that school, the rumours were all around for everyone to hear. ‘Oh, he’s got a car!’ ‘Oh, she knows five languages!’ ‘Oh, their mom is Spanish!’ ‘Oh, their grandfather fought in the World War II!’ ‘Oh, they’ve just arrived from France!’ So he knew she wasn’t just another one. No. Being the helpless passionate guy that he is, he puts himself into an internal bet between him & himself — impressing her in all possible ways, more than he regularly does with the other girls. “Lyssa?” She looks him in the eyes, pursing her pink lips into an intimidating grin. “Is it that hard to pronounce the letter A?” The time seems to stop for Shawn. People from school are filling up the diner, some looking at them inquiringly as he places his hand under his chin, analyzing her features and feeling his mouth water everytime her lips touch to speak her words, wishing he could fit his lower lip in between her parted mouth and taste the chapstick glossing the plump flesh. Alyssa knows he’s having problems resisting her, and she’s obviously going to take advantage on this. She just needs to wait for the perfect opportunity. “What, babygirl?” He tries to recover his confidence, more than observant to see if he can break her self-assurance somehow by being the typical Shawn Mendes: seductive in the cockiest way possible. “Not a fan of nicknames?” Alyssa analyses Shawn as he spreads his arm on top of the headrest of the diner sofa, chewing his gum and exhaling big rebel—boy energy in a very overbearing mode. She finds it fun how hard he’s trying to get her weakening when it’s going to be the other way around. She can count on her fingers how many boys with this same attitude she humiliated all around the globe and there would never be enough hands to fit the amount onto. “Listen…” Squinting her eyes, she plays a thoughtful face as she gets closer, inching her middle towards the table. “Shawn.” He says, swallowing harshly and clearing his throat. How can someone let Shawn Mendes pass just like this? Impossible. “Shawn,” Alyssa confirms, snapping two of her digits in the air like she’s just remembered of something practically unmanageable to get inside her mind. “I don’t know what type of girls you’ve been fooling around with, but I guarantee you that you’ll need to come off stronger than ‘babygirl’ and ‘Lyssa’ if you’re planning to get under my skirt,” She maintains eye contact with his hazel irises, oftentimes dropping her glance to his lips parting in surprise. Yes, she wouldn’t be easy but no one has ever seen Shawn denying a good challenge. That’s what keeps him eager and starving for those pretty lips and incomparable personality. If it’s a game, then game on. “I—“ “Mongola!” A tall guy approaches their table, making the two of them take distance from each other again. He’s got his hair pushed back with gel and his features are different from what Shawn is used to see. Other than that, he’s also got his gang behind him and keys spinning around his forefinger repeatedly, still speaking a language he’s never seen before. “¿Terminaste con tu estúpida charla?” Alyssa rolls her eyes, taking some dollars out of her pocket to place right beside the milkshake she ended ages ago before the flirting started. At this point, the other guy was impatiently waiting for her to finally get her jacket and backpack to slide towards the end of the red long chair, staring at her with a devilish smile while the people from school decide to pay more attention to what’s going on. “Yes, I’m done with my conversation,” She gets up, tossing the jacket on top of her elbows and shifting her bag into the guy’s chest. “And you? Done with your show? Or do you really wanna try to stand out from the others by being a dork?” The boy closes his eyes and squeezes the fabric of her nearly empty bag with his strong hand, exhaling strongly and shooting an intimidating look at Shawn after prompting his eyelids open, the curly haired boy glancing at Alyssa and the man he still doesn’t know totally confused. “What now, Dani? Cat got your tongue?” His friends were at the merge of wetting themselves with silent laughs as she wore a winning smile, shaking her head slightly to move her bangs away from her eyes. They’d never get enough of her sassy attitude, putting her own brother down like he’s nothing. “Better be outside in 2 if you want a proper ride home.” The guy hisses and turns on his heels to get outside, never forgetting to give Shawn a last look and drop her bag on the floor before walking to the parking lot, obviously winking at some pretty girls on his way like he hadn’t put out a whole scene seconds ago. Shawn gets up and grabs her backpack, jaw clenched and mind still lost. What the fuck just happened? When he turns to face Alyssa, her eyes are threatening to water but they don’t. They’ll never. Not because of her brother, not because of the people staring at her — the past 9 years were the worst and they’d always come back to haunt her regardless of the day, regardless of the moment. They made her learn on how to act tough and fierce even though the truth was the complete opposite, so these people would need to come off a lot stronger than this to break the wall she’s been building ever since 1949. “Your bag, Alyssa,” He says while straightening his spine up again, offering her the object with his eyes glued on the door. “Who was-“ “My brother. Nothing you should worry about.” “Are you gonna be okay?” His eyes moves slowly to glance at her. Alyssa’s expression tells him nothing and everything at the same time. He can sense she’s kinda in pain, kinda embarrassed but his mind repeats unstoppably that she can’t fear a thing. Although it’s not the moment, this quick second of weakness gets him more than curious to unravel all the mystery that’s Alyssa. “I am okay.” “Want me to-“ “Thank you,” She cuts him off, giving him a forced smile but sincere look of gratefulness. The wind breaking into the diner by the semi-opened windows blows her hair softly and he can’t understand how can a girl look like both the angel and the devil at the same time. “Mm…?” “Shawn—Peter—Raul—Mendes.” Shawn repeats again, his ego begging to be caressed instead of hurt. He wants to be done by now, hates the heavy magnetism that brings him closer and closer to her frame. She’s hugged gracefully by a white shirt tucked into a light-pink skirt that defines her waist and cascades at her thighs, covering all the way almost to the end of them and it’s probably the first time he sees a girl showing her knees and a little bit more in public. How can teeny-tiny pieces of skin can drive his mind to somewhere else? He’ll never comprehend. “Peter Raul,” Smiling — sincerely, this time — she winks at him and it looks like she haven’t even been through a moment of stress minutes ago. He widens his eyebrows in surprise and her smile widens as well, welcoming a laugh that shoots a wave of dopamine right down his senses. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and sure he’s exaggerating, but he doesn’t give a fuck at this point. He could watch her laughing the whole day, just like he can watch the way her necklace moves along with her chest when she catches her breath again. “Creo que tendremos que terminar esta conversación en otro momento,” And the time stops. Again. Her tone lowering a little bit while her words come out to poke his heart and make it miss the beats. Shawn can’t figure out a single word but, if her accent keeps on being this sexy while her tongue touches the back of her front teeth so beautifully, he’ll start paying attention to Spanish classes just to talk to her like this everyday. “Hasta luego, guapo.” She dares to inch closer give him a kiss right on the corner of his lips, but before her mouth can press a warm smooch, she hears the motor of the car getting started outside and she can’t help but leave him with the softest graze of her wet lips that could never fulfill the desire consuming his entire being right now. “What the hell did she say?” Shawn asks to himself while she walks away, her scent stuck on the spot she just left. “It’s latin for ‘you’re totally fucked for the hispanic’.” Brian joked between laughs, elbowing Matt beside him as the guys had the most fun with his face screaming ‘Sucker for Alyssa’ in their imagination. Although Brian couldn’t have been quite correct with the ‘latin’ and ‘hispanic’, he wasn’t totally wrong.

━ ━ ━

His broad frame is taking most of the space on her bed when she’s back from the bathroom. She’s sure he might have had his limbs all stretched to get spread on her mattress while she was gone to brush her teeth and hair. It’s the only downside of sleeping with Shawn, Alyssa thinks. He’ll either curl and cuddle her body to keep her warm or throw his leg or arm on top of her frame in the middle of the night, looking for the space that her bed doesn’t have to fit his big body. It’s cutely annoying. Just like him. She gets rid of her slippers after closing the door carefully, slipping back under the covers now with Shawn’s serene expression right in front of her. He’s slowly waking up with eyes still closed, but he starts to take deep breaths and grab her waist lazily, pulling her even closer and hiding his face on the crook of her neck. He takes a moment to smell the moisturizer she uses, enjoying that unmistakable scent of what he thinks it might be a mix of roses and vanilla. He could stay like this for the rest of his days, immersed on the craziest ride of his life that’s Alyssa. He’s in love with the mess, the danger, the uncertainty and the undefined thing that’s their relationship. What they have is somewhere lost between very-frequent hook ups and a proper relationship that includes some I-love-you’s and jealousy. Shawn would define as a couple walking with baby-steps, taking their time while Alyssa would say it’s complicated. Period. And it’s hard for her to care when he’s tilting his head back up and opening his eyes, giving her a lovely look with those tired chocolate eyes and a weak smile. His curls are messy and fluffy, making him look angelic and innocent. As if. “Morning Lyssa,” He greets with that raspy tone that always gets her thighs clenching. She smiles in response, kissing the tip of his nose delicately. “Gonna have to brush my teeth to get a decent kiss?” “Rhetorical question, I hope.” “Still have my toothbrush?” Shawn asks yawning, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. He’s got soft dark circles that draws their ways to the apple of his cheeks, face all marked from sleeping heavily. It’s such a sight that she wishes she could take photos and put them all in frames to embellish her bedroom. “First drawer, it’s the transparent one,” She warns and he blinks deliberately. ‘You think I’ve forgotten?’ He ruminates in silence as he prompts his body up to sit and crawl his way to the end of the bed. “Just in case…” Alyssa defends herself, lifting both hands to the sides of her head. “Be silent, asshole. My dad has a light sleep.” Shawn smirks in response, drinking her in by the way her body’s splayed shyly on her bed with the untidy blankets covering her legs partly — her thighs are bare, capturing his attention as he notices that her nightdress is messy, exposing the swell of her round ass. No one would look at this so accurately — at least he hopes no one would — but the way her tanned skin begs for his lips drives him insane little by little. “You pervert!” She realizes what he’s doing and pushes the fabric back to where it should be, her cheeks burning and turning pink. “Go before someone wakes up. I need to kick you out sometime soon.” When Shawn looks down, it’s just what he was expecting. His hardened member started to nudge the fabric of his underwear still timidly, but nothing that would escape from Alyssa’s attention. It’s been almost ten minutes since he left to freshen up and Alyssa can’t think about something else. That vision got her mouth watering and her brain working twice as faster. But she couldn’t. Could she? She’s toying with the silver foil, looking at it as she twirls the object unstoppably. Her throat goes dry and she feels the urge to gulp, her lungs searching for more air when she thinks about how painful it might be. But oh, it might be so wonderful as well… When she hears footsteps coming closer, she tucks the condom under her back rapidly and covers her body with the blanket just to make sure it’s all well hidden. “Looks like you just saw a ghost,” Shawn teases her, closing the door and copying her intentions on doing it as quiet as possible. “Qué happened?” “¿Qué pasa?” She corrects his terrible Spanish and thinks to herself. She had never felt brave enough to ask Shawn to be her first time, fearing he would say no because of her brother. And father. And their overprotective personalities. And what if she gets pregnant at 16? What if she’s not hot enough or pretty enough? “No pasa nada.” “What?” “Nothing’s going on.” Alyssa lies, her tone flat and unhappy. He gets closer and sits beside her, choosing a strand of her hair to caress and brush it off her face so he can graze her cheek. “Tell me, Lyssa,” Immediately, she shakes her head in denial and stares at the wall. His eyes would get her failing. “If you don’t want to then I’ll go say good morning to Mr. Stempford. He sure would like to know me better—“ “Sit your ass down, Peter Raul,” She hisses, tossing the blanket away and grabbing his arm instantly when he threatens to get up. He ends up falling on top of her upper half, noses touching and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply. It shouldn’t be this hard. “I want you to promise me you’ll be nice.” “May I know when I’m not nice with you?” “Promise me, asshole.” She pinches his arm. Nothing hard already that Shawn can’t make it harder. “I promise, asshole.” “Great!” She starts, opening her eyes but not looking directly at him. Playing with her fingers, she chooses to stare at them like they’re doing the most interesting thing in the world. “See, I was thinking to myself…” “Mm…” “We’ve never… Well…” Clearing her throat, she shakes her head slightly to move her bangs away from her eyes. “Fucked.” “What?” “Fucked,” He repeats. “That’s one thing we’ve never done.” Her heart races. “Fucked… Right…” The stress begins to show up as Shawn fixes his body on top of hers, laying down gently. “We made out lots of times, of course, and they were—“ “Incredible.” “Incredible,” She smiles, finally looking at his face. He’s so close she can hear his heartbeat and smell the minty scent of toothpaste coming out of his parted lips. “Breathtaking…” Whispering, she swallows harshly before being interrupted by him again. “Hun, what’s going on?” It takes all of her not to freak out. It’s simple, Alyssa. Spit. It. Out. Now. “I…” “You?” She covers her eyes with both hands and enjoys the lack of shyness that takes over her. “Iwantustofuck.” “What?” Shawn squeaks, getting shushed by Alyssa at the same instant. His chest prompts up a little and he’s frowning. It’s all very confusing because Alyssa never asks, she practically demands. And she always stops right when they’re about to unbutton their clothes properly. “I’m tired of the ‘what’ question,” She rolls her eyes, masking her apprehension and hoping he wasn’t able to understand a single word of what she just said. “We should come up with another word like… Pardon? Or… Or maybe ne razumijem! Možete li molim vas govoriti malo sporije?” “You want me—“ He’s now sitting on top of her, running his hand through his wild curls and staring at her totally in shock. “You want us to—“ He clutches his own chest while she covers her entire face with her hands, both their chests heaving and screaming for oxygen. “Shut up! No one’s up yet!” “You…” Shawn sobs a little, blinking rapidly as he tries to process the information. “You want me to make love to you, Lys?” He mumbles. “Vielleicht—“ Her voice is muffled by her palms, shoulders shrugging bashfully. “English, Alyssa.” He grabs her wrists carefully, holding them up away from her worried face and entwining their fingers softly. For the first time in years, she feels that knot on her throat begging to be loosened through a cry. “Maybe, Shawn,” She admits, so nervous that her hands aren’t shaking because his giant ones are keeping them stable. “Maybe I do wanna feel you… Inside… Of me?!” “God!” He breathes out, putting her hands on the curve of his shoulders so he can lean down and pin his forehead on hers. “What are you doing to me, Alyssa Stempford?” “You know I love it when you say my whole name?” “Oh yeah?” He smiles against her smile, licking his lips and placing a kiss on the corner of her lips — the way she does when she wants to tease him. “What else?” “W-What else?” Alyssa stutters, feeling her breath now unpatterning as he lets go of her hands to support his body with one arm, traveling his free palm along her side and peppering kisses from down her face to her jawline. She’s turning cold due to the nervousness but he makes sure to cling to her frame so the hotness spreading through his flesh can comfort her somehow. “I…” He kisses the sensitive spot a little down below her ear precisely, making her get chills and he sees those goosebumps coming to the surface, announcing that he’s starting to get the best of her. “I love it when you drag your lips down my throat and…” She has to stop and focus, because he does exactly as she says and ends with a light suction at the base of her neck. Fanning his breath on the wet region he just sucked, Shawn kisses the other side of her neck intensely, unhurriedly. “Fuck, like this…” “Like this, eh?” He mouths against her, lowly and raspy while his teeth scratch her skin tenderly. She’s quiet, eyes squinting close as she thinks about how the hell is she going to ease that aching sensation that’s making her heat pulsate in anticipation. Shawn’s lips goes to her collarbones, loving every single piece of skin and feeling the expansion of her bone being touched by him, being appreciated so devotedly just like his girl deserves. He moves his hand up from her waist to trace her arm and reach the strap of her nightdress. “Are you sure, Lyssa?” He twirls the fabric, face tilted down as he closes his eyes and waits for a yes. “I am,” Alyssa responds, tugging his thick locks and bringing his face to hers. “Will you be gentle?” If heaven has a specific appearance, it sure is Alyssa’s face softening up as she asks sweetly for his kindness. She looks blissful with her bright brown eyes connected with his, honey hair adorning the pillow and her features. Shawn had never felt the need to be nice and gentle to anyone like he does right now. His chest tempers and hurts at the same time with love. Nothing could mess up with him like this; nobody can fuck Shawn up like Alyssa does. “I will, babe,” He pecks her lips. “I always will.” She cups his face with both hands and kisses him deeply. Their lips pressing together is enough to drive them all the way to the edge, her bottom lip in between his mouth as his tongue pokes out to touch hers. The tenderness of their affection is enough to ease her nerves and encourage her to pass her hands through his curls, going further to the back of his head and scrape the nape of his neck lovingly. She pulls him in, impossibly closer to taste all of him as her hands wanders to his back, feeling the muscles moving under her palm due to the way he’s shifting to keep his frame established not to crush her. Shawn finally drags the strap down her arm, slow and as polite as possible, caressing all the spots of her arm where the fabric passed by with his skilled hand. When Alyssa releases her arm from the cloth, she instantly squeezes her breast — now uncovered — with the inner part of her elbow, pressing down on the flesh to hide her nipple from his sight. He breaks the kiss with a smack sound, bringing his tattooed hand back to hers. “Want me to dress you back, baby?” Shawn asks concernedly, his thumb grazing the back of her palm. “I don’t, actually,” She knows she doesn’t want to, but she fears the shame will become too much. “I don’t know.” “Lys, look at me.” “Yes?!” “What makes you think I wouldn’t love you in every single way?” He holds her hand more forcefully, as if he could assure her even physically that he doesn’t give a damn if she’s dressed in her most expensive clothes or naked under the plain white sheets. He wants her no matter what, no matter how, no matter when. Her smile shows some pain, but somehow he knows it has a pinch of happiness behind it. “I know you’re afraid and needs more time to figure out what you feel, but I want you to know that I’m already there,” Shawn catches himself confessing his emotions to her again. He did it before a thousand times and there’s no turning back. His feelings seem to be fresh new even though they showed up a long time ago and everyday feels like it’s the first day he saw her standing there, being her charming self with a sassy attitude. Nobody compares to her. “I see, it’s awkward for you, but I am in love with you. I love you, Alyssa.” And then Shawn gives her no time to feel joy or guilt for not being entirely there, because his lips are on hers again and his touch is firm on her hand, setting it once more on his own body. Alyssa now palms his bare chest as his member presses against her core and lower stomach, spurring her to move her fingers down —still reservedly — and he decides to help her through. With his hand on top of hers, he guides it down his toned abdomen and intensifies the kiss at the same time, taking her breath away. She’s grateful his soaked clothes from last night were long gone under her bed so she wouldn’t need to go through the ceremony of undressing him. Her hesitant hand reaches the waistband of his briefs, making the both of them hitch their respirations suddenly, his mouth leaving hers slowly. “Can I… touch you?” Alyssa asks, eyeing his white underwear between their bodies as her forefinger toys with the elastic band. “Sure you want to? You don’t have to. This is about you, not me.” Shawn’s eyes are darkening, analyzing her expression and he prepares himself to stop at anytime if she asks him to. His hand stays still above hers. “Please?” It’s innocent but it makes him twitch inside the material of his underwear. Fuck, Alyssa. Fuck. Obviously she can. She can do whatever she wants to do. Shawn’s answer will always be yes. He looks down at her small hand threatening to slip inside and he can’t help but contort his face in pleasure even though he hasn’t been touched yet. “Shit,” He hisses out. “’Course.” “But I need you to teach me how—“ “Babe, I know,” Her desperation is clear so he wants to give her the freedom and confidence to move on, because he’s here for her. “Tell me if you want to stop, ‘kay?” Alyssa only nods in agreement, feeling his hand guiding hers inside the fabric leisurely and Shawn watches her breast being released from the harsh touch of her arm. When she touches the head of his cock, touching the tip lightly, her nipple hardens and Shawn gulps to the sight of her. Alyssa is all flushed, from face to chest, and she starts to take a handful of his length. It feels warm against her icy hand and oh so smooth, totally different from what she had previously imagined. He impulsively thrusts into her fist, kissing her chest not to moan in relief while her other hand pulls the underwear past his crotch and it rests on his muscular thighs. She’s still unsure of what to do, so her touch is fragile and insecure. His hand goes back to hers and he embraces her fingers with a gentle strength, squeezing his own cock. Alyssa finds it so hot that the wetness down on her slit and panties is becoming irritating; she can’t quite understand how her hesitation turns into a fiery desire so fast. “You can hold it like this,” Shawn tells her in a whisper as his palm guides hers up and down gradually. “And pump it like this, eh?” She’s too weak to do anything else rather than murmur in confirmation and, to add more to this weakness of hers, he circles her nipple with the tip of his tongue to capture it in between his lips. It makes Alyssa hold him tighter, pumping all the way down to the base and back up to the leaking rosy tip. A sweet whine flies past her lips when he sucks at her bud, tender plump lips enveloping her in the most delicious way as his throbbing cock is massaged by her careful hand. “Gotta keep quiet, hun,” He manages to say between suctions on her wet skin. “Be good for me, hm?” She huffs and Shawn’s hand leaves hers to travel along the inner part of her thigh, grabbing the delicious soft skin with a force that’s definitely not very gentle. At this point, he’s starving and insatiable. His middle finger accidentally touches her clothed entrance and she whines once more, bucking her hips towards his touch. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” He mutters against her chest, squeezing her leg intensely. “Babe I can’t take this for too long.” Shawn confesses, feeling the vein on the underside of his aching length pounding painfully. There’s pre-cum leaking and her hand picks up the pace just a little, testing to see if this is what he needs. Alyssa takes the condom from under her back, managing to pump him meanwhile, and hands him the foil. “Lucky you I was prepared.” “Where the hell did you get this?” He takes the condom from her hand and sits up, her hand never releasing him. The view is far too pornographic: his defined abs clenching as his thick cock gets pumped by her with some inability, but sure leading him somewhere. He runs a hand through his chocolate hair and waits for her to stop looking at his member and face him. “My eyes are up here, Lys.” “Stole from Dani’s wallet while you were in the bathroom.” She says simply, daring to twist her wrist as she edges him and the unexpected sensation makes Shawn growl. Going back to her, he inches down and steals a kiss. “You’re fuckin’ awesome, you know that?” Shawn pecks her lips repeatedly until he cups her face with one hand to lick inside her mouth and make the most of this abrupt kiss. The atmosphere is too pleasant to let them be aware of anything else. Maybe that’s pretty much the reason why she haven’t heard steps coming to her bedroom door before a loud knock brought them back to reality. “Alyssa?” A strong voice calls out and Shawn opens his eyes, utterly scared. “Alyssa, who’s inside there with you?” She pushes him away, the both of them immediately getting up — Shawn searches for the keys to his motorcycle and pulls his underwear back up while Alyssa is bent down on the floor, arm stretched under her bed to get his clothes. “Alyssa if you don’t open this door right now…” “Hold on, dada!” She promptly warns, throwing Shawn’s jeans at his face and tossing the shirt up on her bed with the leather jacket. “Go, go, go!” “If you haven’t noticed yet, my dick’s still—“ The door slams open no longer after, making Alyssa get up on her heels and Shawn cover his hard cock with both hands. The jeans are covering nothing but his shins and knees, the fabric too tough to fit his legs because of the rain that soaked them last night. She crosses her arms in front of her chest to hide her bare chest and they force a smile towards Alyssa’s father, dripping tenseness and fear. “Gareth—“ Shawn greets with an odd smile but stops at the moment Alyssa elbows him mightly. Fuckin’ dumbass. “Mr. Stempford. Good morning!”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes masterlist #shawn mendes series #mine #ficsofmine

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Six | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Audiences

Word count: 2,901

Chapter 6/24

Warnings: Can second-hand embarrassment be a warning???

AN: This chapter was one of the first scenes I thought up when this idea was born. It was so much fun to write.

As a heads up, I won’t be posting a new chapter next week. I am going to be insanely busy - as in, leaving the house at 6AM and running around like crazy until 11PM kind of week. Between my grandpa slowly deteriorating and my niece being born within the next 10 days, I’ve got too much going on to give posting the care and attention I want to. Chapter 7 will be posted on June 6. Thanks for sticking with me 💕

Chapter Five

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

The below adorable image was found in this super interesting article!

“Well hey there you smitten kitten,” the sweet, curly-haired Dorothy purrs.

You scrunch your nose at the name, moving to take a seat at a table in the breakroom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

“Now tell us Suzy is full of it and you haven’t seen this boy five times since Saturday,” Connie scoffs before sipping her glass-bottled Coca Cola.

Your unamused gaze turns to Suzy who says, “Sorry!” in a very not-sorry voice. “You’ve been coy all week about it, we are equally invested in this relationship. They deserve to know.”

“Excuse me, you’ve been on how many dates in the last week with this boy?” Charity squawks, taking her lunch out of the fridge.

“It’s actually been less than a week.”

“Suzy, how is that helpful?” you say through an exasperated sigh.

“Five out of the last six nights is what you said, right? Sounds pretty serious.”

“To quote her roommate: ‘He must be something special since this is the most she’s been out of the apartment since move-in day’.” You were going to kill Suzy.

You grind out, “I’m not introducing you to any of my other friends if you’re going to use them against me.”

“If I remember correctly, you claimed you didn’t have any other-” The ringing of a telephone interrupts her. “Damn it, that’s mine.” She scoots out of the kitchen and you can hear her pick up the receiver. You zone out of the other womens’ discussion for a moment to hear Suzy say, “Who is this? Oh, hiiiii. How did you- Uh-huh.”

Tall, dark, and gorgeous Frances brings you back to the topic at hand. “Newbie, you need to give us the scuttlebutt.”

“Uh, I mean. . . I’ve been having a really nice time with him.”

“Get out of here with that dodginess. Come on, give us poor single girls something to hang onto.”

“Honestly, we’ve just been getting to know each other. We’ve had good conversations over dinner, walked around the park, perused some art galleries. It’s. . . been lovely. He’s a sweetheart.”

A chorus of “awwww!”s fills the room.

“You know we’re going to ask you a million questions, may as well give us as many details as you can now.”

Resigned to your fate you lean back in your chair, mentally searching for harmless information. “Umm. . . he’s from Brooklyn. He served with the army, was in Europe for the last few years. Has sisters, both parents still alive. Was a good student and an athlete. From how much he talks about his friends, he’s extremely loyal. But that’s really all I’ve got.”

“Sounds like a real dreamboat.”

“Did he give ya a smooch yet?” Connie asks around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Connie.” You know your flat tone won’t do a thing to discourage her.

“That’s a no.” She continues in a sing-song voice, “Which means it’s co-ming!”

“He hasn’t been affectionate at all?” Alice, the tiny shy one pipes up.

“He kissed my hand after our first date and I’ve gotten a few pecks on the cheek when he drops me back home. Usually when we walk and cross streets he holds my hand, or at least offers his arm.”

“A gentleman. That must be nice,” Millie, the baby of the bunch at 19, snorts.

“Do you not want to kiss him?” Connie, ever the one to get straight down to business.

You look down, can feel your heart beating fast. “I-I, uh. I. . . of course I want to kiss him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s not a problem. You’ve all seen him, you know he’s handsome. The moment just hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t want to force it and get nervous or weird.”

“You’re making me blush, Sixth Floor,” a smooth, deep voice brings the lunch-time chatter to a halt.

You turn so fast in your chair you think you may have given yourself whiplash.

The subject of your conversation is in the threshold of the breakroom, one shoulder propped against the door jam, hands full of a stunning bouquet of your favorite flowers. Suzy peers over his shoulder, ruby-red lips curled in a satisfied smirk.

You leap to your feet, smoothing down your skirt and patting your hair. “Buc-Hi!,” you say, your tone slightly shrill with embarrassment. “W-what are you doing here?!” Your face drops, thinking back to Flannery’s two warnings about male visitors in the office. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper-shout - as if the office manager would pop out from behind the sofa and catch you.

“Relax, Newbie. Flannery’s out at that executives lunch, remember?” Suzy steps even with Bucky, sharing a mischievous glance. “He wanted to surprise you so he enlisted the sneakiest dame to smuggle him in.”

“And I’ll forever be in your debt, ma’am,” Bucky banters, a cheeky grin in place.

Suzy eyes him up and down, then turns to look at you. “I like this one.” The room of women collapses into giggles at her brazenness.

“Watch yourself, Suze,” you playfully warn as you approach Bucky.

“For you, ma’am,” he offers the bouquet.

Breathing in the blooms you whisper, “You remembered.”

“‘Course I did,” he whispers back. “I called Suzy from the drug store across the street to see if the coast was clear. I wouldn’t just barge in with Mrs. Flannery on duty, I promise.”

“Well, are you going to introduce us to this delightful fella or not?” Dorothy titters.

You turn back to the room, flowers in one hand while the other sneaks into the crook of Bucky’s elbow. “Apparently you’ve met Suzy. But here we’ve got Charity, Frances, Alice, Millie, Dorothy, and Connie.” Each girl greets him in their own way, some smiling, some waving. Connie just stares at him.

“Ladies, this is Bucky.”

Connie lets out a small gasp. “Wait. Bucky Barnes?”

“Uh. . . yeah?” You’re slightly unnerved. Do they know each other?

“The Bucky Barnes?! Of the Howling Commandos?!” She’s on her feet, eyes wide.

You can feel Bucky stiffen beneath your hand before he shuffles his feet.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies lowly, directing his gaze to a fixed point on the floor.

Connie practically shrieks while several other girls’ eyebrows are raised, obviously affected by her words.

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh-“

“Connie, what are you going on about?” A wave of protectiveness washes over you, hand tightening on his arm.

“You have been going on dates with Bucky freakin’ Barnes and you haven’t known?!”

“Known what?”

“The Howling Commandos! Captain America!” She gestures wildly at your indifference. “Have you been living under a rock the last few years?”

“No, I’ve been living in a factory the last few years. We didn’t exactly sit around discussing the paper,” you can’t help the bite to your words, not enjoying her tone or Bucky’s unease.

He clears his throat. “My last few years of service, I was in a special operations unit.”

“With Captain America!” Connie exclaims, practically jumping up and down. “He’s, like, his childhood best friend!”

The girls go into a frenzy, talking over each other to ask questions or give compliments. Unsurprisingly, Connie’s voice silences everyone else’s.

“So. Is he single? Because he’s so cute, I really think we’d get along - I’m very patriotic and I-“

“I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s, uh- spoken for.”

“It’s the girl from the compass, isn’t it? I thought that’d be over by now. What if-“

Bucky interrupts her prattling. “Trust me - Connie, right? - that’s a bear you don’t wanna poke. It’s solid.”

“Oh.”

You had never seen Constance Adler deflate, but you’re pretty sure that’s what was happening now. She almost looks like a kicked puppy and normally you’d feel bad for her - if she hadn’t dropped a metaphorical bombshell on you.

“Bucky,” Suzy steps in, laying a hand on your shoulder, “We appreciate all you’ve done the last few years. Newbie, why don’t you show him your desk and find a vase for those flowers, yeah?”

You nod and tug Bucky out of the break room. Several steps down the hall you hear Suzy speaking in a hushed, stern tone she usually reserved for belligerent businessmen. Minutes ago, you wanted to strangle her for prodding you. But she was respectful of boundaries and definitely felt that one had been crossed. Now all you wanted was to wrap her in a hug of gratitude.

Your brain finally catches up to the new information you’ve just been given. Suddenly, Bucky made a lot more sense to you. Special operations meant specially horrible circumstances. Knowing now that he’d seen combat as well brought his struggles into sharp relief for you. And he had to handle everything in more of a public light than the average soldier.

“I’m sorry about that, Bucky. Connie can be . . . a lot.”

He shakes his head, rolls his shoulders. “Aw, it’s nothing. I’ve met worse.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and your heart stings for him. “I was going to tell you soon, I swear. That’s not how I wanted you to find out.”

“You don’t owe me a thing. We can talk about it later.” You reach your desk and empty a glass that held your pens and pencils, swapping them out for the flowers. “These really are gorgeous. You didn’t have to do this.”

He nods, shoving his hand into his pockets. “I know. But I wanted to. Hoped they’d brighten your desk.”

“Thank you, Bucky. This was. . . incredibly sweet of you,” you murmur, even though you’re the only two in the bullpen.

Finally, his smile seems genuine. “You’re welcome.” He takes a moment to survey the office, coming to perch against your desk. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s strange being on this side of the glass.”

“It’s strange having you on this side of the glass. Not that I mind,” you add quickly, terrified of saying the wrong thing. A beat passes, Bucky staring at the floor, you staring at the flowers.

With the barest hint of amusement Bucky finally speaks up. “So, you think I’m handsome, huh?”

Bringing your hands to cover your eyes you let out a groan, prompting a manly chuckle. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

“Nah, I’m flattered really. It’s not every day a fella like me hears that from the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Okay, calm down, sweet talker,” you playfully nudge an elbow into his shoulder. “Ya know. . . you could’ve at least told me your best friend was Captain America,” you tease.

He tosses his head back in mock disgust, jarring a strand of hair loose. “To be fair, I did mention him on our first date. Several times, in fact.”

“Because I was definitely supposed to make the connection between your scrawny friend who was gravely ill his entire life and America’s Hope.”

“I’m disappointed, frankly. Seems like a pretty easy jump to me, ma’am.”

“How could I ever make it up to you, sir?”

“There is something I had in mind. . .” He leans in close. “Dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’m gonna have to check my calendar, Barnes,” you sigh, nose inches away from his. Those blue eyes search your own before they flit to your lips for a split second.

The moment is ruined when Suzy barrels into the room.

“Red alert, red alert! Flannery’s coming!”

“WHAT!” You shout, jumping away from Bucky. “She’s not supposed to be back for another 20 minutes!”

“Well evidently she didn’t enjoy herself because I saw her out the window of the breakroom. If Flannery finds out he’s here, she’s gonna bust your chops.”

The sound of grinding gears from the elevator shaft drives the point home. You look between Suzy and Bucky, frozen in your spot, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea-” Bucky starts.

“No time, hide! GIRLS OUT HERE!” Suzy immediately takes control. A stampede arrives from the breakroom in response to Suzy’s urgent tone. “Flannery is on her way up. We need to get him out of this office without her seeing him. Run interference, hide him behind you, I don’t care - under no circumstances can he be caught, capiche?”

A chorus of ‘capiche’ answers her.

“You,” she points in your direction, “stay at your desk so she doesn’t suspect you.”

Ding.

The elevator doors sweep open before anyone can elaborate on the plan. Out the corner of your eye you see Bucky vault over your desk to remain unseen. Instantaneously a few typists congregate around you, the rest act as subtle “checkpoints” in a trail toward the stairs.

Suzy approaches Flannery, who stands ominously at the front of the office, suspicion wrinkling her forehead. “Flanny, you’re back!”

“Susan-”

“Aw, you know I hate my full name. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Suzy?” Your friend stands directly in front of her, blocking the view to your desk.

You lean down, catching Bucky’s eye. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, doll,” he winks up at you, then turns to crouch-crawl to the next desk.

“I assume as many times as I have to tell you never to call me ‘Flanny’,” you hear the office manager practically growl.

“Of course, yes ma’am. Lunch go good?” Alice and Dorothy converge to talk over a file to cover Bucky’s journey to the next desk.

“Lunch went well, yes.”

Dorothy waves Frances over, evidently needing her opinion on the wording of a letter. Sheltered behind their skirts they walk Bucky to Millie’s desk which happens to sit adjacent to an enormous filing cabinet. Your window washer ducks behind it, allowing the typists to shift around - doing their best to avoid moving like a herd.

“So why the rush back?” Suzy follows Flannery to the front desk, watching Bucky’s progress surreptitiously.

“I can only handle so much male arrogance in one sitting.”

“Oh, I hear that. Say, I think that mold may be back in the breakroom, I swear I saw a spot of something.” Suzy raises her voice, “Wanna come with me to check it out?”

Flannery sighs deeply, tucking her handbag into a desk drawer. “I suppose.”

This was it. Suzy continues jabbering at Flannery, walking side by side with her. She jerks her head toward the stairwell door and Frances whispers to Bucky, “Go, go, go!”

He’s on his feet but still bent at the waist, booking it to the door.

“Wait,” Flannery turns on her heel back toward the front. Everyone sucks a breath in, thinking Bucky’s been sighted. At the syllable he had dropped to his knees and slid across the floor - landing with his back flat against the front side of Flannery’s desk. Eyes wide, you watch Flannery stride to the desk, reaching beneath it to pull out a glass bottle. “The janitors gave me a chemical mixture they used on it last time.” She was mere inches from Bucky - if she had the super-sonar hearing everyone accused her of she would definitely have heard his heart beating out of his chest.

With the bottle in hand she takes a few steps back into the bullpen before taking stock of everyone’s tension. “What’s going on?” she asks. On his tiptoes Bucky creeps to the stairwell door. Just a few more steps and we’re home-free, you try to calm yourself. Flannery makes to turn back to the front; at that point everyone was certain your job was done-for. At the last moment Connie lets out a deafening screech.

All eyes are on her, including Flannery. Then she screams, “RAT!” Every typist in the room follows suit, insisting they saw it too, hopping up on their chairs or desks.

Bucky reaches the stairwell and with one more wink in your direction, he disappears.

You breathe a deep sigh of relief from your seat atop your desk. You turn to Connie and mouth “Thank you”. She nods in return and says silently, “Sorry”.

“Ladies, ladies! Calm down! It’s just an animal!” Your office manager is absolutely fed up with this day, with these women, with this job. Quiet descends on the bullpen. “What has gotten you all ridiculously hysterical today?” The stairwell door clicks shut, causing Flannery to spin in its direction. She scans the face of every person, looking for someone to break. Much to your satisfaction, everyone is stoic.

It’s in this moment that you find yourself genuinely glad to be in this office with these women. Every one stepped up to save your job, your livelihood. And everyone was excited about this new relationship once they saw how happy you’d been. If your adrenaline hadn’t been pumping wildly you might have had to hold back tears.

But then Flannery is walking up to your desk. She gestures to the flowers Bucky had brought you. “And where did these come from?”

Suzy swoops in. “Her mother called in to have them delivered, isn’t that precious of her?”

“Is today a special occasion?”

“No ma’am, just because,” you shrug, stroking a few petals.

Flannery hums in a tone that says she isn’t entirely convinced. “Alright Susan. Show me where you saw the mold.”

“Right this way, Flanny.”

The pair disappears into the breakroom and every typist slumps and groans.

“That’s all the excitement I need for the next week,” Alice pants, hand to her chest.

Charity throws a smirk in your direction. “Newbie, that boy is trouble in the best kind of way.”

“You’re not wrong, Charity.” You turn to the flower arrangement again. “You’re not wrong.”

Chapter Seven

Tags:

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #beka writes #Chapter Six

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petuniapinkpink · 6 years

Text

My FrUK Gift Exchange Fic for @nyroom-The Snowy Afternoon Off (rated PG except for language)

@nyroom

“France, when can I take off this bloody blindfold? I’d like to not feel as if I’m in a hostage situation,” England grumbled from the passenger seat. Across his face he had a silk dark purple sleeping mask. Francis had to chuckle at the fact that as much as his boyfriend clearly destested the mask, he wasn’t do anything to attempt to remove it. Complaining without taking action would have to do for those docile British people, it seemed.

“What the hell’s so funny, frog?”

“Well, rosbif, you’re actually in a hostage situation-you’re a hostage to my love and to Noel!” France responded with a cheerful smile.

“First of all, it’s Christmas, you twat”, England clearly wasn’t pleased with the response as he started trying to fish his phone out of his pocket. France noticed this.

“What, are you trying to call your American sugar daddy for help so he can pelt me with paper towels?”

“No, America and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye a lot of the time recently,” Arthur sighed, “One day he has his wits about him and the next, he thinks the tossers in Washington are single-handedly saving the country. It’s going to be a rough few years.” England was quiet for a moment, then he raised his head a bit. “But he’s not my sugar daddy, or did you mean to tell me that Germany’s your sugar daddy, France?”

“At least the Germans have their heads screwed on tight, unlike your dear son across the Atlantic.”

“And it’s a good thing that is so, because otherwise Europe would be covered with silly ornate hats and wine bottles all strewn about.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing-or at least worse than knockoff Burberry plaid and platters of fish and chips.”

“I was comparing you and Germany.”

“Because you clearly see yourself as an extension of North America.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do.”

“Do not.”

“I’ve always wanted a North American boyfriend, you know that rosbif?”

“You ran the light. I heard the other cars stop behind us. What’ll the police say when they see me in a blindfold?”

“Okay, you got me, rosbif. Take off the blindfold. You get to see for the rest of the trip.” France looked to his passenger only to notice a police officer speeding up on a motorcycle behind them in the light snow. England was right, he had broken the law and now could be arrested for it. That would surely put in the gutter all his fun plans for their day off from work.

“Stop the car,” the officer called in French.

France did as he thought he was ordered, pulling their car to the side of the street, and took out his driver’s license. The police motorcycle weaved right past him and sped up further in hot pursuit of another car they hadn’t noticed earlier due to their bickering. Both blondes looked at the motorcycle and at each other with dumbfoundment.

“Wow. I suppose today’s a bit busy,” England commented. France re-entered the traffic flow and continued driving.

About 45 minutes later, the couple’s car was entering the French countryside. England had a faint thought that his beau would stop the car at some Godforsaken shed or cottage in the middle of some bare trees or farm fields, bring him in to an inexplicably-placed feast of French holiday sweets, somehow turn on a roaring fire in the shed despite all logic suggesting it wasn’t possible, and beg England to make love in that shed before they drove back into Paris to get back to where they worked. It sounded so random and incredibly uncouth but at the same time totally French and more than a bit appealing to the stressed-out softie, and he couldn’t help but grin a bit at the thought.

The reality would be a bit different from that.

England’s smile dropped as he saw that France was pulling their car into the lot of a very small country store, about one or two little buildings very close to each other. The buildings had openings in the sides so that even people on the road could easily see the merchandise for sale inside. Around the buildings there was a white fence with horizontal planks that needed repainting, nothing special. Behind the buildings, England could see a small lot with pine trees in it under a white canopy. The whole property had white Christmas lights and evergreen wreaths hung around it. He heard the engine of the car stop.

France looked genuinely excited as he ran around to the other side of the car to open the door for England. England wasn’t one to throw a big tantrum about things that would cause more upset than they were worth (well, outside EU meetings, anyway), but at the same time he also wasn’t going to feign ectatic joy when there was none there. France was concerned when he opened the door to see his love wearing a scowl of quiet disappointment upon his face.

“I already have a tree, frog. Why’d you take me Christmas tree shopping? You aren’t all that fond of Christmas trees.” To be honest, France was a little surprised hurt at his love’s brusque reaction to his plans. It wasn’t that he was unprepared for the blunt disappointment, it was that…...he thought England would love hanging out with him around a Christmas tree lot and appreciate his old rival buying him a tree. England had taken quite the shining to Christmas trees after his Queen Victoria brought one to her palace in the mid-1800s, and even back in the 19th century France remembered England gushing over bringing in and decorating an evergreen every year. Sure, because he really wasn’t one for Christmas trees himself France didn’t have the best grasp of when to get a Christmas tree, but Germany and Prussia only got theirs in mid-December due to how busy they were, and England was a fair bit more laid-back and disorganized than the German brothers were, so surely the rosbif would get his tree about a week before Christmas, right? Oh, he had to come up with something else to do other than buy England a Christmas tree.

France thought quickly to recover the afternoon.

“Mmmm…..how about we go look in the shop and get some mulled wine if it’s available, hmm? I know you like wine even if you’ll only admit to liking sherry and port.” The other blonde looked at France with a somewhat perkier look on his face.

“I mean, you did drive me out here, France, which was awfully nice of you. We might as well take a look at this admittedly somewhat charming little country shop.” France grinned with joy and offered England his hand in an exaggerated gentlemanly stance. England had to suppress a snort of laughter as he undid his seat belt and rose up to meet the blonde waiting for him like a prince.

After England shut the car door and France made sure the car was locked, it was off into the shop while holding hands.

When they stepped into the shop, sure enough there was a plugged-in metal container dispensing hot mulled wine by the counter.

“Oooh, let me pay for some mulled wine for you! ‘Tis the season to be generous, honhon!”

France strode up to the counter and asked the mustachioed older male cashier forr two cups to get mulled wine in French. While France was paying for the wine England looked around the shop with a bit of a giddy smile on his face. Only France would think to make a date out of driving to some random country store and hour’s drive outside Paris. Only France would be able to make driving to some random country store an hour’s drive outside Paris enjoyable enough to be a date.

Cups of steaming mulled wine in hand, the two men walked over to a display of various artisan honeys. England noted how much the honeys varied in color and in how gritty they were. France glimpsed England’s befuddlement and smiled warmly at him.

“You know that there are multiple ways to make honey, right rosbif?”

“Yes, I totally understand that, you who is the only beekeeping country on the entire planet,” England playfully scoffed at him.

Out of the corner of England’s eye he noticed the cashier looking dismayed at something that was going on outside in the tree lot and rushing outside to fix it. He patted France’s thigh to alert him to the fact. France looked at England. England raised his massive eyebrows and lowered his eyelids.

“France…”

“England?”

The guy with the prominent eyebrows lowered his voice to a seductive whisper.

“We should totally sneak a peck on the lips before the cashier comes back.”

“Ah, yes, I was just about to ask myself. But….how do we know how long we have before the man walks back in?”

“We don’t. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish.” With that England wrapped his arm around the Frenchman, pulled him in close with one arm around his waist and the other holding a hand that gently cradled the back of his head, and gave him a tender smooch on the lips. France smiled as wide as he could into the kiss from how happy he was that his love had initiated the gesture first in addition to just how warm and cheerful the whole situation was. He tried hard to restrain a moan from the Brit grabbing into his long locks a bit so their kiss didn’t sound too lewd to whoever else was on the premises.

This was what heaven felt like. This was an amazing way to spend a mildly snowy afternoon a week before Christmas.

England pulled back to gaze into France’s eyes and tell him, “Thank you for bringing me here and buying the wine, France. Happy early Christmas, frog.”

“You’re welcome and you too, rosbif, you too.”

Scarcely a second passed before the two drew each other into another heady kiss. For as much as France liked to make fun of England for being clueless at romance and sex, Mr. Thickbrows sure knew how to lock lips. Plus it was Germany who was the big virginal klutz when it came to that stuff, anyways.

Thankfully, no one seemed to take notice of them kissing. The cashier ended up dealing with the tree lot problem for about 15 or 20 minutes outside. By that time he came in England and France had made sure to wind it down so that they just looked somewhat like a pair of brothers in the store.

#fruk #fruk gift exchange #fruk gift exchange 2017 #i wrote this in a single draft #beating Christmas by one day isn't bad right?

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glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 7 years

Text

[14] Glitch in the System - Chelsea Morning (The Mission: Pt. 3)

By K. A smooch(!) happens. Chapter title is a reference to Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning", which you can peep here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_y7O06z77Q.

–

Widowmaker wasted little time in procuring an audience with Akande inasmuch as she offered him no say in the matter. She stewed the entire flight from Milan to Venice, punctuating the assistance she offered their medic with sporadic reprieves to the observation deck. There, alone, the sniper paced in silence as she struggled with with the unplaceable, coursing adrenaline that fueled her restlessness and left her balling fists so tight they left tender, narrow crescents along the inside of her palms. Even devoid of the ability to connect with it on a cognitive level, she recognized the physiological manifestation of what, in anyone else, would be anger. Unfortunately, Talon’s air transport offered little in the way of outlets for that frustration; instead, she grabbed her comms device on one of her trips between the medical bay and observation deck and dialed Doomfist’s number with as much deliberate force as the screen could withstand.

“What?” he asked, irritation filtering through static space with digitized crispness.

“We are going to talk,” Widowmaker commanded flatly. “ETA 1930. D’accord?”

“Lacroix-,” Akande began, but she hung up before he could respond. It felt strangely vindicating.

After seeing Sombra to her room and tipping the medic generously, Widowmaker crossed to the eastern wing of the estate, ignoring evening greetings from other agents as she transitioned from the relative quietude of the west side to the bustling heart of their current operation. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to the second floor and shouldered straight through Akande’s office door without so much as a knock.

Doomfist rose from behind his desk in acknowledgement.

“I don’t much appreciate being hung up on,” he said, setting aside a handful of papers as he stepped around the edge of the desk.

“I do not much appreciate being sent on fool’s errands,” Widowmaker replied, light and clipped as she closed the door behind her.

“Excuse me?”

“Fool’s errands,” she repeated, giving the words enough space to emphasize the accusation. “You knew it was a trap. We all did.”

Akande stood unmoving as she approached, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen slacks; as always, an impossible read. Widowmaker gave her imprecation a wide berth, locking eyes with Doomfist as she waited.

“What do you want?” Akande asked calmly, his expression unwavering. The sniper inclined her chin, searching his face for any indication of intent and, unsurprisingly, finding nothing.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I want’?” she asked.

“I fucked up,” he replied matter-of-factly. “No way around it. What do you want?”

Widowmaker pursed her lips, brows knitting thoughtfully. Her first inclination was to suspect foul play, and if Doomfist were anyone else, that reflex would be warranted. Akande, however, made good on his reputation as a man true to his word; as long as loyalty or the impression thereof was maintained, he rarely, if ever, leaned on deceit where it was unnecessary. In this regard, he was as transparent in his communication as he was opaque in his tactical decisions.

“Lacroix?” he asked, expectantly.

“Two weeks,” she replied. “Sombra, too. No questions. Expenses paid.”

Akande, eyebrows raised, tilted his head. “And?”

The assassin shrugged. “That’s all. Give me that and I forget this mission ever happened. Y’en a plus.”

“Done,” Doomfist nodded. “Make your arrangements, give me a ballpark estimate, and we’ll wire the funds. Give our girl a week to get back on her feet and the next two are yours. Then we put this behind us.”

He extended a hand.

“Put what behind us?” Widowmaker asked, accepting the agreement with a single, firm handshake. Relinquishing his grip, the sniper turned toward the door.

“Knock next time,” Akande called after her.

“There had better not be a next time,” she concluded with a single, backwards glance.

All things considered, the breakfast Widowmaker managed to cobble together from their haphazard pantry was surprisingly robust. As the last of the toast decreed its readiness with a chirp and mechanically-bolstered leap into the air, she plated it and considered her work. It was heavy by her standards, possibly even excessive: eggs with goat cheese and a variety of sautéed vegetables, bacon, toast, fresh berries, yogurt, and, to her continuous chagrin, the same overly sweet cereal Sombra favored despite infinitely more complex and healthful offerings. Still, given the circumstances, the spread felt somehow insufficient. Lacking.

She turned abruptly toward the fridge, scanning its contents.

Champagne.

Orange juice.

“Parfait.”

The medic had told her liquor was a poor idea - that nanotechnology expedited recovery but that soreness and pain would persist even after the wound was mended. For that lingering discomfort, he prescribed a relatively small but powerful regimen of painkillers for the ensuing week, offering the caveat that it be taken with food and to avoid drinking.

Popping the cork on the champagne, she scoured the cabinets for a flute and found only juice and pint glasses - both gauche in their own respects, but her options were limited. Settling for the latter, she poured the sparkling wine into the glass in equal parts with the juice and decided that what the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She knew she’d want a drink, were she in Sombra’s place.

She set the glass beside the dry cereal and adjacent cup of milk, shouldered the tray on which her work was arranged, and made her way through the hall toward Sombra’s room. She passed Gabriel en route, shushing him with a raised finger before he could so much as snicker.

“Just don’t,” she glowered. “Not today.”

Biting back whatever opening volley he’d prepared, Reaper rolled his eyes as loudly as possible before ducking around the corner.

Widowmaker continued uninterrupted, shifting the tray to her left shoulder as she approached the hacker’s door. She knocked lightly, lest her injured colleague still be asleep; even under that light touch, however, the door gave way with a slow, creaky groan.

“Manda huevos, doc,” Sombra whined from within. “If you’re here to check on me one more time—.”

The sniper poked her head through the door, quirking a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

Propped up in bed with the aid of a collection of pillows, Sombra acknowledged the sniper with a tired half-smile and the ghost of a chuckle. “I honestly have no idea,” the hacker conceded, brushing a few strands of wayward hair from her face with her unencumbered hand. Her opposite arm was cradled in a sling which the medic ensured them was only necessary for the day or two required for the nanites to work their magic. That aside, the only other evidence of their failed mission and the injury incurred therein was the swathe of bandages creeping above the neck of her shirt and the softness exhaustion lended her usually sharp features.

“You coming in or what?” she asked.

Widowmaker obliged, slipping through the door with care before bumping it shut with her hip. Sunshine illuminated the typically darkened room, throwing its light across the walls and bed in a wild, radiant pane that made the hacker’s room somehow more inviting than usual - warm, lived-in, soft. She had opened the curtains as she left the evening prior, to Sombra’s chagrin, insisting sunlight would do her well, even if only to bolster her mood. Ironic, coming from her.

“You didn’t,” Sombra started, violet eyes hovering on the tray.

“I did,” the assassin replied, crossing to the bedside and setting the tray on the adjacent nightstand.

“Araña.”

“Quoi?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Widowmaker retorted, offering her the mimosa by the rim of the glass. Sombra accepted, lifting it to her nose and sniffing with a knowing smirk.

“I missed,” Widowmaker continued quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. “I missed and you were injured because of it. Breakfast in bed is the very least I could do, and it is far from enough.”

Her admission, even coupled with the offering of breakfast, felt inadequate, a poor conveyance of the heaviness that settled in her chest and stayed there even after the weight of that dead soldier was long removed. Widowmaker wasn’t sure what to call it - guilt was the most obvious choice, but there was a complexity to this burden she struggled to parse, a collection of independent sentiments informing its composition. Failure was among them, redolent in its vicious poignancy, its blistering sharpness the only thing that had been required to reduce her to her basest, violent instincts. But there were other inclinations there, present only in her interactions with the hacker, warm and embarrassingly tender despite the cold baseline by which she was programmed to operate.

Now, sitting beside Sombra as the sun threw its light beneath her sleep-tousled hair, Widowmaker wasn’t sure a name was necessary.

“Would you like to go to France? With me?” she asked abruptly.

Sombra blinked, midway through raising a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. “Que?”

“My family owns a château outside of Annecy. Beautiful, but mostly abandoned. I was thinking some renovations were in order.”

“Let me know when you get the time,” the hacker shrugged. “I’d go.”

“We have the time.”

Sombra tilted her head, curious. “Go on.”

“I ah,” Widowmaker began, a shy grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, “I may have secured us a few weeks’ vacation effective whenever you are feeling well.”

For a long, unbroken moment, Sombra simply stared at her. Eventually, she set the bowl of cereal aside and reached out with her good hand, curling a loose fist in the knit of the taller woman’s sweater and tugging gently.

“What?” Widowmaker asked, allowing herself to be pulled closer.

“I want to kiss you.”

“You are hurt,” she protested, even as she rolled onto one arm and settled at the hacker’s side.

“It’s a kiss, araña, not a boxing match.”

Widowmaker smiled, small but sincere as she leaned into the hacker’s grip and pressed her lips to Sombra’s, sinking into the warmth she found there that was unfamiliar and welcoming in equal measure.

They lingered a long moment even after breaking apart, nothing between them but the space of their breath and ghost of Sombra’s grin against her own.

“You don’t have a garden at this place, do you?” the spy asked with the faintest brush of teeth against her bottom lip.

“No gardening. Promise.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #widowmaker x sombra #sombra x widowmaker #sombra #widowmaker #overwatch #overwatch fic #overwatch fandom #fanfic #glitch in the system #glitchfic #amélie lacroix

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