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qyllenhaal · 3 years

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Good Wives Club [2]

Lee Bodecker x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 4.2k.

Spin-off to American Pie

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Summary: It's been more than a year since she's escaped the ghost of her past but life is never fair to a girl like her. Lee doesn't care that she has a husband, a nice house, and sugary fake friends, he wants what's rightfully his.

Warnings (series): Cheating, smut, violence, housewife kink, period-typical misogyny, age gap (about a ten year difference), manipulation, dark themes all around.

A/N: If anyone wants to be added to future tag list just let me know!

Y/n woke up at 5am with a dry mouth and her head spinning. Her night has been plagued with restlessness and she couldn't stay still. When she did fall asleep, it was for small periods of time. Each time she woke up she was not aware of where she was for the first five seconds, panic almost setting in before she registered the sound of her husband snoring.

The end of her irregular sleep cycle ended because she saw the hallway light was on. She sighed when realized it must be time for her husband to get ready for work. She virtually got no sleep and she'll probably be tired for the rest of the day.

She gets up from their creaky bed and starts walking down the hallway. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the brightness as she slowly plods down the hallway. She follows the light to the bathroom where she can hear her husband getting ready for work. On the days he goes in this early Y/n is relieved that she doesn't have to get up and cook breakfast for him.

The door is cracked but she opens it to find him inside. She situates herself in the doorway, watching him shave his face through the mirror.

"Good morning," he spoke with a scratchy voice. Even though Y/n didn't marry Llewellyn for love, she's still attracted to him and likes his company most of the time. She feels an ache inside of her that wants him to take her, but after running into Lee last night she's afraid she won't be able to get Lee's face out of her mind while beneath her husband.

"Good morning. Going in early?"

"Yep. Dad wants to do inventory today since he put it off last week."

"Oh okay," she accepts quietly, ready to leave her husband alone so he can get ready in peace.

However he asks her a surprising question, "hey, did you enjoy last night?"

"Uh, it was fine I guess. Did you?" Her hope is that he at least enjoyed himself somewhat.

"You know I don't like that super fancy stuff like that, but I have to eat crow; it wasn't all that bad and Bodecker's not as bad as I thought. He's kind of a funny guy. I still think he's not as hard on crime like everyone claims he is, but personally, he's not that bad. Florence was nice too. She invited us to dinner on Wednesday night, apparently that's the only night Lee has off. I told her we'd be able to join them."

The turn of events was shocking. Y/n couldn't believe her ears and she thought maybe she indeed was still asleep. Lou was not fond of many people and his only "friends" were his two brothers so him warming up to Lee and Florence left her speechless. So speechless that she didn't register the fact that he accepted a dinner invite for them.

"What?"

"What do you mean ‘what’? You dragged me to that dinner last night and wanted me to be nice, and now you're confused when I do just that?"

"I-I'm not confused...just shocked," she admits truthfully, "I can't believe you want to go to someone’s house who isn't your mother house for dinner —are you sure you want to go?"

"We're going Y/n."

His tone of voice indicates that the conversation is done and over with and the decision has been made. Y/n didn't even get to contest his decision but Lou can tell when Y/n is in a defiant mood. Her folding her arms and walking away was confirmation for him. She stalks her way back to the bedroom where she takes to hiding under the covers.

Lee and Lou under the same roof — it makes her stomach churn just to think about it. They're wildly different from each other but the thing she hates about them is what they have in common.

All she can hope is that this nightmare ends and she wakes back up to a life without Lee's ghost lingering around.

She decided to go with a floral dress again. She really wanted to take out the checkerboard dress that made her legs look good and showed off her arms, but Lou would have made her change before she had the chance to step out of the house. The floral print is dizzying, but it's the kind of dress that Lou likes to see her wear.

It's just a small dinner at the Bodecker's house but Y/n opts for kitten heels instead of sensible flats. She feels obligated to look her best despite there being less people to dress for. She's never been alone with Florence save for that day at the grocery store. Florence is always dressed to the 10's and Y/n needs to look just as good, if not better. She claims to hate Lee, but it would be so satisfying if she caught Lee ogling her breasts.

"Are you ready?"

Y/n thought Lou was too dressed up for a home dinner of four. He wore a pinstriped suit and those nice leather shoes he bought himself around the holidays.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighs in an attempt to let off some steam.

It was a shorter drive than Y/n expected. Florence hadn't disclosed where she lived before, but Brewer Heights wasn't that for them to live at a distance. The sun was nearly dipped over the horizon and the remaining light that hits their house makes it look like a model home. Everything little aspect and detail Y/n was going to compare herself too. She lives in a nice house, but Florence lives in a nicer house. It tears her up knowing she has the ultimate upper hand over Florence in the form of her own husband and she can't even act upon it. She would royally fuck up her life and their lives too if she decide to let her jealousy get the best of her.

As she walks up their stairs as another man's wife, she accepts that she is jealous. She's always been jealous of Florence even when she didn't know her name. What made her so worthy of all of these things? Lee used to act like he hates the woman so she must be a bitch behind closed doors. It wouldn't be surprising if she is because most people in this town will smile in your face and then gossip about you a minute later.

Lou knocks on the door and only a second later Florence is opening the door with a big smile on her face and Lee right next to her. He wore his police uniform without the jacket while Florence looked like a Lilly Pulitzer catalog girl.

It only took one millisecond of their eyes locking together for Y/n to feel the electricity between her and Lee. She drags her eyes away from his, but she can bet that he has a smirk on her face. He always liked to see her squirm; in a good and bad way.

"Y/n, Llewellyn! I'm so glad you could make it! Why don't you come on in," Florence steps to the side, nudging Lee over with her, to make way for Y/n and her husband.

Her eyes scan over every inch of their house. It's warm, cozy, and oddly comforting. Everything little thing was in its place; perfectly dusted and polished. Y/n is sure that Lee had no hand in decorating this place, it screams Florence through and through.

"Dinner is almost ready. I started the scalloped potatoes a little too late, but it should be done soon! Y/n, do you want to help me set the table?"

Y/n didn't want to leave her husband alone with Lee, but she also didn't want to be in the room with just them. She nods at Florence and follows behind her to their kitchen.

The house smells like Lou's parent's house on holidays. Y/n's stomach rumbles and she doesn't realize how hungry she was. She despises herself for wanting Florence's cooking, but she barely ate today because of how nervous she was.

"I already laid out the place mates, you can place the plates and silverware."

Y/n picks up the expensive dining ware that Florence points towards. She wonders if Florence cooks like this all the time, even when Lee works well into the night.

The walls of their dining room have an awful floral pattern. Y/n is beginning to become sick at the sight of anything that pertains to flowers. The cedar table is perfect for accommodating guests and Y/n wonders how many dinner parties they had in this room. Florence seems to put a lot of stock into being a good hostess. Y/n herself has yet to throw a dinner party at her home, but setting the plates on someone else's dining room table feels like practice. She silently imagines her house filled with Lou's family as she cooks dinner for them.

Florence enters the room and starts placing the dishes in the middle of the table. Her presence takes Y/n out of her fantasy, and when she sees how Florence made a 3-course-meal she feels worse.

"Does the food look good? I tried some new recipes from Julia Child's cookbook to try to impress you and Llewellyn," she admits, "I wasn't sure what you two would like, but Lee loves when I make those recipes from Julia Child and I bet Llewellyn would love it too! I could lend you the book some time!"

"Of course. I love her work!" Y/n lies straight through her teeth. She has no clue who the hell Julia Child is.

Florence grabs one last thing before calling the husbands into the dining room. She places one beer on the coasters designated for Lee and Lou. Lou has never been much of a drinker, but she knows that Lee can knock down a few beers in one sitting. He might be on his best behavior tonight in front of his wife and company.

"Dinner's ready!" Florence called out.

Y/n took her seat on the right side of the table and Florence sat opposite of her. Their husbands come walking in laughing as if they were young boys sneaking back into the house during a family get together. Y/n doesn't like it; she doesn't like it at all. They look too cheery with each other and she knows that Lee is doing it on purpose — she can see it in his eyes when he quickly glances at her. He takes pride in making her uncomfortable. Y/n wishes she had that same affect on him to scare him off a bit, but no matter how chummy she gets with Florence, Lee looks unbothered.

Florence stands up from her seat as if she's presenting the food on the table to an audience. Everything is placed perfectly with the main dish being the middle of the smaller plates.

"This looks great honey, you made a whole feast," Lee walked up to Florence's side and kissed on the cheek. Y/n's eyes are trained on his hand snaking around her waist and giving her a light squeeze before letting go. When she pulls her eyes away from his hands, she sees that Florence almost looks shocked at her husband's affection; Lee is definitely putting on a show for Y/n and it's a damn good one.

Lee sits opposite of Lou and the first thing he does is open his beer. The food isn't even on plates anymore and he's drinking.

"I hope you like Schmidt's, Llewellyn. Lee loves it so it's all we have in the house."

"I'm not one to drink beer often, but I'll try it. And call me Lou, Florence."

Lou was acting out of his normal character. Him only interacting with his family and Y/n left him a bit awkward in the presence of others, but around Florence and Lee he seems to be much...warmer. If Lee was someone else then Y/n would be over the moon, but because it's him she can't even force herself to even look happy about it.

Y/n takes note of how Florence places portions of food on Lee's plate. They were small portions too. She was always strict about what he ate and how much he drank. She's surprised Florence is letting him drink tonight, but she must be trying to look nicer in front of guests.

Y/n was not as controlling as Florence. She always let Lou fix his plate to his liking. She thought it made her a good wife for letting her husband make his own decisions. But Y/n felt a tap on her shoulder after she finished making her own plate. He looked down at his empty plate before looking back at her and nodded towards the food.

"Y/n," he tries to whisper but his tone is rather harsh.

"What?" She whispers back in true confusion.

"My plate."

He looked at her as if she was crazy, as if it was a common occurrence for her to fix his plate. She starts to scramble to save herself from further embarrassment, the sound of silverware against plates so loud. She can feel the stares coming from the other side of the table but she doesn't dare look up.

Her skin began to grow hot. Her husband had embarrassed her in front of Lee and Florence. The worst part was when Florence tried to change the subject to something lighthearted to pull the attention off of Y/n. She felt small and useless. Lou never expected her to fix his plate, but he looked at her as if she was crazy for not doing so. She didn't want to spend dinner almost in tears. This changed behavior in her husband is giving her whiplash and making her dizzy.

"So, Y/n, did you enjoy the other night?"

"It was really nice Florence," she replies sheepishly.

"Susie and I put so much work into planning it. You should join us next time! We're going to start working on the fundraising events for Lee's next campaign-"

"Let's not talk about that tonight Florence," Lee interrupts. It was a moment that would've left Y/n embarrassed if she was in Florence's shoes but Florence was much better at masking her emotions. Only for a split second can Y/n see Florence flinch at his interjection before she just smiles.

"Sorry Lee, you know how excited I get about those things," she masks her apology in a cheery voice.

Dinner basically became a probe of Y/n and Lou's relationship. Florence wanted to know how they met, when they got married, how long they had been together, and what their future plans together were. Y/n let Lou answer the last question by herself because she genuinely didn't know what their future plans were. Lou usually wakes up and decides what major life change they're going to undertake, that's what happened when he decided to move to Brewer Heights.

When the topic of work came up, Y/n thought the coast was clear. Lou talked extensively about the work he does with his father and what his plan is for the next five years regarding the business.

"Once my father retires I'll have to hire someone to do his job. I didn’t go study in school after high school so I can't take over his position, even though it would make things easier."

"I'm sure you can find someone. I know it's rare for someone to leave the city and come to this little town, but Brewer Heights is always a nice incentive!"

"It is nice here," Lou agrees, "and it's quiet. We were in Meade before which is okay-"

"But, it's nothing like Brewer Heights," Florence interjects. "So, Y/n, what did you do before meeting Lou?"

Lee had not looked her way since the plate-fixing incident but his eyes were sure on her now. If his mouth wasn't stuffed with food he'd be grinning from ear to ear waiting for her answer. He knows she's not a good liar, but she's going to have to come up with something.

"I helped my mom with her business. She used to sell fruit preserves out of the house before she passed."

It wasn't a complete lie. She did help her mother label her jars, but that became less frequent when her hours picked up at Tecumseh. Her parents didn't know about her job either; she told them she was a waitress and it was a safe lie seeing as they didn't go out to diners.

"I'm sorry for your loss, I'm sure she was a lovely woman if she raised such a lovely daughter! Have you ever thought of continuing her business?"

"Not really. It was pretty small. I still make the preserves sometimes for Lou and I."

"If you wouldn't mind, would you be interested in making some for us one day? You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's just so hard to find any good fruit preserves around town." Florence's social habits were very transparent once you were around her for long; she tends to make it impossible for people to say no to her by making them feel bad about even possibly saying no.

"I'd love to Florence. I have fresh peaches at home and I can make peach preserves."

"Oh I'd love that so much," she fawns, "a jar for me and a jar for Lee! He loves his sweets."

"I'm not too big on peaches, Flo. You know I like cherries more."

"You always have," she leans into him and pats him on the chest before straightening up again.

The audacity of Lee is astounding, however not only is he a cop, he's the sheriff. It's such a cowardly move to pick at Y/n when she can't react, but what someone would call cowardly, he'd call fun. She looks like she wants to disappear from her spot and it scratches an itch for him. He missed seeing her get flustered and if he'd known that it would be much more enjoyable to taunt her while his wife was around, he would have found a reason a long time ago to bring her around.

And as if the night couldn't be more humiliating for her, Lou finished his plate before anyone else. He devoured the food on his plate, like a starved man. Y/n felt embarrassed when her husband went for seconds. He never eats this much at home, even when she makes his favorite meals. It makes her want to reach across the dinner table and smack Florence in the face. She hates her; she hates that she has to smile in her face and be friends with her. It's her own fault for continuing this "friendship" with Florence, but her rage makes her blind to her own faults.

She could ruin Florence's life with one sentence: "I've been fucking your husband for years." She'd cause a scene but it would be so gratifying.

Instead she just shuts her mouth and lets dinner continue without anymore incidents.

Y/n thought it would show she was grateful for dinner if she helped Florence with the dishes. She was glad to accept Y/n's help and the two spent their time in the kitchen while Lee and Lou sat on the back porch. With Lee's influence, Lou took another drink out back with him. Y/n wondered what they had to talk about, but she would truly not like to know.

"Your wife cooks like that every night, sheriff?"

"Enough with the title. And she cooks every night, but she went a little overboard since she was happy with having guests," he tells him. If it was anybody else, Lee would just answer the questions and not have any for himself. However, he really wants to know what Y/n has been up to since she's adopted this new image. "How about Y/n? Does she cook for you like that?"

"Not at all. She tries, but she's not the good of a cook," he brings the alcohol up to his lips before pulling away and sighing, "she tries but it's just not her best."

"Her mother didn't teach her how to cook?"

"I don't know much about her family. Her mother was dead when I met her and her father doesn't seem to be doing so well. They're from the same area as my folks but moved when they had Y/n. Maybe she was just too spoiled considering she's an only child."

Y/n's past was a mystery to Lee too, but he's surprised to learn she hasn't opened up to her husband. All he knows is that whether it was her home life or not, something had messed her up and it was almost made worse by her time at Tecumseh. He isn't sure how she made it out, but so much of her old life still bleeds through.

"You know I thought I was getting a good girl. One that would clean and have dinner ready when I get home," Lou continued.

Lee wanted to laugh in his face. Lou is proof that you can come from a smart family and still be dumb as rocks. How could he not know what type of girl Y/n was when he first laid eyes on her? She'd dress just like his sister Sandy; shorts that suffered from mistreatment over the years and a sleeveless blouse that was always stained. He's sure her hair was mussed up that day too. Many people would mistake her for a whore (which many people did see her as one even though she didn't outright sell her body to anyone).

"It can't be that bad," Lee tried to vouch for his former lover. Even he can name some good qualities about her; they just don't include any wifely qualities.

"It's not, but things could be better. Anytime I tell her to shape-up she gets this timid look on her face and flinches a little bit. I try to be nice and gentle but I'm losing my patience with her. I’m not looking to leave her, but what’s the point of marrying a woman who can’t do anything? She won’t even talk to me about having kids — was Florence ever like this?”

“No. Her family is from here so she’s been primed to be a housewife. But I will say it’s not all that fun havin’ a doting wife…she’s overbearing at times and I can never unwind with her around. She’s always on my ass about somethin’.”

Lee felt the need to vouch for Y/n. Anytime he would go to Tecumseh, she would accompany out back or get into his cruiser whenever he told her to. All the gritty things he dealt with at work, everything he kept inside, he dumped it on her. Florence would never sit there to listen to his grievances. Lee would never admit it, but he was vulnerable around Y/n, he knew that she would always be there to listen and he attached himself to that. In the beginning she wasn’t willingly listening to his problems but by the end she was. She took care of him when he was too drunk to go home, or she would let him take his stress and frustration out on her body. However, it doesn’t seem as if Lou is budging; his mind is made up.

“I work long hours. My father is putting more responsibilities on me. I put Y/n in that nice home, the least she could do is not serve me burnt food. Hangin’ around Florence and that Susie woman should have at least influenced her or something,” he continued to complain.

Florence was the last person that would be able to influence a girl like Y/n. Lee didn't know why his wife was seemingly grooming that girl. If anything it was just another person for her to control since Lee started telling her to knock it off. The only time she can get away with controlling her husband is if they're in the company of others where Lee has to be on his best behavior.

Y/n is not the type to be influenced by another woman. The only woman she held in high regard was her mother. Y/n listens to male authority. She listens to a man that will rough her up a little bit but then be sweet on her afterwards. She’s a little fucked up and jaded from her former “profession.” Lee knows this, but not Lou. He seems to know nothing of her past and Lee isn’t going to snitch on her.

“I can talk to Florence and see if she can do something. I know she likes taking people under her wing and shit. She seems to really like Y/n too.”

“I’d greatly appreciate that Lee. I know I sound like I’m hard on her, but I do love her. It’s hard for me to show when she just doesn’t put any effort in.”

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Florence — I'll make everything right."

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x oc #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #dark fic #fic #sebastian stan

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bookishdream · 3 years

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Could you do a Kaz x reader where the reader have to "cheat on him" (not in relationship but like she goes to another gang) because someone's threatening her and when he discovers she was just trying to protect him and the gang she dies

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for a request, I've been wanting to write some angst for a really long time! I hope it is as hurtful as you wished, enjoy xx

TW: angst, blood, killing

kaz brekker x reader

Your hands were sweaty and shaking. You crossed your arms on your chest in order to hide that. You didn’t like being threatened, especially by some amateurs. But it wasn’t a threat against you, it was against your family in Novyi Ziem. You had to use your whole will power to not kill them right there and then.

“Why do you think I’d do anything you want me to?” you asked snapping your gaze between a woman and a man in front of you. “You don’t know anything about me and my family you assume I have.”

“Oh, y/n, but we know everything. For instance, your little brother is playing as we talking on your vast field, your parents are watching him with so much love in their eyes,” woman with blonde hair spoke first, describing the scene so vividly that you almost showed an emotion on your face. “maybe they have already forgotten about you? Maybe your mother is pregnant so they could fill a blank you left in their home.”

“Shut up, you think you’re so smart, aren’t you?” you snapped, face blank and mind filling with memories from times when you were as young as your brother was then, playing on the exact same field. “I will never betray Kaz, and you should know that.”

“Oh sweetie,” the guy beside walked closer to you, you made a step, in order to make some distance between you and them. “we’re not asking you to betray him, we’re asking you to leave this silly gang and join us, Pekka Rollins would be really happy if you did.”

“You two are much denser than I thought, if you think I want to make him happy.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Blonde said, making you shiver. “We have someone who would be pleased to kill this little family of yours. I don’t think you want them dead, even though they think you are, in fact, dead.”

You started to think about that. Crows were your friends and you love them. Inej and Nina always found various ways to make you cheerful when your day wasn’t the best, Jesper taught you how to use a pistol and flirted with you like his life depended on it. Wylan was like a sun in rainy days, even if you loved them, you also loved this boy and his stupid jokes. Matthias was funny to tease, he always was saying how awful you and the girls were, but you could also see this little twitch of his lip corner when he tried to suppress his laugh. And there was Kaz, your beginning wasn’t the pleasant one, you nearly killed him when you saw him for the first time, and in revenge he left you in the Barrel for the whole night, all alone. But after that, you started falling for him, and you fell hard. You couldn’t exactly point out when that happened, but you were sure you’d anything to save him from himself. He had tough personality, he cared only for money and how he could invest it to get the whole city only for himself. But he let you do that with him, barley sleeping and when you did it was in the same bed. Arm-length gap but you always were less exhausted than when you were sleeping in your own bed. You loved him and the rest of the Crows, but you loved your family more. And you knew what you had to do.

“Bitch.” You murmured. “Fine, whatever. Just stay the hell out of my family. And the gang.”

“We knew you’d make a right decision. Pekka will send money to Per Haskell in order to buy your contract. You won’t regret that.”

“I already do.”

After that day, you were about to start living with your new gang, family, like Pekka had said to you the previous day, he’d also told you to not worry about your parents and brother, that they were safe as long as you were working with him, willingly.

You wouldn’t call this willingly, but you guessed it was enough to prevent your family from any harm coming from Pekka and his stupid gang. You hated being here, you missed the Crow Club, late night talks with Inej and Nina, and helping Kaz with buying new ships. You wanted nothing more than to escape, but you couldn’t. Kaz and Crows could fight and kill, whereas your family was vulnerable, they couldn’t even hurt a fly. You spent the whole evening in your empty room. Window with grids making you shiver, you felt like a prisoner you were.

“We have a job for you.” The blonde girl who captured you came in, like it was her cell, not yours. “Behave and perhaps we’ll get rid of those grids.”

You wanted to punch her, you didn’t even know her name, it wasn’t even relevant, your hand was itching. You took a long, calming breath and looked at her, frowning. “I thought it was another week until you’d trust me enough to even open my window.”

“You’ve been here for two weeks. Plans have changed, we need you right now, so cut the attitude and come with me.”

You rolled your eyes and went after her, going up the stairs and leaving the place Pekka’s gang lived. You took another deep breath, smelling the awful scent of Ketterdam, smoke and money as Kaz used to say. Gods, you missed him.

“Where are we going?” you asked, falling into step with the girl, there were only the two of you, you assumed the rest will be somewhere where you were going. “What’s the job?”

“Can’t you just shut up? You’ll know when we’re there.”

You really wanted to punch her, still you said nothing, you wouldn’t get anything from her. It was dark on the city’s streets, buildings high enough to cover the moon, didn’t let its shine to light up the roads. You were annoyed and cold, your hair was swaying with the wind, goose bumps poking on your skin.

“Here.” Blonde said, handing you a pistol. “If you kill someone from ours, you’re dead before you take your last breath.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your gun into the pocket of a coat you had. The metal was cold, making your hands even colder than they were before. Now when you had a real gun, not only your knife, perhaps you’d be able to escape. But where would you go? You were sure Kaz knew where you were, perhaps thinking you betrayed him, that thought only made you feel guilty in your guts, he trusted you and you chose people who you hadn’t seen for years over him. You had to escape, the cost didn’t matter.

When you came to the place, you saw a guy from Pekka’s gang and Kaz. Both of them were talking, but members of both groups had their guns or blades taken out. The Dirtyhands had his black coat, and his walking stick, as always. Jesper also was beside him, hands on his gun belt, ready to take them out and fire. You were more than sure that Inej was also there, somewhere on the roof or in the shadows, waiting and prepared to fight.

“We have men everywhere, two on roofs, one behind the bridge. All of them have guns pointed on you and your previous friends. I hope you know what that means.” The girl said, eyeing you. You only nodded, worrying too much about the Crows to even snap at her. “Good, now go and wait for a signal.”

You did as you were told, you hid somewhere behind a building, trying to recall every piece of information you gathered while snooping on guards or using the fact that they didn’t always close your doors. You had to find someone and tell them, you couldn’t waste any more time.

You poked your head out, searching for Matthias or Wylan. You doubted Nina would be here, since she was still working in the pleasure house. You were sure Wylan was there with his explosion ready to, well, explode. You cursed under your breath, when you couldn’t spot any of them, panic getting out of you with frustration. Someone from the Dime Lions would notice you’re not somewhere where they could spot you.

You crossed the narrow lane, as you noticed Matthias, you whistled hoping he would look into your direction. He turned his head and spotted you, anger on his face visible even in the dark. You cringed, knowing you’d get beaten up.

“You’ve got some nerve,” He said, his voice low. “after you started working with them, you have the audacity to come here.”

“Listen, I didn’t have a choice,” your voice so close to start begging him for forgiveness. “It was about my family.”

He looked at you wordlessly, confusion painting his face. Of course, he didn’t know you had a family, why would he. After a second, the ire came again. “You’re lying.”

“I'm not, I want to help you.”

“Oh, so now you did that to help us?”

“Matthias, I’m begging you, just let me tell you what I learnt.” You pleaded, your voice small. “Pekka wants to kill you as you’re standing, he has those new guns that can shoot you from really long distance.”

“What?” he looked alarmed, “We have to tell Kaz. Come.”

You let out a breath, it wasn’t the best look he sent you, but at least he didn’t leave you here. You told him everything you knew, he listened but his face still didn’t have pleasant expression.

You took out your gun, making your way behind the dumpster, hiding in shadows. You tried to calm your nerves, but the adrenaline had already kicked in. Matthias and you startled when you heard a shot, then another. You sent yourselves a knowing look, taking a step closer to the place where Kaz and the other guy were talking. Jesper had his guns out and Kaz was looking at the boy in front of him with disgust. You saw one of the Dregs were bleeding, you lifted your gun, targeting the closest one from the Dime Lions and fired. The bullet hit the girl in her stomach, making her stumble and fall to the ground. You hid yourself behind the wall and waited. Matthias sent you a look and you only lifted your arms, not knowing what to said.

After that, guns started firing, screams were everywhere. You saw the blonde girl that came here with you, standing with her pistol, aiming Kaz. You shot without looking, trying to hit her in an arm, you heard her scream and saw how the gun was laying on a ground. You looked up and saw that Kaz was looking at you, his face blank and unreadable. Jesper beside him, shooting people and screaming at Wylan to explode. The sound of explosion came from the roof, exactly where members of Lions were, you let out a shaky breath and made a step into the fight. Matthias fighting with his fists, slowly making his way toward Kaz, you tried to help him clear the path by shooting few people either in their heads or legs.

Your hands were tired, your head pounding but you were fighting hard, you had to make this in order to confess Kaz the whole truth. When you were close to him, he locked his eyes into yours.

“We have to talk.” You told him, lowering your tone. “Please.”

“This is not the best time to talk, y/n” the way he said your name made you shivered. It wasn’t an intimate way, it was with so much poison in only one word. “Why aren’t you fighting with your new gang?”

“Kaz, please, I’m trying to help.” You voiced, your eyes burning with sweat that slowly dripped from your forehead.

“Whatever.” He smacked an opponent with his cane, you only heard the sound of cracked bone and a loud thud when the enemy fell to the ground.

You two were fighting as you had before Pekka came into your life. Kaz understood you without any words, knew exactly where he should cover you because you couldn’t. Your movements were precise, keeping people away from Kaz’s vulnerable leg. You were fighting in a harmony, you kept your focus on people you had to kill, you shot them without any hesitation. When your bullets ended, you took out your knife and started stabbing everyone who wanted to stab you.

“I– “you paused, feeling a pain in your abdomen. You looked at Kaz, but he was looking at your lower stomach, you placed your gaze there and you saw blood. A lot of blood, then you felt pain, you stumbled, but Kaz placed his hand on your waist, slowly letting you fall on the ground. Your whole stomach was on fire, slowly burning you with its flame.

“Don’t you even dare dying here, messing my coat with your blood” he said, caressing your cheek. You chuckled, tasting blood on your tongue. “Don’t even think about it, y/n.”

“I’m–, please forgive me, Kaz” you murmured, hoped your words were understandable. “I was trying to save my family, but you’re my family too.”

“Y/n, I forgive you, but I’m begging you, don’t close your eyes” his voice filled with regret, eyes burning with anger, but you knew it wasn’t toward you. “Keep your eyes open.” He yelled at someone, but you couldn’t understand either it was Jesper or Matthias.

“Tell them I love them” you started to give up, your eyelids slowly closing. “I love you, Kaz Brekker.”

“Y/n, please don’t leave me” he tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he failed.

But you didn’t hear that, you had your eyes closed, hand that was laying on your stomach, now laying on the ground. He carefully removed his arm and got up. He spotted a blonde girl, smirking and looking at him, she slowly lifted her pistol, mockingly swaying it. She winked at him and still with a smirk, she left. Kaz made a promise he would kill her, he would do it for him. And for you.

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teddy06writes · 3 years

Note

sapnap x reader where the readers first language is greek and they confess to him in greek without knowing he speaks it too ? i love ur writing btw !! :)

sapnap x reader

first of all, this is such a cute idea and I love it, second of all, I DO NOT KNOW GREEK, so apologize in advance for anything google translate gets wrong

trigger warnings: some swearing, drinking

(y/n/n)- your nickname

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

You’d first seen him from across the quad, whilst searching for a distraction from the boring chattering of your mother on the phone, the dirty blonde man also lost in conversation with the brunette who’d walked beside him.

You continued to watched them on their path through the mess of kids on benches or even the ground, tracing his familiarity to one of your lectures on software design.

What surprised you most, was when he looked over, and smiled at you, he’d caught you in the act of staring at him, and smiled.

You smiled back, not to be impolite, and were pulled back to reality by your mothers voice in your ear, “(y/n), είσαι εκεί? ή έχει πετάξει το κεφάλι σο�� στα σύννεφα;” (Are you there? Or has your head flown off in the clouds?)

“Είμαι εδώ μαμά.” (I’m here mama) you sighed.

The next time you saw him was at a party some frat house on the other side of campus was throwing.

You hadn’t planned on going, seeing as you barley knew the boys in the frat, and your friends, well, at this college anyway, were nonexistent, but hey, free booze.

So that's how you found yourself, leaning against the living room wall, cup in hand, watching the beer pong game happening in the center of the room.

Taking another sip of your drink you did a mental walk of the room, making mental note of the people you knew, and then there he was again, definitely less than sober, calling dibs on playing the loser of the game.

You watched, amused as the game ended, and he quickly took the place of the loser, taunting the other guy loudly.

Three games (and several beers) later he was still winning, loudly yelling that he could beat anyone at the party.

Unable to help yourself you stepped forward, “I’ll have a go then.”

He looked you up and down proclaiming, “Easy win.”

You smirked, moving up to the table.

The game began, and his confidence quickly wore down, as all your shots either landed, or came very close.

The last few were neck and neck, but soon it was down to three left on your side, and only one left on his.

Desperately, his first shot got one of yours and you quickly chugged it down, still smirking at him.

You raised an eyebrow as he lined up his next shot, and his eyes flicked to yours just long enough to cause him to miss.

You bit back a grin, easily sinking the last shot, “I’ve bested the beast.”

The people who had been spectating cheered, and the brunette who you’d seen with him before started to laugh his ass off, “They fucking got you Nick!”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He sounded all too sober for someone who should’ve been that drunk.

You chuckled, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

A half hour later you were half way out the door, not bothering to pull on your jacket, the relative amount of dinking you had done still making your cheeks feel warm.

“Wait! Wait!” He- Nick, you reminded yourself, came half stumbling down the road, “I wanted to say good game.”

“That was half an hour ago.” You laughed.

“Still- i- sorry, what is your name?”

“(y/n), I’m in your intro to software design.”

“I’ve never seen you in there before,” He looked confused, “Which group do you sit with?”

“I don’t really have friends.” You shrugged.

Nick frowned, quickly holding out his hand for a shake, “Hi, I’m Nick, I’m your friend now.”

You looked at his outstretched hand confused, “Yeah o-kay. Your drunk, I’m tipsy and if I’m lucky you won’t remember this in the morning. I don’t really do friends here.”

He nodded as if paying attention, but then said, “You have an accent.”

You nodded, “Yup, I’m leaving now.”

You didn’t see him again after that, for nearly three weeks, and you were beginning to think he really had forgotten, that is, until he approached out out side of the lecture hall, “Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“(y/n) right? Your the one who beat me at beer pong. And then walked away when I asked about your accent.”

You rolled your eyes, “You didn’t ask you literally just stated I had an accent.”

“Well I’m not wrong! I meant to ask why- well not why- just, are you an exchange student or?”

You adjusted your laptop bag on your shoulder, “This isn’t high school. We don’t have exchange students.”

“Well, are you studying abroad then?”

“I’m an American. I can’t study abroad in my own country.”

He looked slightly confused, “Sorry- it’s just with your accent I assumed.”

“I wasn’t born here if that helps.” You turned and started away, pulling out your phone as it started to ring, “Ναι μαμά; Έχω μαθήματα σύντομα, τι συμβαίνει;” (Yes mama? I have class soon, what's wrong?)

“Why are you always alone all the time?”

You groaned, looking up from the firewall system assignment you’d been testing on your tablet, to see Nick, “I’m working.”

“And I’m asking a question,” He sat down at the otherwise empty table, “Why are you always alone?”

“I told you, I don’t have friends here.” You ran the breaker code again, seeing if it could illuminate any unseen holes.

“You were at the party, surely you knew someone there, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone.”

“σκατά“ You muttered, a new problem in the chain arising, “It was an open house party, I heard about it from people I know.” (shit)

Nick frowned, “Oh, thats-”

“Sad, tragic, depressing? Yeah I’m aware.” You sighed.

You saved the project, shutting off your tablet and looking around the empty cafeteria, “Isn’t it like, wicked late? Why are you here?”

“Why’re you?” he countered.

“World’s asleep.” You muttered, packing up the rest of your stuff, “Why do you keep making such an effort to talk to me?”

“Cause we’re friends remember? Shook on it.”

“I never shook your hand.” You grumbled, standing up.

“You know that I’m right!” Nick exclaimed.

“Maybe! But I don’t want to admit it!”

Over the course of a few month Nick had crawled, kicked and wormed his way into your life, all but forcing you to become his friend, and surprisingly, you didn’t mind all that much.

Now you were sitting out on the roof of your dorm, looking up at the night sky.

“I swear your fucking nocturnal dude! Like an owl! And I willingly give up my sleep to hang out with you!”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden jolt of a realization, and as suddenly as a lighting strike, you were falling in love.

You fumbled to recover, “Well you’re the one who went out of your way to become my friend.”

“I mean, too be fair I was drunk.”

“But still went out of your way to be my friend once you were sober.” You pointed out.

“Hey, drunk me makes good decisions sometimes.” He laughed, looking over at you.

You let out a sigh, watching the white wisps of your breath drift up in the sky, “That’s the thing I’ve never got over.”

“What? Drunk me making interesting decisions?”

“The cold,” You said simply, “I’ve lived here half my life, but the cold still doesn’t make sense to me.”

He laughed, “This is Texas, it’s not nearly as cold as it gets up north. Snow’s much more common for now, up there.”

“I’ve never seen snow. Mama doesn’t like it much,” You laughed, “The first time I really heard about it it sounded so strange.”

Nick smiled, “Lets go up north during winter break then. I know people up there, we can go do winter tourist things.”

“Winter tourist things?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, “Go ice skating, look at lights, sleigh rides, all that.”

You laughed, “Winter Tourist things.”

A month and a half had passed, your sudden change in feelings toward your only friend on campus had not.

If anything they had just gotten worse, and now, the thing you still couldn’t wrap your head around, you were tossing your suitcase into the back of his car, about to head on your way to the airport, because yes, the Winter Tourist thing stuck.

“Dude, I’m so excited! This is gonna be epic!”

You nodded, “You know, thinking about it, it actually is possible I’ve seen snow, like when I was little. It just never lasted long.”

Nick scrunched up his nose, “Well it’s too late to duck out now!”

“I never said I was ducking out.” You laughed.

The trip had gone pretty well, the snow in the northeast was certainly different than that of Macedonia, but you didn’t think it was all Nick had said it would be.

Still you had enjoyed wandering around the city looking at Christmas lights, attempting to ice skate, and just enjoying each others company.

It seemed like every minute you spent with Nick, you teetered closer to the edge, knowing that by the end of this trip you’d be head over heels for him, if you weren’t already now.

Now you were quietly sitting on the balcony of your hotel room, hands cradled around the warm cup of hot chocolate you’d made, looking out into the swirling darkness above the city.

“You know your gonna freeze if you stay out here.” Nick moved through the door and sat beside you, draping part of a blanket around your shoulders.

“I know.” You sighed.

He looked at you, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“Νομίζω ότι ερωτεύομαι,” You murmured, a quiet confession, more so to yourself than to him, “και αυτό με τρομάζει.” (I think I’m falling in love with you... and that terrifies me)

You started to sigh as he looked confused, though only for a moment, because “Τι είναι τόσο τρομακτικό για την αγάπη;” He asked softly. (What’s so scary about love?)

You froze, almost dropping your cup, “ε-ε-ε, εσύ- μιλάς ελληνικά;” (uh- y- uh, you- you speak Greek?)

“λίγο,” He smiled, “Είσαι ερωτευμένος μαζί μου;“ (A bit... you’re in love with me?)

“λίγο.” (A bit), you breathed, trying to ignore the small space between you seemingly shrink.

“Νομίζω ότι είμαι λίγο ερωτευμένος και εσένα.” He chuckled. (I think I'm a bit in love with you too)

Your breath hitched, and your quickly bridged the small gap between you to kiss him, smiling into it a bit as he kissed back.

“How long?” He asked softly when you pulled apart.

“When you first brought up the trip. You said that you were willing to lose sleep to hang out with me,” You chuckled nervously, “You?”

“Second week of school, you were on the phone with someone, and you smiled back at me,” Nick grinned, “I saw you from across the quad and knew.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #sapnap x reader #teddy06 #teddy06 writes

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glitteryhellhole · 3 years

Text

alright lets do this

here we go

Title: The Tent Fandom: Z nation Pairing: 10K x female reader Word count: approx 3k Rating: 18 Description: fluffy smut with awkward cinnamon roll 10K

A gas station. A real life, untouched gas station. Apart from the bloody handprints smeared on the concrete walls.

It didn't take long to sweep and secure the area, then fill up the truck and the reserve cannisters. Afterwards Warren gestured with her gun to the convenience store. “Look for anything useful.”

The place had been untouched since day one. Mummified hot dogs still sitting on a rack. The register hanging open- perhaps in the beginning some people had looted cash, but it didn't take long to realise money didn't mean anything anymore.

You shoved bottles of water and packets of candy into your rucksack before following Addy's gaze to the toiletries shelf. Pads and tampons, little travel-sized bodywashes, an actual toothbrush.

“It's a whole new kind of mercy,” she whistled.

You picked up the first aid kit and the two crushed boxes of painkillers, turning to ask Doc if they'd be any good- and found him and Murphy kneeling on the counter, pulling away the plastic panel which guarded the cigarettes.

Priorities, huh.

Loaded up, you looked around you. Warren was on watch so 10K had let his guard down for once and was poking at the faded magazines. You saw his pink lips move as he mouthed the titles to himself. Something familiar caught his eye, probably the one with guns all over, and he reached up- and the whole top shelf came tumbling down. Suddenly 10K was surrounded by glossy double-page spreads of unnaturally bronzed and perky breasts and butts.

He froze like an animal in a trap.

“Found what you're looking for?” Doc's voice was loud and his arms were cradling an impressive quantity of alcohol. “There's a lot of generic lesbians, over forties, asian fetish, but for a beginner I'd recommend-”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a crash as 10K backed rapidly out of the shop, cheeks ablaze, taking down a stand of air fresheners and sending sunglasses skittering across the floor in every direction.

The rest of you laughed, for the first time in a while. Back in the truck and passing round bags of only-slightly-stale chips, you all agreed that the gas station was your best find in quite some time.

Except perhaps for the tent.

A little way back, a stranded family had been incredibly grateful for a tow out of the ditch, and had gifted you their spare tent. No ordinary camping gear, this thing was foil-lined and had a built in waterproof, cushioned underlayer. On an especially hot night you'd probably want it to yourself but the rest of the time it comfortably housed two people, keeping in the heat. You'd been taking turns each night, with priority to the injured, meaning that every morning there was at least one person who was fully rested and recharged. Ideal when every day was a battle for survival.

Of course, there was one other advantage to the tent. Privacy. Human needs didn't really get talked about in this un-human world, and whatever got overheard in the night would also go unspoken.

It was nearing dusk and you were pulling over to make camp. “Who's turn in the tent?” Murphy called out as he threw himself down on the ground. “Dibs.”

Warren, who was unloading a heavy bag, gave him a kick in the side. “Get up and help. I don't think 10K's had a turn yet.”

“Neither's she.” He nodded at you.

“Settled then.”

Murphy sniggered.

Since there was plenty of water, there was a rare chance to wash up a bit. Ladies first while the men stood watch with their backs turned, and then vice versa. Nowhere near to having a hot shower in privacy, but it was something. You noticed that 10K didn't bother putting his shirt back on afterwards as he squatted by the fire cleaning his weapons, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

How could somebody so skinny be so strong? Must be the result of life outdoors.

He raised an eyebrow and you realised you were staring. Oops.

“Here.” Somebody passed you a can of cheap beer that had come from the store along with the snacks and cigarettes. It was almost like being at a camp-out. The beer was gross but it gave you a nice warm feeling in your chest, and the idea of lying down somewhere soft started to seem quite appealing, so you said your goodnights and retreated into the tent.

You weren't sure how long it was until you were joined, perhaps you'd started to drift off- the sound of the zip jolted you back to your senses as 10K flopped unceremoniously into the tent, stretching out next to you. “Beer makes shoelaces hard.” He complained.

You giggled and sat up to help. “When was the last time you slept without shoes on?”

“Probably before my voice broke.” He scratched his head while watching you remove his boots and then said, “I'm not good at talking, especially to girls, but you don't scare me.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I think?” You laid back down, closing your eyes and pulling your blanket over you. There was silence for a minute but it was oddly comfortable, the security of a warm person breathing next to you.

“What was your first word?” You asked into the silence. “I bet it was gun.”

“Actually it was primrose.”

“Huh?”

“My momma's favourite flower.” He rolled over onto his stomach, closing the gap between you, and rested his cheek on his folded arms. “I was six. Doctor said I wasn't learning but I was paying attention to everything. She used to take me to the library in town to look at all sorts of books, that where we learned to sign.”

You couldn't help but ask. “When did she...?”

“When I was nine. Pops wanted me to try and be a normal kid but once she'd gone he didn't want anything to do with the rest of the world and stopped sending me to school.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's ok.” He wriggled a little to get more comfortable. “Can you talk for a bit now?”

So you talked about your own parents, and your hometown, and it surely wasn't very interesting but 10K watched you intently as he sobered up, studying your face, and you hoped you weren't blushing. After a while you came to a natural conclusion in your story and realised that his fingers were twitching, as though he were nervous.

What's up?” you asked softly.

He blinked slowly. “Ain't always easy to tell when you're supposed to say stuff and when you're not.”

Unsure what to expect, you gave him an encouraging nod.

“Can I... touch your hair?”

Your heart started to beat a little fast and you nodded again. 10K's fingers reached out timidly to feel you hair, twisting strands and brushing them away from your face.

You hadn't felt human touch in so long, and you couldn't help but rest your head on his arm as he stroked. The pair of you seemed to breathe in unison. It was almost peaceful.

Almost. Apart from the little sparks of electricity that seemed to fizzle into life where your skin touched his.

Could he feel it too? It didn't seem so. There he was growing more and more serene, while you were warming up in a way that had nothing to do with the insulated tent.

“Um...” You fidgeted awkwardly, trying to choose the right words. “10K? You know why they were giggling right?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes were closed. “People do stuff in the tent. Its pretty obviously I've never... y'know.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A bit, but its not like I can go meet a girl and ask her Pops if I can take her to the barn dance.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. “I mean the teasing.”

“Oh.” He blushed slightly as he opened his eyes to look at you. “I get why, you're near my age and you're pretty. Any guy would be lucky to date you.”

Oh indeed. Maybe he did feel it then.

“You could...” You bit your lip and steeled yourself. “You could pretend that you were.”

He sat bolt upright, making you jump, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I could ask you on a picnic, at my favourite place in the woods.” His words were tumbling out fast from nervous excitement. “Make nice bread, Mom's special recipe with the dried fruit. And we could talk like we did earlier and I could pick you flowers and then I could kiss you.”

His lips were clumsy as they first met yours, but eager, and didn't take long to find a groove. You sighed and leaned in, one hand reaching up into his hair, and-

A single gunshot cracked through the air.

In an instant 10K was lurching for the tent entrance where his gun was propped. You reached for your shoes, panic rising in your chest.

“False alarm.” Doc's voice came from outside. “Nothing to worry about. Hey, you okay in there kid? Need me to give ya a quick pep talk on anything?”

“I'm good.” He zipped the flap back up then turned back to you. “Actually do you think maybe I should? I don't really know what to do.”

You couldn't help but laugh again. He was way too innocent for someone so good-looking.

You put and hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Just do what feels natural.”

“Okay.” He gave you another wide grin, showing those adorably crooked teeth, and then practically launched himself at you, so you landed on your back and he was on top of you, lips moulding to the shape of yours. You gasped for air and 10K made an apologetic sound without pausing the kiss, propping himself up on one elbow so that you could breathe.

His hand rested on your stomach, fingers still for a moment before balling up your shirt and gently navigating the exposed skin. Tentative. Like soothing a spooked animal.

You reached your hand up to touch his shoulders, feeling hard muscle under surprisingly soft skin. Tracing his collarbones and around the back of his neck. He shivered and broke the kiss, and you saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Maybe I could take your shirt off too.” He mumbled. In answer you sat up and held your arms above your head. 10K pulled your shirt over your head- sending the little lamp tied to the tent roof swinging- then looked confused as his thumb hooked into the shoulder strap of your sports bra. You kind of wished you'd been wearing something nicer for this occasion, but you'd dressed for practicality before hitting the road.

“Here. Let me.” You wriggled out of the bra, trying not to elbow him in the process.

“Wowee.” 10K let out a whistle. “You look even better without clothes on. Why would anyone want to look at random pictures?”

It seemed like he could have sat there and stared forever, but you didn't have forever, and so you pulled him in to kiss again. He trailed his lips across your face and on to your neck, one arm supporting you from behind and the other hand landing on your chest, squeezing experimentally.

“Not so hard,” you gasped.

“Sorry. They're squishier than I expected.” He let out a humming noise into the crook of your neck as his fingers found a hard nipple and brushed back and forth.

You dipped your head down too, lightly touching your teeth to his throat. A low growl escaped and he pushed you back down, pressing his body close to yours, and you could feel his eager hardness against your hip.

10K tried the same move, nipping at the skin under your ear. His breathing was very shallow and rapid as he licked and sucked experimentally, moving down over your breasts.

“You taste good. But not in a zombie way.”

Your hands rested on his hips, fingers splaying out to softly squeeze his ass and then dipping below the loose waistband.

“Oh, wait.” He rolled off you to shed a pile of concealed knives and the little sharp discs that he used in the sling shot.

“What else are you hiding down there?” You smirked. For a moment he turned beetroot red and covered his crotch with his hands, but then met your smile with one of his own.

“Just means I like you and I like this.” He shrugged. “Do you-”

“Mmhmm.” You reached out to ease his trouser buttons undone, fumbling slightly, but you weren't nervous. It just felt right with him. “I like you. And I like this.”

He groaned softly as the restriction on his hardness eased and grabbed you for another kiss, this time hungry and slightly sloppy. 10K's fingers found the fastening of your own jeans and made quick work, tugging them down to your knees. Then he paused for a moment, putting a finger to your lips.

There was no noise from outside.

“We're good.” With a bit of awkward shuffling, you both shed your trousers and then looked at each other.

“We probably shouldn't go all the way,” you said almost reluctantly. “No protection and all that. But there's still stuff-”

“Anything.” 10K blurted out without a second's pause. “Everything. I'll do whatever you want. But not what you don't want.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips again as he stared at you earnestly.

You felt a shiver travel down your spine. Nobody had ever looked at you quite like that before. Not just lust but something deeper, as though he was seeing through your skin and right inside you.

“Come here,” he whispered huskily, grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap. You sighed into the kiss and slowly moved your hips, letting your centre rub against his as you straddled him, tangling fingers in his messy hair.

10K moaned something that sounded like “shucks” and you couldn't help but snort. What would it take to make him swear? You dug your nails in a little, catching his lip between your teeth.

“Want to touch you.” He moaned, gripping your hips. “Want you to touch me.”

You trailed your hand from his cheek all the way down to cup the pronounced bulge in his boxers and his eyes rolled back in his skull, but then he visibly shook himself and swatted your hand away. “Ladies first.” The hand slid a little clumsily down into your knickers.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against 10K's, feeling how hot his skin was. His curious fingertips traced your labia and in between.

“It's wet.” He sounded surpised, and brought a thumb to his mouth to taste.

“That's a good thing.” You felt a little self-conscious as you explained, watching him suck his thumb. “It means I'm, you know, turned on.”

“Show me how to make it feel good,” he murmured, lifting you off his lap and laying you back down before tugging your knickers all the way down and spreading your legs.

You took his hand in yours and guided him, showing him your clit. His marksman fingertips quickly picked it up and he kissed you again as he touched you. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah you're- oh, yeah thats good.” Your voice was high-pitched and breathy. 10K made a satisfied “hmph” and nuzzled into your neck. He smelled of safety. Less dirt and blood than usual, traces of soap, whatever he was using for hair gel, engine oil. Sweat but not in the just-been-running-and-fighting way, in the musky hormonal way.

The feeling swelling inside you was something you hadn't experienced, hadn't even thought about, in a long time. But here and now it was growing, consuming, and you couldn't imagine anything other than his touch, his hot breath on your cheek.

“Hey.” 10K's voice was husky again. “You need something else?”

You became aware that your hips were twitching. “A bit faster maybe?”

A moan escaped your lips as he obliged, and 10K grinned. “That's hot.” Then he cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows. “I assume girls can- y'know-”

“It looks a bit different but yes.” You were gasping now as you spoke, chest rising and falling.

“Do it for me.” He murmured, watching you as though hypnotised and biting his lip. His words and his gaze loosened the coiled spring that was weighing down your abdomen and the endorphins came rushing as you climaxed.

“Shh.” He pressed his mouth to yours and swallowed your moan, pressing his fingers harder as you moved beneath him until it became almost too much. “Do you want them to hear us?”

You shook your head, trying to control your breathing.

“Maybe you do.” He raised an eyebrow again as his fingers finally slowed to a halt. “I kinda do. So they all know what I just did to you.”

“Do you want your turn or not?”

That shut him up. He glanced down and you followed his gaze. He was still very much erect, and there was now a distinct wet patch where he'd leaked a little in excitement.

You pushed 10K onto his back and settled yourself next to him. “Let me know if something's not ok,” you told him. “I won't do anything you don't want.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. He flinched a little as you pulled his boxers down but then his face relaxed and his lips parted as you touched him.

“Have you done this to yourself?” You asked. “So you know what you like.”

He nodded, looking somewhat bashful. “A few times. But this is different. Better.”

It was your turn to grin as your fingers circled his erection and found a rhythm. 10K's head tilted back and the smallest of high-pitched noises escaped his open mouth. You lowered your lips to his exposed neck and sucked gently at the skin. There was a red mark when you pulled away.

“Mmmph.” He rasped through gritted teeth. “Again.”

“It'll leave a bruise.”

“Don't care.”

You began to create a trail of little hickeys down his throat and across his collarbones as you continued to stroke, and his tiny whimpers grew more frequent. You knew it wouldn't be long.

10K was holding onto you tightly, nails digging in, droplets of sweat visible on his forehead. “I think I'm gonna- ahh....” He seemed to lose the ability to speak as you attacked his neck again, eyes rolling back. A few moments later, his hips bucked and you could feel hot sticky warmth coat your fingers.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

So he did swear after all.

You kissed him again, and then looked down. “Um, got anything to clean up with?”

Still breathing heavily, 10K sat up and reached for his trousers, pulling a bandana out of one of the many pockets. “It's my least favourite. I'll burn it.”

Like the gentleman he'd been raised to be, he wiped your hand off first before tending to himself, then tossed the soiled cloth out of the way and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest. You'd heard the term 'afterglow' but never really thought that it was a thing; it apparently was. The chemicals your brain was releasing and the protective hold of his arms made you want to laugh, and cry, and drift off to sleep, and run a mile, all at once.

Just for a moment, there was no apocalypse. There was only you and him and the little lamp above your heads.

It was 10K who broke the spell. “I need to pee.” he said apologetically. “Like, real bad.”

You laughed at the face he was pulling and threw his trousers at him. 10K slithered with some difficulty into them, kicking the side of the tent, and then stumbled outside.

You realised how cold it was now and reached for your own clothes. As footsteps indicated 10K's return, you could have sworn you heard the sound of a high-five.

“What was that?” You demanded as he re-entered the tent.

“Never mind.” He grabbed the blanket and laid it over you.”I want to do that again. But we should probably get some sleep.”

“The whole point of the tent is to get proper rest right?” You scooted closer as he laid down, offering the blanket, but he refused, tucking it round you and then wrapping his arms round too so you were tightly cocooned against his side.

“Yeah. Sure.”

>>>>>Thanks for reading! This is the first fanfic i’ve done in literally years. Open to feedback and even perhaps requests :) PS i am v english so I apologise to any Americans insulted by my attempts at your words

#z nation #10k #ten thousand #10k x reader #10k imagine #z nation fic #tommy 10K #10kxreader

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part Four)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

part three / series masterlist / part five

consider: secret dating but fake dating at the exact same time (ily @underc0vercryptid ty for the suggestion :))

Jesper’s feet flash underneath him. He’s running, faster than he has in a while. His breath comes sharp in his lungs, a silent promise to himself that he won’t be caught, not today. The flagstones are far beneath him as he runs along the roofline, but he manages to keep his distance. Maybe Jesper has more in common with the Wraith than he’d first thought.

Jesper turns his attention back to the roof he’s currently heading down, and feels a slight twinge of panic start to rise within him. He’s running out of shingled space, and the gap between houses is approaching faster than he’d like. Jesper’s eyes narrow, his hands tap once and twice at his pearl-handled revolvers, and then he makes the jump.

He hits the next house with a significant impact, one that knocks the air for his lungs for a second before he manages to swallow the jolt and keep moving. Jesper knows this part of town, knows the way the houses curve and turn as they twist down the narrow sidestreets. If he darts across this opening, down this corner of the roof, then there’s a fire escape off the back, one that empties into a nearby alleyway.

A stolen pocket watch dangles at Jesper’s side; he checks it with a furrow of his brow. He’s running on borrowed time, a moment or so too slow. He sets his jaw with a determined tilt, running even faster until he’s sure he’s going to slip and fall. Then again, he just might manage to pull this off. Jesper has had plenty of practice over the last week.

A few more seconds of running, and then Jesper is jumping again. He hangs for a moment in the air, arms rising involuntarily as he falls. Then his heels hit the fire escape with a thunk and he’s down, twisting himself over the rails to quicken his journey to the ground. He’s clear of the fire escape now, and loses himself into the mess of alleys that crowd the streets of Ketterdam, sprawling out in an untidy heap like the last remnants of a spiderweb on an abandoned window.

He crosses over one street, two, then ducks under a faded and scrappy awning to find himself in an opening in the alleyways, a back end that nobody checks except the Dregs. He’s back on safe ground, both literally and figuratively. Jesper lets out a sigh of relief, checking the liberated pocket watch once more. Right on time. Even Kaz Brekker would be impressed.

There’s a derisive snort from behind him, and Jesper’s head shoots up in a flash.

“You know, I don’t think you have to go this hard for a practice run.” Jesper straightens up, sauntering over to Y/N with a grin fit to kill. “And why is that, Tidemaker? Maybe I’m just having fun.” Y/N raises an eyebrow at this casual confidence. “Do you always get this sure of yourself after every run? Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”

Jesper leans down, stealing a kiss and swooping away before Y/N has time to think on it. “Maybe not? I’m excellent, and I’m making sure I’m excellent for this heist. We’ll have to be careful, you know. And when am I not careful?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, although her smile deceives her challenging expression. “When we nearly got caught against the wall of the Crow Club two weeks ago? When you had your hands on my dress and-”

Jesper kisses her, both because he can and because the flush in Y/N’s cheeks renders her unable to finish the sentence. “What was that, love? Talking about my excellence? Anyways, we might not be as careful as we could be, but that just makes it fun.” Y/N hums quietly, the sound deep in her throat. “Maybe. Does the fun not extend to spontaneity in heists?” Jesper groans, reaching into his coat to flip his revolver back and forth out of habit from the mention of the heist. “Try telling Kaz Brekker that you’re not following his plans. It’s not exactly a pleasant experience.”

Jesper’s fingers tighten over his revolver as he remembers the meeting of a week ago. Kaz had called him to his office yet again, and Jesper’s pulse had raced at the sight of the maps and documents littering his desk. Another heist, another escapade, another chance for bullets to fly and for Jesper to finally have a bit of fun.

Kaz had folded his hands over his crow’s head cane. “We’re breaking into a mercher’s house.” Jesper had raised an eyebrow. “Joeri ter Steege again? Saints, this guy doesn’t know when to give up.” Kaz chuckled. “No, not Joeri. This will make ter Steege seem like a pleasant memory. We’re taking on Pekka Rollins.”

Jesper had known even from that first mention of the gang boss that this heist wasn’t going to be easy. Whenever Pekka Rollins’ name came up, Kaz got a look in his eyes, a dangerous look that only came out when bones would be broken and screams would rend the night. Brekker was gone, replaced by Dirtyhands, the boy who would do anything to get what he wanted. Blood would be shed in the Barrel, likely sooner than expected.

Kaz had cleared this throat, the sound like rough stones grinding underneath a carriage wheel. “Rollins has a mercher in his pocket. His name is Arnout Hul, and he’s got ties to banking as well as trade. He’s the perfect puppet for Pekka’s strings. Right now, Pekka wants him because Arnout has a list of names, a list that just might correspond to the Council of Tides.” Jesper let out a low whistle. “I thought the Council of Tides never revealed their identities?”

Kaz gave a tense shrug. “That’s what we thought. Could be nonsense, could be a lead. I need you to find out. Arnout Hul is hosting a party in about a week and a half. You and L/N will enter as guests, Inej and I will circle around back. You two will be getting the names, we’ll be on another tangent.” Jesper had nodded, accepting the map of Hul’s house without another word. He’s run with the Dregs long enough to understand something: if Kaz Brekker doesn’t tell you the details of a mission, it’s for the best. He won’t tell you no matter how much you question him, so why waste the breath to ask?

Normally, Jesper would have no problem going with Y/N to the party. It’s an excuse to act like lovesick fools and drink plenty of expensive liquor, what could be wrong with that? It’s the second part of the playacting that bothers him: namely, the escape. It’ll be easy enough to slip away from the party and into Arnout Hul’s office, but the chances of them returning will be significantly lower. Most likely, they’ll have to make a quick exit from there, especially with whatever Kaz and Inej are doing added to the mix.

That’s why Jesper’s been running the rooflines, making sure he’s ready to escape when necessary. The rooftops in this corner of the Barrel are similar in layout to those near Hul’s mansion, give or take a few feet. Y/N had raised an eyebrow at this when she first heard of his practice runs. “If it’s off, with some jumps bigger or smaller, won’t you get confused when we actually have our lives on the line?” Jesper had dismissed her questions with a trademark wink. “Some are a little off, but if you average them they’ll all be the same. Yes, that is how it works. I’ve done something like this before. Somewhat.”

The Y/N in front of him has now become accustomed to Jesper’s plans, and just watches with a grin as he taps the stolen pocket watch. “How was your timing this go around?” Jesper flashes her a grin. “Right on the dot. It was spotless.” Y/N steps closer, letting her fingers linger on his hand, the lapel of his coat. “I’m fairly sure I saw you stumble on one of the jumps.” Jesper takes her hand, stopping its climb and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “You were watching me? I’m touched.”

Y/N snorts. “I was watching for weaknesses. It’s not like that.” Jesper cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sure it wasn’t. Was that why you were waiting for me like a blushing schoolgirl?” When Y/N opens her mouth to protest, Jesper closes it with a kiss. Saints, he likes riling her up. Makes it that much more fun to kiss her senseless.

Jesper stares up at the mercher’s mansion. He’s broken into plenty of these woefully wealthy houses over his time with the Dregs, stolen and blackmailed and worked hard to bring down even more. It feels strange to now be walking into one as an esteemed guest, one with a pretty girl on his arm. The girl in question turns to him now, a smile flickering over her lips at the sight of his reluctance to enter the building.

“We do have to go in at some point, right?” Jesper forces a smile. “Of course we do. Just, uh, admiring the view.” Her gaze softens, and she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. Now, come on- I intend to be shown off to all the attendees.” Jesper can’t help but laugh at that. For some reason, this small joke is enough to convince him to escort Y/N up the wide colonnade and into the main foyer of the mansion. It’s been decorated extravagantly, if lacking a little in taste, and the entire spectacle could take your breath away.

Jesper and Y/N mingle throughout the crowd, doing their best to seem like normal, law-abiding citizens of Kerch. Jesper leans close to Y/N, whispering something in her ear like a flirty compliment. “I think I pickpocketed that guy a month ago.” Y/N laughs, the sound effortless. More than a couple unpartnered mercher’s sons look over at her in unabashed longing. She whispers in turn to him, careful not to let anyone overhear. “I drowned that one’s office. Hundreds of documents, gone. He’s cripplingly in debt now because all of his stocks are waterlogged and useless.”

Jesper has to try his utmost to stop from laughing. “You know, I think you’re the only girl I’ve ever met who can keep one-upping me on crimes.” Y/N tosses a glance his way, easy and full of secrets he could only hope to keep. “That’s why you love me, isn’t it?” Jesper feels like his heart has been shot through with bullets. It is, more than she could ever know. He could love her every second of every day, and it would never be enough. He loves her more than anything he’s known before.

However, they’re on a mission, so he can’t exactly burst forth with poetic confessions. Instead, he keeps his tone light. “Of course it is. I wouldn’t love just anyone, would I?” He can only hope that this brief statement will be enough. Looking at Y/N, though, at the light shining behind her eyes, he has a feeling that she knows what he means. She understands him, and knows exactly what he isn’t saying and what he wishes he could. Jesper doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone else like this, someone who can send him a single glance and say a thousand words in the time it takes for their eyes to meet.

An orchestra begins to play, and the couples start to migrate towards the center of the room. Jesper extends a hand to Y/N, who takes it. He spins her once before assuming the proper form, footsteps in tandem as they move throughout the dance. Y/N raises an eyebrow at him. “Since when have you known how to waltz like a mercher?” Jesper smiles like a renegade. “Since I knew I would be dancing with you.”

Y/N leans forward, lips ghosting over his. She doesn’t kiss him, though, just whispers something in the heated stillness. “I can see the door to his office. It’s down the hall to our left.” Jesper groans. “You’re sure we can’t stay a little longer?” His hands slide down to her hips, nestling there in the fabric. She grins, although he can tell from the slight intake of her breath that it’s not an easy choice. “Afraid so, Fahey. We’ve got a deadline to meet.”

Right now, Jesper is willing to curse all the Saints and Kaz Brekker that he has to leave this dance and let Y/N out of his arms, but his girl isn’t wrong- they have to be in the office and out in a short matter of time. If they miss the cutoff time, Jesper has no idea what will happen. Kaz and Inej are somewhere in this building, and Jesper has no doubt that they’re doing something that has the potential to alert a lot of guards to their presence.

Most eyes are trained on the dancing couples in the ballroom, so it’s fairly easy for Jesper and Y/N to slip from the room, shoes clicking on the tiles of the empty halls. The noise and laughter of the gala disappears behind them the further they stray from the gathering. At last, they spot the office, which is guarded by a duo of tall, broad-shouldered thugs in uniform. Jesper waits until the music reaches a particularly loud pitch, then reaches out, knocking one of the guards unconscious in a swift motion.

Y/N reaches her hand towards the other one, directing a stream of water to flow from a nearby flower pot into the man’s mouth and nose, drowning him instantly. She holds the water there for a second longer, watching with a cool certainty as the man struggles, then releases her hold as the man crumples to the ground. He’s still breathing, at least for now. Y/N looks back to Jesper, as if daring him to be alarmed, but if she’s looking for fear, she’ll find none with him. Jesper happens to have a thing for dangerous women. It’s gotten him in trouble before, but it just makes him fall even harder for Y/N.

They open the door with a key from a ring on a guard’s belt, moving as quietly as possible. Kaz believed that the list of names would be in a safe on one of the mercher’s shelves, which they locate quickly. Jesper hovers before it, doing his best to remember everything Kaz had told him and everything he’d taught himself about picking locks. He hesitates a second, then twists his hand, reaching his consciousness out into the metal and the workings of the safe. The lock clicks open, and Jesper smirks.

There’s a single envelope resting in the safe, marked with a bloodred seal that Jesper recognizes. Kaz had pointed it out to them earlier, saying that the list of names would be marked with it. Jesper snatches up the envelope, pocketing it in a recess of his coat . He nods at Y/N, who begins to prop up the guards at the door. Hopefully, they’ll just think they drank too much and nodded off. Jesper locks the safe and door behind them, and they slip back out into the hall.

They’ve barely turned the corner when Jesper realizes his mistake. They’ve spent too long in the office, and the guests have all filed away into another part of the mercher’s mansion. Jesper and Y/N seem conspicuously lost to the squadron of guards marching towards them. Jesper feels panic rising in his chest. The guards are around the corner at the far side of the hall, about to discover him and Y/N and wonder why they’re not with the rest of the partygoers.

Jesper fishes around for an excuse, but none rise to his lips. Frantically, he turns to Y/N, who has his same panic in her eyes. “What do we do?” She hisses, and Jesper gestures towards the wall. “We pretend we were distracted.” Y/N nods once, understanding. She pulls the neckline down from her dress, letting the fabric pool around her collarbone. Jesper pushes her against the wall, letting his hands creep to her hips and up her dress. This might be a ruse to convince the guards, but Jesper can’t exactly pretend that it’s hurting him to let his lips linger on her throat, the space behind her ear, her lips which open with a sigh.

There’s a coughing sound behind them, and Jesper lets himself straighten up in feigned embarrassment. The guards are looking definitively uncomfortable. “The rest of the party has, uh, moved to the receiving hall, if you’d like to join them.” Jesper flashes them a grin, helping Y/N to readjust her dress. “Of course, officer. Thanks for the tip.” He offers Y/N a hand, guiding her past the soldiers and into the halls once more.

He doesn’t dare speak until they’re far away from the soldiers, then turns to her with a sigh of relief. “Thank the Saints, I thought we were done for.” Y/N laughs at that, the sound a pretty call in the dark. Jesper almost wishes the guards would come back so he’d have an excuse to kiss her like that again. “Well, it wasn’t the worst of alibis.” Jesper smirks at her words. “I wouldn’t mind using it again.”

They’re almost out of the building when Jesper hears the alarms suddenly raised across the mansion. He curses under his breath. Y/N turns to him. “Kaz and Inej. They must have finished their side mission.” Jesper nods, considering the rows of doors before him. “Here. It’ll lead to a side exit.” They run through the halls, not bothering to conceal the loud echoes of their steps. They dart around carriages and into the neighbouring streets, through twisting alleys. Jesper feels a rush of gratitude for all the time he’d spent navigating the rooflines and escape opportunities. Finally, all his practice runs are paying off.

Jesper can hear the shouting of guards behind them, but he and Y/N are too far away for the uniformed men to do anything to them. Jesper takes one last turn, landing them solidly in Barrel territory, then lets himself slow to a stop. His breath is coming hard in his chest, but the adrenaline rush pounding through his veins is something else altogether. He’s feeling powerful, like he might do anything tonight. And, as he looks back at Y/N, who’s regarding him with the same devil-sharp grin, he might be willing to make a dangerous mistake.

Jesper is not sure when he decides to kiss her again, only that he doesn’t ever want to stop. He’s been forced to act polite all night with the merchers, but he can finally kiss her like a criminal, someone who doesn’t have to play by the rules. He can still feel his heart hammering in his chest, but he doesn’t intend to let it stop. They’ve escaped, haven’t they? Why not celebrate?

series tag list: @kaqua

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thebookreader12345 · 3 years

Text

Stories

Pairing: Blake Gallo x reader

Summary: Being the youngest member at the firehouse, Y/N wants someone her own age to fill the open spot on truck, and when she meets Blake Gallo, she instantly knows that he’s the one

Requested: No

Warnings: mentions of death by fire

Word Count: 1,408 Words

Note: Pulls from the events of Chicago Fire, Season 8 Episode 2, A Real Shot in the Arm

“Casey! Hey,” I greet. “I was just wondering how the search for the new firefighter for truck was going.”

“I haven’t found the right person yet if that’s what you’re asking,” Matt said.

“That’s great. Well, not great because we really need a new member and all but- okay the reason I asked is because I was hoping you would consider getting someone around my age,” I tell him.

Matt laughed and shook his head. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because, no offense Captain, a lot of the people in this house are way older than me, and while I appreciate everything you and the rest of Firehouse 51 have taught me, it would be nice to have someone I can really connect with. All I ask is that you consider it,” I exclaim. Just then, the alarm blared throughout the firehouse, and someone came over the speaker.

“Truck 81, Ambulance 61, person trapped, 9724 North Dayton.” Matt and I sprung into action immediately, running from our spot in the sleeping corridor to the apparatus floor where we put on our gear. After that, we climbed into the truck along with everyone else and sped off towards the scene. At the address, we found a guy tangled up in some rope hanging from a building. There was another truck company there, but apparently, their ladder wasn’t long enough to reach him. As I was standing around waiting for orders, a younger firefighter whose coat read Gallo ran over to me.

“Can you give me a hand?” Gallo asked.

“Uh, sure,” I respond. Gallo lead me over to a ladder, and we both picked it up, bringing it over to the side of the building. He then started climbing the ladder to get up to the balcony, and when he was at the top, he turned around and gave me a smile.

“You coming?”

I returned the smile and stepped onto the first step of the ladder. “Definitely.” It came to me soon after about what Gallo was trying to do. He was going to scale the balconies so that we could get up to where the man was quicker than the ladder on the truck. I grabbed onto the balcony above me and pulled myself up, then attempted to grab the rail at the top, but I missed, and my hand fell away from the metal. I let out a small shriek as I hung one handed from the balcony. If I let go, I would fall to my death. And I couldn’t reach the top railing any more since I was hanging down. That’s when Gallo appeared above me and offered me his hand. I reached up as high as I could and grasped it, resulting in him pulling me up and over the balcony. Gallo instinctively pulled me to his chest, and when my feet touched solid ground, I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I breathe out.

“No problem. You okay to keep going?” Gallo questioned.

“Yeah. I’m good. Lets go,” I murmur. Gallo and I scaled the rest of the balconies fairly quick, and just as we got to the one at the same height as the man, Matt and Kelly started climbing up the ladder. There was a balcony separating Gallo and I from the man, meaning we had to jump across. I climbed onto the ledge and grabbed the pole connecting the next balcony to the wall before leaping over the gap. Gallo followed my lead, and now we were both right by the man hanging from the roof. Gallo jumped into action and slid himself between the poles connecting our balcony to the wall, and then wrapped his legs around the man to keep him in place. I came up from behind and hooked my arms under Gallo’s armpits to keep him steady, and to make sure he didn’t fall. Seconds later, Matt and Kelly appeared on the ladder and helped get the man down. As soon as we all got to the ground, I pulled Matt aside. “Look, I know I don’t have any say in picking the new firefighter, but I think you should consider him,” I say and gesture to Gallo. “He saved my life, so he’s already earned my trust. And yeah, he may be daring, but inside, all of us are. I think he’d be a great addition to Firehouse 51.”

.......................................

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet our new candidate, Blake Gallo,” Matt spoke and gestured to Gallo, who was at his side.

“Well, if it isn’t my knight in shining PPE,” I announce. “It’s nice to finally get to officially meet you, Blake. I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Blake shook my outstretched hand, and as soon as our skin touched, I felt butterflies in my stomach.

“Y/N was our previous candidate, so she is going to be keeping an eye on you. Y/N, I want him on a short leash,” Matt ordered.

“You got it, Captain. Come on, Blake. Let me give you the tour. Oh. And welcome to Firehouse 51,” I add and give him a small smile. That night, after our first shift, I invited Blake over to Molly’s to get better acquainted with him. We were sitting at a table with two beers in front of us, and Blake was telling some funny story about his last firehouse. I laughed and took a sip of beer, enjoying the liquid’s taste as it went down my throat. For awhile, we just talked, and I felt so comfortable around him already even though we just met a few days ago. “So,” I say and take another swig of beer. “What’s your story, Blake?”

“My story?” Blake questioned.

“Yeah. Your story. Every person has one, and they’re all different. Our stories are what make us unique.” Blake still seemed confused by what I had said. “The reason you became a firefighter,” I clarify. Gallo hesitated, and I could tell that he had a big story, but by the looks of it, it definitely wasn’t a happy one. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. We just met. I don’t want to push you.”

“No. It’s uh, it’s fine. When I was 12, there was a fire at my house. I hid in the closest when the smoke started making it’s way into my bedroom. When I was finally rescued by firefighters, I found out that the rest of my family was dead. I lost my mom, dad and little sister that night,” Blake confessed.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I also want you to know that you’re not the only one,” I tell him.

“You mean.....” Blake trailed off.

I nodded. “I was 16. My older brother, he was 18. It was the summer right before he was going to start college, so my parents wanted to have a nice family vacation to send him off. We rented a log cabin in Wisconsin right on the lake, and we were going to spend the week there. The last day of the vacation, my brother and I went into town to see if we could find any neat souvenirs, and when we got back, the cabin had been burned down. There were firefighters everywhere, along with two body bags. My parents, they didn’t make it. It happened awhile ago, but the pain never really goes away.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling,” Blake agreed and downed the rest of his beer. “Listen, I know we just met and all, but uh, I um.....” It seemed that Blake couldn’t find the right words to say. Finally, he took a deep breath, and looked up at me. “Would you maybe want to go on a date sometime?”

“You do know that there aren’t supposed to be in-house romances, right?” I ask, a playful tone hidden in my voice.

“But I thought Severide and Kidd were-” Blake cut himself off when he saw me trying to hide my smile. “There’s no rule, is there?”

“Oh, there is,” I admit. “But so many people have broken it that Boden doesn’t care anymore. And I would love to go on a date with you, Blake Gallo. How does after next shift sound?”

“That sounds great,” Blake replied. “I will text you with the details when I have them.”

“I can’t wait. I’m really excited to see where this goes,” I disclose.

Blake smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

____________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @anotherfan07

#one chicago #chicago fire #chicago fire imagines #chicago fire imagine #chicago fire x reader #blake gallo #blake gallo x reader #blake gallo imagine #blake gallo imagines #firehouse 51 #ambulance 61 #squad 3 #truck 81

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honeytae · 4 years

Text

That laugh scares me.

welcome to another fluffy jimin story!! apparently i obsess over every little fluffy scenario with this man, but oh well, who doesn’t. i hope you like whatever this fluffy little thing is :)

tags: @mochiloverbts

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

It was a stormy night, the sound of raindrops pitter pattering on the roof echoing around the living room as Jimin’s arms hugged you to him, laying on your side with your spine against his chest. Your bodies were spread across the couch, eyes glued to the television in front of you displaying the Titanic film.

You both giggled at the unrealistic features of the movie, rolling your eyes at certain scenes and trading “Oh god”s at some of Rose’s corny lines.

Just as the famous scene of Jack assisting Rose in flying on the deck of the ship played on the screen, a huge clap of thunder made both of you jump. Jimin clutched you to him as the room went black, the sound of the movie cut off and the screen left blank.

“Shit, baby, are you okay?” Jimin sat up, curiously peering over your body to see your face. In a flash of lightning from the window, your nod of assurance was illuminated for his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just disappointed that I can’t keep judging that movie with you.” You responded, turning in his grasp so that you were facing him.

Jimin rested his arm on your midsection, fingers lifting the hem of your shirt to soothe the skin of your lower back.

“Me too, baby.” He giggled, stroking your hair back from your face as you thought of an idea.

“I can think of something we can do.” You teasingly put on a seductive tone to mess with him, enjoying the reaction you got as he seemed to register the words.

Jimin’s eyes lit up at the tone, looking down at your lips before his eyes flicked back up to yours. His eyebrows raised in question, a cocky smirk meeting his lips before you swiped it right off.

“Let’s build a fort.” You smiled, giggling as Jimin slid his hand over to your hip, lightly squeezing your side in his palm. Jimin giggled, eyes turning to crescents as he nodded in agreement at the idea.

“Yeah, baby, let’s build a fort.” He said, making you purse your lips, tipping your head to the side in confusion.

“Wait, really? I was just joking.” You said, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion at his easy acceptance of the childlike idea.

“Yeah. It gives me an excuse to cuddle with you.” He pointed out, following you as you sat up on the couch.

Getting up from his embrace, you began walking down the hall to the closet. You were met with a light breeze to your face when Jimin ran past you, giggling mischievously as he peeled the closet door open ahead of you.

“That laugh scares me. What exactly do you have planned?” You inquired, raising your eyebrows in suspicion.

He chuckled breathily, a pretty sound as he replied, “Not to brag, baby, but I’m kind of an expert on forts.”

You couldn’t see it in the pitch blackness of the house, but you knew there was a proud smirk sitting on his face.

“Well, how about I leave you to it, then?” You took small steps through the hallway, not wanting to crash into him. You silently reprimanded yourself for not bringing your phone with you for a source of light.

At his confused hum, you elaborated, “I’m going to go search for all the pillows we have. Aren’t pillows essential for a five star fort, Mr. Park?”

His giggles echoed around the hallway again, stretching his arms out in anticipation as he heard your footsteps approach.

You lightly collided with his chest, a surprised oof coming from you before blindly wrapping your arms around his neck. Jimin brought his hand up to your face, cupping your jaw and dramatically feeling around your face for your lips with his thumb. You giggled, opening your mouth and bringing your teeth together to bite down on his finger.

With a feigned “ouch”, Jimin pulled his thumb away, quickly replacing it with his mouth. His lips enveloped yours, pulling you into him with his arms around your waist as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip. Opening your mouth against his, your tongues tangled with each other for a few moments, breaths getting heavier as the desire between you two increased.

When Jimin let a small moan slip into your mouth, you pulled away, panting as you gripped onto the neck of his shirt.

“Maybe we should call off the whole fort thing, baby.” Jimin panted, shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

You tutted at him, shaking your head as you replied with a menacing “No, no, no. You bragged so much about your fort skills, I need to see them in action.”

Jimin groaned, whining out a “Baby,” as you pulled away from him.

Turning back to the closet in search of the best blankets for the fort, he shook his head.

“You drive me crazy,” he huffed, reaching his arm out to feel for the folded blankets sat on the shelf.

From down the hall, you smiled, saying a proud “I know.”

You felt your way along the wall, turning at the rounded corner of the door frame leading to your bedroom.

After grabbing all the pillows you could find, you stumbled through the dark hallway, eyebrows pinching together in confusion at the lit living room at the end of it. You squinted to make out the source of the light, several flickering flames of candles registering in your brain as you heard Jimin let out a light grunt.

As you walked into the room, your mind stalled at the sight. You couldn’t of been gone a full five minutes, yet your living room had been transformed.

He had moved the coffee table from the front of the couch to the side of the room, clearing out the space for the massive fort that now occupied it.

By the looks of the empty spaces surrounding the dining room table behind the living room, he’d taken the chairs to use them as a support for the bed sheet thrown across the top of it. There was a gap in the front of the fort, the sheet clipped up to act as an entrance.

As you leaned down to peer inside of it, you saw an abundance of blankets, Jimin perched in the middle of the mass amount of fluffy fabric smiling up at you. His eyes widened in surprise at the amount of pillows you’d managed to find, quickly standing from his position to help you spread them across the perimeter of the cozy fort.

“This is amazing, Chim. You weren’t kidding when you were talking about the whole fort expert thing, huh?” You teased, laughing as he shook his head no.

As he reached for the cushions stacked in your arms, he kissed your cheek, whispering a soft “Thank you, dove.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, bending down to help him line the floor with the pillows you’d gathered.

After you got every square inch of the floor underneath the fort covered in soft plushiness, you put your hands on your hips, breathing out deeply in exhaustion.

Jimin sat down, spreading his legs open and stretching his arms out in front of him as he awaited your body on his. You smiled at him, his cuddly appearance below you making you swoon.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you sat back against him, his arms encompassing your frame and his lips going to peck the crown of your head.

“I brought snacks.” His soft voice met your ears, his arm going from its place around your waist to lift a blanket beside your body. Pulling the fabric back, he revealed the pile of candy and chocolate all in a huge heap.

“Oh my god, my soulmate.” You exclaimed, turning in Jimin’s grip to straddle his hips. His hands attached to your waist, holding you to him as he giggled at your praise.

There were enough candles in the room outside of the enclosed space of the fort that you could see Jimin’s toothy smile, his eyes shining back at you as you picked up a Hershey’s kiss.You twisted the white tissue out of the aluminum wrapping, smiling as Jimin opened his mouth widely in anticipation of the chocolate.

Pushing it past his lips, he hummed at the sweet taste.

“Good?” You asked, getting a nod from Jimin before he was reaching into the pile for another one.

He unwrapped it quickly, holding it to your lips as you opened your mouth. He placed it on your tongue, withdrawing his hand before you closed your mouth to begin chewing.

You continued trading turns feeding each other, Jimin beginning to claim that he needed to kiss you after each one to “get a better taste.”

“Oh, to get a better taste. Right.” You agreed sarcastically, placing your lips on his before pulling away and watching him trace his tongue across his lips. He nodded, smiling as he shrugged.

“It’s just better that way, baby.” Jimin shifted as you giggled at his words, laying down on the pillows instead of sitting up. You nestled your head into his chest, Jimin’s hand caressing the back of your head and stroking through your hair.

“Baby,” his soft voice suddenly called through the blanketed space, making you lift your head to focus your attention on him.

“I’d give up my space on the door for you.” He said, his voice shy but genuine.You pouted at his sweet remark, completely caught off guard at the random timing of his confession.

Jimin laughed in embarrassment at your reaction, pulling you up to place his forehead on yours as his giggles subsided.

“I would for you, too, baby.” You said, pressing your lips to his plump pout as it stretched into a bashful smile. Pulling away, you leaned your forehead down on his.

“You know what else I’d do?” You asked, receiving a curious hum from your boyfriend as he looked at you intently.

“I’d help you fly.” You answered, making him throw his head back, his cackles filling the enclosed area in the middle of your living room.

“Thank you.” He finally said, tipping his head up to kiss the tip of your nose.

“It’s the least I could do to pay you back for this amazing fort.” You said coolly, making Jimin giggle again as he buried his face in your neck.

The power did eventually go back on; not that it mattered to you or Jimin. When the lights came back on, you both stayed in the fort, continuing your playful banter and making each other giggle until you drifted off to a peaceful sleep in each other's arms.

#bts #bts writing #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin #jimin writing #jimin fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin imagine #park jimin imagines #writing #fanfiction #fluff

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seizethesam · 4 years

Text

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 7

A/N: Hello again! We are almost halfway there!! Chapter 7 here, I hope you will enjoy it! This is another experimental chapter for me! Ode to an Angel has been a way to experiment on my writing!! As always, the feedback is always appreciated! Love you! Happy reading!

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Warning: Non, I guess, maybe a little bit angst.

The recommended song is Ruby’s Arms by Tom Waits!!!!

Chapter 6

Then…

“Why did ya stop?” he asked.

It was the same question you’d kept asking yourself when you’d first joined the group. Eventually you had found the answer.

“What I’ve found turned out to be way more important than a revenge,” you spoke, turning your face to him.

He was watching the dark forest while chewing his tongue. He looked… beautiful under the moonlight.

You watched him for a while, put your head on his shoulder. He flinched at the sudden contact but eased into it after a while.

Then you held his hand.

Now…

Chapter 7

“Hey, you wanna see a very impressive craftsmanship,” you said smiling to the man who was loading wild pumpkins on the back of the truck.

You were in a field not so far away from the prison that Glenn and Rick had spotted a few days back. The area wasn’t a plantation, but just a dumpster people used throw in rotten vegetables.

“C’mon,” Daryl gestured you to start the show. His features lacked any hint of excitement.

You cut a little piece of branch from the pumpkin plant and showed Daryl the inside of the branch. “See, the inside is hollow,” you did all this so dramatically like it was a cheap workshop that a little faint smile appeared on the archer’s lips.

You cut a semicircle whole at the end of the piece. You looked around the field to see if there was any walkers- there was one fairly far away from you. Then you blew air into the little hallow piece of branch. A very annoying, not too loud, borazon like sound came out.

“Huh? It’s a whistle,” you concluded, very proud of yourself.

He scoffed; “S’ impressive.”

“I know,” you said, lifting one brow at him, playfully. “Matt used to do that when we were kids.”

He looked at you confused. You realized you’d never told him his name, “my brother,” you explained.

“It’s practical,” he nodded, “all my brother had taught me was how ta drink and pick locks,” he said.

All the time you’d spend with Daryl, he’d never mentioned he had a brother. Had. You wondered what more there was to discover about this extraordinary man.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“S’ alright, he was an asshole,” he said, bending down to pick up another pumpkin. He turned body away from you. He was uncomfortable.

“Daryl,” you called him. He didn’t look at you. You wanted to tell him that it’s okay to open up, that it’s alright if he’s hurt or anything.

But you didn’t. he would talk to you when he wanted to talk to you. You decided on not pushing on it.

“Here, take this,” you said, instead, and offered him the handmade whistle, “in case you need me to save you. Just blow it,” you finished, giving him a smirk.

He scoffed at your sudden playfulness but took the whistle anyway and placed it in the pocket of his vest.

“I’ll keep it,” he muttered before he bent down to grab the large pumpkin.

Everyone was on edge.

The air in the car was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. No one said anything, no one looked at each other, no one made a noise, except for Michonne giving directions. She appeared outside the fences of the prison with baby formulas and clothes in her hand and a gunshot wound on one leg. No Maggie, no Glenn.

She had told you that “a young Asian guy and a pretty girl” had the baby stuff but they were taken by some men, men of someone who called himself the Governor. She’d said that they were living in a town called the Woodbury, about seventy-five survivors.

They wanted the prison Michonne had told you, your home. So, they took Maggie and Glenn hostages. But no, you weren’t going to give up on your home that easily.

The interrogation didn’t last long. You were on your way to the town when Michonne had told you that she would take you there. It wasn’t easy to trust her, but she was also your only chance at saving your friends.

So, you hit the road with Rick, Michonne, Oscar and Daryl.

You left the car near the woods and covered it safe with tree branches before continuing on foot.

Michonne had informed you about the lay out of the place, where this Governor usually is, about the fighters and the common people. But you still weren’t sure what to expect.

You were nervous, but still kept your head high and held the heavy machine gun tight in your hands.

You arrived at the breach that Michonne had told you about on the way here. Your eyes wondered around the place before stopping on Daryl. He looked back at you and gave you a reassuring nod.

You didn’t kill anyone before. But you weren’t going to hesitate on taking down the ones who had hurt your family in any way.

You were not losing anymore.

---

Michonne led your group into labyrinth of a place that was built out of metal scraps, telling you that the Governor could be keeping Glenn and Maggie in there for interrogation or— worse. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage so hard, wondering if you were too.

No, you weren’t. You were just in time, in fact.

Thankfully, the metal walls were badly structured as there were holes and gaps in between, so you got a good look at the other side.

You saw four men with guns, one with a blade for a hand actually, and two other people with sacks covering their heads; Glenn and Maggie.

They were alive. You let out your breath that you weren’t aware of holding.

Rick and the others were waiting close behind you. You pointed to the other side of the wall with your index and middle finger as you nodded to Rick to take action. With your signal, they threw the gas bomb to other side and you shot at the enemy for cover.

You escaped the place and took refuge in one of the town houses. Words that didn’t make sense to you escaped Glenn’s mouth, “Merle’s here,” he said.

Daryl’s head snapped to Glenn’s direction, “ya sure? S’ he the Governor?” he lined his questions.

“No, that’s some other guy,” Glenn answered as he put on a hoodie.

“Then, we gotta go for him, take him with us,” Daryl talked as he moved back and forth. Clearly, he knew this ‘Merle’ guy. He was in such an excitement to see him.

“Dude, he tried to kill us,” Glenn tried to reason with the archer. Merle didn’t seem like good news according to Glenn, but Daryl obviously cared about the guy.

But whatever it was, this wasn’t the time to argue. The town was slowly turning into a war zone.

“Guys, sorry to interrupt, but we have to leave,” you said, turning away from the window, “now.”

You gave Glenn the pistol you were keeping under your belt. Just as you were getting ready make the escape, Daryl spoke, “I can’t leave him here, man, he’s my brother.”

Now it made sense. He was blood.

Rick looked at Daryl before speaking, “Look, there’s a whole army out there. You gotta be there with us if we’re gonna make it out alive,” his voice was deep, “I need you, ya with me?

The archer weighed Rick’s words and nodded slowly.

You open the front door and let your friends get out of the house one by one. You were last one to exit the place and step into the fog of the gas bombs.

The glazing fire of the ricochets on the asphalt was illuminating the misty air that covered you. The sounds of guns shooting were filling the air. And until then, you’d never thought what a bliss of God it would be to be deaf.

You ran for your escapes shooting any obstacle that came on your way. You helped Glenn and Maggie up onto the bus to go over the wall, leaving Rick and Daryl close behind for cover. After Maggie, Oscar helped you up.

Everything happened so fast.

Oscar was pushing you up to the bus roof and the next thing he was lying dead on the floor. He was shot right through his chest. It wasn’t not a wound that even a big guy like him could handle.

It wasn’t long until Maggie put a bullet into his skull.

You found yourself shouting for Daryl and Rick to came back to you; Daryl didn’t. He disappeared in the foggy street of Woodbury.

Shit.

---

You put your rifle in your hands like if was now a part of your body. Not just a machine, but an extension of limbs.

What you saw before you was a perfect example of mania. The Governor was standing in the middle of an arena, talking out of his ass. Then came Daryl, and his long-lost brother, Merle.

The scenery was obscene; people were cheering for them to kill each other, red flames around the league was adding to the dreariness of the situation. Deadly. It was unbelievable how these people were thirsty for blood.

Your index finger was on its rightful place, pressing close to the trigger. You were waiting for Rick’s signal to shoot. You were going to kill some you didn’t know— to save the man with the angel wings. So, you shot. The man who stood behind Daryl. Headshot.

Through the binocular of the rifle, you saw Daryl flinch when the man fell on the ground with a whole in his face.

The first human you’ve ever killed.

Soon after, you shot at another one holding a walker. You shot the man on his collar bone, but he didn’t get up from the ground. Then you shot the walker.

Rick stepped into the arena to get the archer when you and Maggie were covering for him.

---

“No him, no me,” Daryl said with a low voice. What? You couldn’t help but frown at his words. He was really considering leaving. No, he wasn’t considering anymore, he was leaving.

“Daryl, you don’t have to do that,” Maggie spoke.

“It was always Merle and I before this,” he said. It was almost like he was trying to ration his decision to himself, putting out reasons to go with his brother.

You should’ve understood him. He didn’t want to leave his brother; he said he already did that once. You should’ve been able to let him go. Not over a year ago, you were doing the same, and your brother was dead.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let him go.

“Don’t,” it was the only thing that came out of your mouth.

“You would’ve done the same thing,” he said.

He started to walk towards the car to get his things.

You went after him while Glenn was sighing in defeat. Your steps were fast and soon after you were next to him.

“Wait!” you reached for his arm but failed. “Don’t go like this, Daryl.”

He didn’t say anything; he just kept walking like he wasn’t hearing you. You took two more big steps and stood in front of him and placed your hand on his chest to stop him. It was an involuntary movement, but it was enough to send him a step back.

A wave heat rushed through your ears. “You can’t leave like this. You can’t,” you jabbered, “we need you to be there when the Governor comes.”

You stopped to see what he was going to say, but he kept his silence. “I need you,” you finally said.

The second words left your mouth you tried to swallow them back in, but it was too late. And they were true. You needed him, more than you’d like to admit.

“I ain’t leavin’ him again, Y/N,” he told you. You heard the bitterness in his voice when he said your name. “Ya should understand.”

“It’s not the same,” and it wasn’t. You didn’t know Merle, but based on everyone’s view on him, including Daryl’s, the guy was, in fact, an asshole. Your brother, on the other hand, was dead, and nothing could stop you from going with him if he were to stand before you…alive.

That was when it clicked. You were being selfish. You cared about the archer more than you’d let on.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, afraid that you would break.

“I have ta,” he said, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t let the tears spill until he turned his back to you and vanished into the green woods with his brother.

Taglist:

A lark was singing a happy song in the sky when Daryl left.

Chapter 8

@spidergirla5 @twdeadfanfic @kamieshep @sophia-gwendolyn @jodiereedus22 @purplebtsmagic @302rocks @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth @crossbowking @bunnymother93 @ly--canthrope @mrsfortune1306 @pillowjj

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon icons #daryl dixon masterlist #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Lost Love

Request: Can I ask for a enddeanxreader where Instead of dean getting sent to the future you both get sent to it and future you died a year before so future dean is like really close, and lovey-dovey to you the whole time your there and your dean is jealous even though you’re not together but you and future dean were together plus you don’t care the future dean is close to you like that. I’d like to be angsty and fluffy pls

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Endverse!Dean x Reader, Zachariah

Warnings: angst, time travels, fluff, mentions of death, longing, jealous Dean, language

“Fucking angel dicks.” Dean curses as he paces around the cheap motel room you inherit at the moment. “I should rip their wings out, feather by feather.”

“Dean, relax. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to part ways with Sammy. Together we always were stronger. I…” Cutting you off Dean shakes his head, giving you his ‘if you don’t stop talking about Sam I will abandon you too’ look. “Will you kick me out of your life too?”

Lips pressed into a thin line you grab your bag, ready to leave the motel room but then a blinding light makes you blank out and the last thing you hear is Dean calling your name.

----

“What?” Holding your pounding head, you blink a few times feeling someone shake you.

“Sweetheart! Wake up, Y/N. Something is wrong, we need to get out of here!” Dean gasps as you grab his biceps, letting him help you up.

“Dean…”

“No time for explanation, Y/N. Follow me.”

Looking around the room you entered not an hour ago you gaps. The nightstand clock is smashed, the mattress of the bed is gone. The whole room is trashed.

Not responding you rush toward the window to find the city outside destroyed.

“Did the apocalypse happen while I was out cold?” Sniffling you start shaking as Dean grabs your hand to lead you out of the room.

Looking around the world outside you find the area is devastated, everything broken or graffitied on or both.

Croatoan is written on most of the walls and you point toward an alley as you can see a girl sitting on the ground. “Croatoan…that’s the virus Sam and you told me about…”

“Yeah. You get bitten, you are done for. Except for Sammy, he was immune to this sick shit. We need to get away from here…”

Gasping Dean can see several people run toward the girl, he wants to help her but she turns around, a wicked smile on her lips.

“Dean…”

Before you can react you hear gunshots and then soldiers appear, shooting the infected people. You want to thank them but one of the soldiers aims his gun toward you and Dean needs to drag you away.

Running down the street you point toward an alley and Dean looks over his shoulder to find two Croats hot on your heels but one of the soldiers is behind them, taking the infected people down.

“We should hide from the soldiers too. I don’t think they differ between us and infected people.” Dean pants as he breaks through a door using his shoulder.

Still confused about this broken world you follow Dean inside to hide till dusk…

----

It feels like you are walking around this deserted and devastated world for days as Dean points toward a fence.

A sign on the fence reads:

CROATOAN VIRUS; HOT ZONE NO ENTRY

BY ORDER OF ACTING REGIONAL COMMAND; AUGUST 1, 2014; KANSAS CITY

“August 1st, 2014…how can this be, Dean?” With trembling fingers you touch the sign, reading the date over and over till Dean breaks through the fence.

“Angels I guess…Had this time-traveling shit before.” Dean grunts.

“Angels…”

----

While Dean hotwires a car you watch out for any sign of soldiers or Croats. At least you still got your handgun and angel blade for defense.

“Get in, Y/N. We need to get away from here. Maybe drive to Bobby’s place and ask him for help, advice or ten drinks to drown this nightmare.”

“I’m scared…Dean.” Not giving away he’s scared too Dean scoffs, slamming his hands onto the roof of the car.

“We’ve got no time for this shit. Don’t be a girl about it.” His harsh tone makes you flinch and you enter the car, not talking to Dean for the next hours.

----

Dean is driving silently, not daring to glance at you. While you ignore his presence, you check on your phone but there’s not service. Flicking the radio on you get only static.

“That's never a good sign.” Dean tries and you nod silently, swallowing your fear, making a brave face.

“Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.” Zachariah suddenly appears in the backseat of the car, startling Dean he reads a newspaper.

“I told you it’s another time travel crap made by an angel dick, Y/N.” Dean snorts as Zachariah’s features darken.

“Well as you refused to talk to us or fulfill your destiny I had to force you to see what will happen to your beloved world and the people closest to you.” Now Zachariah focusses his attention toward you and Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“How did you find me and why did you drag Y/N into this shitshow too?” Angrily clenching his jaw Dean glares at the angel in the backseat.

“Let’s say a very loyal soldier kept an eye on you…” Zachariah chuckles, feeling the fear make your fingers tremble. “Don’t you worry, Y/N. Nothing will happen to you or Dean on this trip. You are protected.”

“Why bring us here? To make Dean see he has to say yes and destroying half of the planet?” Squaring your jaw you glare at Zachariah but he’s unimpressed.

“Half of the planet is way better than blowing the whole thing, isn’t it?” Smirking the angel looks at Dean.

“Send us back like yesterday, dick or I swear…” Dean threatens, knowing it’s useless to fight with Zachariah.

“Oh, you'll get back—all in good time. Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you.”

After that, the angel is gone and you look at your friend, still shaking. “We need to find a safe place and just sit this out. He said we can’t get hurt so we wait and try to stay away from the Croats and soldiers…”

“We go to Bobby’s and hide there. I bet he knows how to handle this situation better than us.”

----

The ride toward Bobby’s house was filled with empty streets, burned down houses and silence. Dean dared not to say anything to you after he was rude, and you are still hurt as he didn’t show compassion.

While Dean looks for a place to park the car you check on your gun and extra ammunition in your back pocket.

“You’re always prepared. Smart girl.” Dean shuffles on his feet as he opens the door for you. “We need to be careful. Everything seems to be deserted out here too, but we never know.”

Flanking Dean’s side you rush toward Bobby’s house as he kicks the door open, going in first to check for any enemies.

“Anyone in there? Bobby, it’s Dean and Y/N. We are not infected and will come in now, okay old man. Do not shoot us.” Dean calls for his friend but he meets only silence.

“Dean…?”

“Let me go further in, stay behind me.”

“Got it…”

Dean looks around. The place is thoroughly trashed, and from the spiderwebs and dust, no one has been around in a while. “Oh, no…Bobby…”

Bobby's wheelchair is on its side. While Dean sets it upright you gasps, seeing the bullet holes through and dried blood on the back of the seat.

“Where is everybody…” Glancing at the destroyed place you point toward the hidden compartment you remember. “Maybe we find anything in his journal.”

“Got it. Stay by my side, Y/N.” Dean stuffs his gun back into his waistband while you have his back, keeping an eye on the door.

----

“Camp Chitaqua…” Dean whispers and you glance at the picture he found in your friend's journal. “That’s Cas, Bobby but I do not know these guys…”

“Me neither…”

“I guess we got a destiny to be, Y/N. Let’s check for weapons and get out of this graveyard.” Dean leads you toward Bobby’s panic room, always aware to look out for enemies…

----

“CAMP CHITAQUA, Y/N. That’s the place from the picture.” Glancing at the fence you see men patrolling with guns. Staying out of sight Dean silently curses.

“We should find …” Dean hears something behind him and barely turned around before someone knocks him out.

You want to scream but then you meet familiar emerald eyes and you gasp as an older and tougher Dean secures his gun to bring you in his arm.

“Y/N…” He whispers kissing your hair before he looks you over. “How…?”

Speechless you look over your shoulder, pointing at your Dean lie unconscious on the cold ground.

“Zachariah…” You whimper as Dean hugs you tightly to sniff at your hair. “He brought us here to see what happens to the world and the people near to Dean…”

“Is he here? Can I talk to him? Do you know where to find him, Y/N?” The other Dean asks and you pant heavily as your head starts spinning.

“Dean I…”

Passing out you fall against the elder Dean’s chest and he carefully picks you up, burying his nose into your neck.

“I’ve missed you so much, Sweetheart…so much…”

----

Your Dean wakes up, groaning as his head is pounding. What he sees makes his stomach drop. “What the hell?”

“It seems like you are finally awake.” The other Dean says as his eyes are focused on his future version.

“Where is Y/N?? I swear if you hurt her!” Dean grits his teeth, getting up he wants to attack the elder Dean but your whimpers catch his attention.

Before your Dean can get to you his elder self is by your side. He’s gently helping you get up, stroking your cheek as you gasp seeing two Dean’s stand in the room.

“Am I imagine things or are there two of you?” Giggling you pinch the elder Dean’s cheek and he smirks before his lips press against your forehead.

“Shouldn’t you do this at your cheek?” Your Dean mutters as the elder Dean is moving his arms around you, holding you tightly.

“Hey! Let go of her! She’s not your…uh…dunno…” Dean mutters as you lean into the foreign Dean’s arms, enjoying his gentle touch.

“She’s my girlfriend, so shut up and let me celebrate my reunion with my girl.”

Gasping you feel Dean’s lips on yours, or rather future Dean’s lips as your Dean mutters behind his back.

“I told you to get your dirty hands off my girl!” Your Dean yells now and you feel your heart flutter.

“Shut up! This is my world, the world you created.” Now the future Dean turns around, hands balled into fists he storms toward your Dean. “You are calling her your girl, but you allowed Sam to kill her!”

“Sammy…killed her.” Dean gasps, pressing one hand flat to his heart. “I…no…no…” Shaking Dean looks at you, not believing his brother would lay a hand on you. “He would never…”

“He would hurt her to hurt you…us. Sammy said yes after he left us. I couldn’t stop Y/N from trying to save her friend and lost the only woman, I…no we ever loved a few months ago. She believed Sam could take over control…”

Sniffling the elder Dean turns away from his younger version to cup your face, claiming your lips softly.

“She’s not you girl! Take your hands of Y/N. This is not your version of her. You failed to protect her, I won’t.” Your Dean exhales as you gently stroke future Dean’s cheek.

There is so much pain in these green orbs and you know he is close to losing all hope. “Dean…”

“I’ve missed you, Y/N. Missed your smile, the way you touched me, the noises you made when we made love…” At this point your Dean drags his elder version off you, angrily clenching his fists.

“That’s enough, Romeo! Don’t you dare to touch my girl…” Confused you look at the elder Dean, as you Dean is not letting him get close to you. “Last warning! You won’t make love to her or anything.”

“You ignored her long enough! Years, you idiot. You ignored my girl for years and then you let her slip through your fingers.” Future Dean is balling his fists, ready to attack your Dean but this time you shove your friend behind your back.

“Don’t hurt my Dean…please. If you ever loved me you will not hurt him.”

Gently cupping the elder Dean’s cheek, you press a soft kiss to his lips. “You know I love you; you know my future version loved you so don’t hurt my Dean because he will be you in a few years.”

“He’s not appreciating you, Y/N. He will need years…stay with me…”

This time you take a step back, giving the elder Dean a cracked smile. “I can’t, Dean. This is not my time and you know Zachariah will bring me back along with my Dean. I…”

“Hands off my girl!” Your Dean is losing his patience, ready to attack his elder version he shoves you behind his back.

“Dean, please. He is missing me, well my future me. Gosh that’s confusing for sure. I have two Dean’s around me and now my brain wants to shut off and just let my lips take over.”

Blink a few times your Dean clears his throat before he turns around, claiming your lips for the first time. Future Dean is watching you and his younger self with sad eyes but his heart flutters at the memory of how your first kiss felt, not a year ago.

“I love you too, Y/N. I swear I will not let this happen…never. I won’t let Sammy say yes and I will not let him kill you.” Sniffling you rest your head against Dean’s chest, closing your eyes for a moment to just savor the moment.

“You better protect her, or I will find a way to come to your time and kick your ass…” Future Dean watches you lean into your Dean’s touch, sighing as his younger version smirks at him.

“No need for that. I will protect my girl and lose the love of my life…”

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana31, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @voltage-my2dlove, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic, @fandomsrourlives, @wittysunflower, @drakelover78, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @spnhollis, @void-imaginations, @jay-and-dean, @shatteredabby, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @neii3n, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @alltimesamantha, @chonisberonica, @supernaturalonice, @stuckys-whore, @shadowkat-83 @officialmarvelwhore, @wecantgiggleitsafandom, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove, @yolobloggers, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor, @hollymac79, @straycuties9, @kayla-2000, @ilovefanfic86, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav, @sadn0va, @spnwoman, @amiquette, @linki-locks11, @geekofmanyforms, @eggingamazinglove, @jessica-marsh09, @spnficgirl, @shut-themoonscone, @thequeenreaders, @countrygal17a, @kteelou, @soryuwifeyxx, @kricketc28, @atomicfandombomb, @defenderrosetyler, @shortwinchester, @maybesomedaygayyyy, @tmiships4life, @deanmonandnegansbitch, @exo-nova, @the-chocolate-moose, @laxe-from-outer-space, @sabascio, @that-place-called-middle-earth, @the-broken-angel-13, @bunnybaby89, @pandabiiissh, @maddiedott, @fandom-imagines1, @lilulo-12, @theoneandonlymelol, @mblaqgi, @sea040561, @clawsandshotguns, @justsomedreaming , @differentstudentrunawaysposts, @hhiggs, @deepmuffinspymaker, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel, @cassiopeia-barrow, @mep6811

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2, @supernatural-bellawinchester, @butifulsoul125, @lyinginthegingerlocks, @deans-baby-momma, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @20gayneen, @janicho88, @thefaithfulwriter, @dreaminemz, @negans-lucille-tblr, @akshi8278, @midnightsilver16830, @mrspeacem1nusone, @ria132love, @caligraphee, @the-witch-in-silence, @multisuperfandom, @deansgirl-1968, @justanotherwinchester, @jadesupernatural, @squirrelnotsam, @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo, @roonyxx, @jason-todd-squad, @thevelvetseries, @spnsuper17, @adoptdontshoppets, @woodworthti666, @frederikkeborup, @psychicforest, @luciathewinchestergirl, @michellemxndes, @addictedtofictionalcharacters, @gabifernandessn

#spn #spn fanfic #angst #lost love #request fill #dean winchester #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #endverse!dean winchester #endverse!dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you

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keroujack · 4 years

Note

Hi, can you do #46? Your writing is amazing, I’m a little jealous 😭❤️

bruh dfjkasla;d you’re unbelievably sweet thank you so much ❤️ i really hope you like it!!

46. “What happens if I do this?”

Steve was 15 and the neighbors were moving out.

He’d watched them pack from his spot on the roof. The little spot right outside his bedroom window. Allowed him to see down into the living room of the next house over. It was already piled high with boxes when his mom let the statement slip at dinner one night.

“The Upton’s are moving to the Hamptons,” she’d said.

Steve couldn’t remember a single time either of his parents had ever spoken to Mr. or Mrs. Upton other than the occasional hello while crossing paths to get the mail. Couldn’t quite understand why the news was important enough for her to waste her breath over.

His father didn’t. He just hummed.

Two weeks later, the house was empty.

Steve was 16 and they still didn’t have a neighbor off to the right hand side.

He’d watched his fair share of Open Houses from his spot on the roof. Thought about taking a look himself on more than one occasion. Considered what it would be like to jump over onto the little patch of roof that matched his own, how easy it would be to open the window and climb inside. The thought was tempting, but the small gap between houses made his palms sweat. Was enough to keep him on his side of the line.

So he just watched. Watched couple after couple after couple, one upturned nose after the next, walk through and leave. Never saw the same face twice.

Maybe that was the beer’s fault, the weed’s, made his memory all hazy and weird. Mostly, out there on the roof, staring at the stars, he thought maybe it was the house’s fault.

Big empty houses could be intimidating. He should know. He lived in one.

Steve was 17 and there was a moving truck outside.

A moving truck, a beat-up Cadillac, and a shiny blue Camaro.

He watched them unpack from his spot on the roof. Sipped a beer, slow, careful, kept his eyes on the living room below.

From what he could see, they were a small family, normal enough. A quiet father with stern eyes. A young mother with bright orange hair. A small daughter with a head of her own to match.

If he hadn’t been watching closely, he might have thought that was it. Father, mother, daughter. Small family of three. Quaint and picturesque to fit the small-town Indiana mold.

Except, that wasn’t it.

There was a fourth person walking around the house. Somewhere. What had to be a son. Broad shoulders, blond hair. Hands curled around cardboard boxes so tight they creased beneath his fingers, lined with rings.

The other three, the picture-perfect three, spent their time in the living room, hanging curtains, arranging vases on shelves, but the son, he only came into the room to pick up another box, to drag it somewhere else. Spent his time somewhere else. Out of the frame.

Time passed. Steve had another beer. Watched the lights go out one by one by one until the house was as dark as it had been these last two years. Dark and desolate.

Steve was 17 and they finally had neighbors again.

“The Hargrove-Mayfield’s,” he learned, as per his mother’s explanation a few nights later. “From California.”

“That’s cool,” Steve said. Hardly even a hum of a noise as he pushed at the broccoli on his plate. Had to punch at the silence somehow when his father didn’t.

The explanation ended there, dinner went back to cold silence.

Later that night, he climbed out onto the roof, the late-June air outside his bedroom window warm, perfect. His parents would be gone again in the morning and he’d bought a brand new bottle of whiskey off Tommy, could hardly even wait to drink it beneath a blanket of stars. There was no breeze to rattle the trees, the slow burn of alcohol cut at the back of his throat, and if he squinted hard enough, he could see the Big Dipper.

Life was lighter. Summer was here.

The world outside was dark, calm, but the light from the living room next door drew his attention like a moth to a flame. The dull hum of noise. The cadence an argument, volume that matched.

There wasn’t much he could see. Mostly just hands. Young hands. Lined with rings and waving like mad. On the opposite side of the room, the hands were stronger, rougher. A father’s hands. Balled into fists. Unmoving.

Until suddenly they were. Moving. Grabbing a vase off the shelf to throw against the wall. Cracked it, shattered it clean. Sent shards and flowers to the floor with a violent crash.

The crash gave way to silence, silence to flat air. To empty space. Disappeared and faded into the light. Into the house.

For two years, the house next door had been empty. Dead. Lifeless. Now it was full of fire, with hands that dripped kerosene and a dark rosewater stain that licked at the wall like flames.

When Steve closed his eyes, he could hear sirens.

When he opened them again, he could hear the telltale flick of the locks on the window across from his. Watched a hand lined with rings pull it up, open.

Steve watched him, lazy, hazy from whiskey as he-the son-climbed out the window, shut it behind him. Faced the yard with a heavy breath that Steve might have seen if the air’d had any kind of chill to it.

It wasn’t like it was weird. He knew the kid had seen him, they’d caught each other’s eyes as he sat down on the little patch of roof that mirrored Steve’s, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket before he completed the full motion.

The kid had even spoken to him after he’d placed the cigarette between his lips. After he’d felt at his pockets with ring lined hands and grabbed at his thighs with well-practiced intent. Voice low in pitch, in volume.

“Got a light?” he asked.

“No,” Steve said, shook his head, doubted the kid could see it against the night sky, the black tiles that pillowed his head.

The kid’s laugh was sharp, humorless. A little mean.

“Jesus.” He took the cigarette out from between his lips and stuck it behind his ear. “’Course you don’t,” he mumbled, rubbed a hand that glinted gold against the moonlight over his face. “Fuckin’ hick town. Of course you don’t.”

Steve sat up, slow when he felt his cheeks heat, felt something irritated, annoyed flood up his chest. He took another long sip of the whiskey, winced around it, made sure to feel it burn all the way down before he screwed the cap back on.

“Here.”

Thoughtless. He threw the bottle over the gap before the kid had his head fully turned in his direction, caught it with an ease, an effortlessness Steve could admire.

For all this kid knew, Steve was a stranger, an idiot that laid on the roof of his house in the middle of the night, but he didn’t hesitate to unscrew the cap. To wrap his lips around the bottle and tip his head back, to close his eyes and take a smooth drink.

Silent. Steve just watched.

The kid threw it back over after another even swig, but he kept his mouth shut. Made it clear he didn’t have anything more to say.

That might have been the first time, but it was far from the last.

Steve was 17 and the new neighbors had a habit of getting loud.

The situations were always similar. Steve would watch from the roof, hear the phantom hum of an argument, prepare for the locks to undo, for the window to open once the argument gave way to silence. To him.

“Billy,” he’d said after the fourth time, after Steve had thrown him the beer he’d convinced himself was just an extra when he’d grabbed it on the way out.

“Steve,” he replied, didn’t flinch when the can cracked a few feet away. Billy’s eyes were on him-blue, he had blue eyes, Steve realized-as he took a sip.

And so it went.

Steve was 17, Billy would be 17 next month, and apparently, he wasn’t the only one that preferred stars to the interior of a big house.

“Know anything about stars?” Billy asked him one clear night in July, when the moon was bright and Steve’s watch told him it was nearing 3 AM.

“No,” he said, honest. “Do you?”

“Not a clue.”

Steve laughed. It was easy to laugh with Billy. He’d cried out on the roof more times than he’d ever admit out loud, but he never laughed.

Billy was funny when he wasn’t an asshole, when he wasn’t filled to the brim with angry red, when his temper had calmed and argument-born adrenaline had all but disappeared.

“My dad’s a dickhead,” was the only explanation he’d ever offered. Let it slip after five weeks and half a bottle of cheap vodka that they’d been tossing back and forth. Was quick enough to cover it with a quip that Steve didn’t have to answer, didn’t have to know how.

He could just laugh. So he did.

Steve was 17 and he wasn’t sure he’d ever laughed so much in his life.

He didn’t laugh that night in August, though. The one that changed things.

He’d been in his room, had the window open to allow the air to circulate. The shouts that came when the sun went down didn’t surprise him, nor did the strong, angry sets of hands he saw arguing when he climbed out and sat on the roof. To wait.

It was the absence of a bare hand, raised, the flash of an elbow, pulled back, a fist that hooked right to left that made his breath catch.

The hands lined with rings, covered in blood when they came back into the frame.

Steve felt his heart hit the ground.

Billy’s lip was split when he climbed through the window not five minutes later, blood a fat line down his chin.

He didn’t sit once the window was closed behind him. Not even a hey.

Didn’t need one when he was already at the edge of the roof.

“What happens if I do this?” he asked, gestured across the gap between houses, to the space where Steve was sitting. “If I jump over. Is your roof gonna cave in under my ass or what?”

“No,” Steve said, confused, hated how much red there was covering Billy’s face, his hands.

“Okay.” Billy nodded, eyed Steve, the space around him. Took a hard breath in and then out. “Back up.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice.

Billy jumped the gap without another word, without hesitation. Landed on his feet with a dull thud, a hint of a wince that pulled at the corners of his lips.

The weight of his body knocked into Steve’s when he sat down next to him, heavy, careless.

The blood down his chin was so much worse up close. Deep, dark, dripped a thick shade of red down his tanned skin. Steve had to ball his hand in the hem of his shirt to keep from reaching out to wipe at it.

“Billy?”

His eyes were closed. His chest was almost heaving, up and down and up and down harsh, rapid.

“Yeah?” He sounded breathless. Different.

Steve didn’t bother asking him if he was okay. Decided to take a leap instead.

“Do you wanna come inside?” he asked, watched when the question made Billy open his eyes, revealed a cool shade of blue that seemed to steam against the red, the blood on his face. “You’re bleeding like crazy, man. I mean, I could-I have stuff for that. That could help you clean up.”

Billy swallowed hard, considering. Was slow to shake his head. “Don’t wanna bug you.”

“You’re not bugging me,” he insisted, knocked his shoulder into Billy’s when he didn’t move. “I mean it. Come on.”

Steve stood up, held his hand out. An offer. Billy eyed it. Eyed him.

Took it without a word, let Steve pull him up. Let Steve help him in through the window and lock it behind them.

Steve was 17 and he’d do anything to protect him-Billy- from the house next door. The monster that lived in the house next door.

Anything.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my fic #*oh my god they were neighbors*#Anonymous

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powermaknae · 4 years

Text

In the Dark

Incubus! Yuta x Witch! Lily

Yuta leaves a life of wild partying and long nights to be with Lily, a witch with growing power.

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count- 4.7K~

~Fantasy!au, sexual themes, some angst, blood play, power complex, choking(not a lot), alcohol

A/N- Hey! This one was fun. I got really into it tbh and I’m really excited about it. I also decided to use one of my own characters for this instead of the reader pov. I’m planning on making a character bio for her soon, and if you’d like to suggest a character of you own, you can send a bio like the one I’ll make for Lily. There will also be more parts to this series, maybe 2 or 3 total, I’m not sure yet but yeah. Hope you enjoy!

He roamed the street through the hours of the night, inconspicuous to most. His handsome face became familiar to partygoers and bartenders all over the city. His reputation was an unspoken understanding among powerful names. No one got in his way.

Bouncers knew to let him in without hesitation. He would walk to the front of the line in his fitted suit, his slightly curly brown hair falling just above his hooded eye that glared at the large man who quickly moved the rope.

He strutted into the booming room, lasers dancing on the fabric of the suit, the music dulling every other sense to most humans. He went to his usually seat at the edge of the bar. “What will it be tonight, Mr. Nakamoto?” The bar tender inquired. “Yuta, please. And your finest vodka.”

Alcohol didn’t affect him much, but he enjoyed mixing cinnamon into it. It gave him a heightened awareness of his ability. He could see people with a clearer vision, and they could see him more vividly, making him more desirable to mortals. After several rounds, he scoped the room with dark, lustrous eyes, looking for his next victim.

He spotted her across the dance floor, way too drunk to keep her balance. Perfect. He downed the last of the painful liquor then got up gracefully, smoothly making his way over to the weak woman. Her dress clung to her sweat-covered body and was perhaps a few sizes too small, leaving little to imagination.

Yuta didn’t have a preference of what they looked like. He just liked them messy, always leaving his mess for his underlings. He didn’t care much for passion, only pleasure: his pleasure, at least.

He ghosted his long fingers over her slim waist, slipping behind her silently. She turned to find her suiter, only to feel his presence in front of her now. She spun to meet him, taken aback by his ethereal appearance. His skin radiated with alcohol, his eyes had morphed to a light honey color, no less dangerous than before, but the energy he gave off was magnetic. No woman could resist him in this state, or so he thought.

She fell into his grasp as he lulled her in. She fell into his strong figure; he was practically holding her up as they walked off to find a private room upstairs.

***

He emerged from the room tipsier than he went in, no sight of the girl. The suit he had dawned was now in disarray, several buttons undone and his white dress shirt untucked. He left a hefty tip this time, having been much less careful and taken longer than usual.

He left without another word, feeling less than satisfied. This city had become boring, he had created a routine much to his disliking. He had found the city by chance and didn’t intend to leave, but he desperately needed a change of pace.

********

Lily lived a simple life away from the busy city. She didn’t hate it, but all the energy it omitted was exhausting. Her family were quiet, serene people, healers mostly, who lived to help others in the peace of the world.

She learned magic early on, things to protect her, what herbs heal emotional wounds, and how to direct her energy to manifest magic. Her magic became much more than just that of a healer, she could manipulate the world to her whim, so when she first killed a man, she ran. She never meant to; she was just unfocused, or at least that’s what she told herself. But she knew she was never meant to be a healer.

Her brother, Doyoung built her the small house without their parents’ knowledge. Doyoung had sensed she would leave and just wanted her to be comfortable, knowing she could easily protect yourself.

She lived in that house very comfortably for many years, many not knowing it was there. She had it painted with protective symbols, hung bundles of sage and cinnamon above every door frame and grew a small herb garden filled with many magical supplements only supernatural creatures could nurture.

********

Yuta’s wobbly legs carried him to the outskirts, where he found a small cottage-like house surrounded by plants and flowers of unbelievable beautiful. Yuta had only seen flowers like that once before when he was first created as a creature of the night.

Some of the paint on the door was beginning to peel and the shingles on the roof needed replacing. He stepped closer to the door as the windchimes hanging outside the window clanked together, a whiff of his favorite sent filling his nostrils, clearing his thoughts of drunken pleasure.

The heavy lock placed on the front door was easily bendable to Yuta’s whim and opened with ease. Lily rarely put charms on her front door. She only did when she felt the energy was out of balance, and that only happened when she was young.

Yuta’s steps were warried yet unwavering. He felt uneasy in the unfamiliar house, something about it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Not dangerous or unwelcoming, but he could definitely sense the magic, unable to name or identify it.

His steps were now more comfortable, but the uneasy feeling grew as he drew closer to the main bedroom. He found Lily asleep in a large queen-sized bed, surrounded by pillows. The walls and ceiling had been painted with the night sky, stars shining all around him, illuminating the small figure in the bed.

The rush of energy startled her, causing her to jump at the sight of him, quickly gaining her bearings. Yuta looked down at her with a smirk, using the height difference to his advantage. He took a step towards her, his emotions flooding with something he was unfamiliar to. He felt a desire like no other, not like the stranger at the club.

She was beautiful to him, her short blonde curls were disheveled, and her skin seemed to glow under the painted sky, magic radiated from her. She was not a normal human, and Yuta knew it, but he wanted her. Lily was awestricken with his beauty, but she could tell he wasn’t human. She could see the aura around him was that of a creature.

“Who are you?” she said in a stern but quiet voice.

“I’m just here for some fun, princess.” Yuta had a wide grin on his pretty face as he inched closer to her. He wanted her more than anything, but before he could close the gap between them, she placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Energy surged through her arm, causing him a great deal of pain at the sight of contact. Her touch became heavy and Yuta slunk to the floor falling on his knees in front of her.

“So you’re a witch.” He hissed through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body fighting to keep him from collapsing.

“And what are you?” She demanded, energy flowing through her. But before he could answer, he fell at her feet, unconscious.

The next morning, Yuta awoke with a start, unaware of where he ended up last night. He was surrounded by plush material and a wonderful view of the morning sky. She really is a witch, he thought to himself, regaining his memory.

He was still dressed in his suit pants and white dress shirt, which he rebuttoned before exiting the room. Several different smells clouded his senses. He could smell the cinnamon above the door frames, herbs growing in the windowsills, and the eggs Lily was cooking in the kitchen. He appeared from the narrow hallway.

She could feel his presence before she could see him. “I don’t suppose you eat eggs.” “No.” Yuta was very confused. Why didn’t she just send me back? She’s clearly powerful enough.

“You intrigue me.” She blurted turning to face him. “I can tell what you are, but how did you find me?”

“What do you mean?” Yuta was genuinely confused.

“Touch me.”

His eyes quickly grew wide and his flesh turned a bright red. Many women had asked him to do this, but something about her felt dangerous to him, like she was drawing him in.

She realized her words were misleading and held an outstretched hand for him to take. He calmed his nerves, realizing what she’d meant, but it still felt dangerous.

He slowly reached for her hand, watching her movements for any sign of a trick, but she was calm. He grew nearer to her hand going to take it, but as soon as their skin made contact, he pulled away with a jerk. His hand burned as if he had touched an open flame.

“Something about my magic repels you. Like a werewolf to silver.” He watched his hand, the red marks quickly fading. He was truly baffled by this woman.

She turned back to the food, making herself a plate. “I don’t know what you can eat, but feel free to stay, if you’d like.” She brushed passed him with her plate and cup of fresh cinnamon tea. Yuta caught a whiff as she walked past him, following it to a small nook surrounded by glass walls.

“Why are you doing this?” He inquired.

“Like I said. You intrigue me.”

“No. You know what I am. Why not just send me back?”

She looked into his eyes, the now warm chocolate color changing to match herr deep blue ones. She was nothing like he’d ever seen. He was usually the one to seduce and dominate his partners, but she made him flustered, almost matching his exact energy.

She looked out the window at her small herb garden. “You’re different. I’ve never felt energy like yours in a demon.” Yuta could tell there was more. She wanted him to be able to touch her.

They sat in the small space getting to know each other. Yuta was entirely enthralled by her, her giggle was adorable, and his cold heart sang when she looked at him. Lily felt the same. She couldn’t tell if it was the tea or his beautiful smile that healed her, but she loved it.

“Do you need a change of clothes? I want to show you something.” She asked, getting up to take her dishes to the sink. As ethereal as Yuta was, he did look a bit of a mess. His clothes were dirty, and his hair was tangled.

“I have an apartment in the city. I have a car there.”

And with that you were off.

They walked cautiously through the busy streets of the inner city. Yuta could smell the peppermint Lily always had on her. It was her favorite, so she always kept small candies in her bag. He admired her not only for her naivety, but that she appeared rather fragile while being one of the most powerful mortals he’d ever met.

He led her to a tall building with attendings waiting at the door. “Long night, Mr. Nakamoto?” One inquired as he approached the double doors. “You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath.

He tried to wrap his arm around Lily’s waist to guide her to the elevator out of habit, but he still was unable to touch her. A force held his arm only centimeters from her, not allowing him to shift any closer. Yuta hated this. He was so used to the control of his charms, but he had nothing over her.

His apartment was smaller than she imagined it from the outside. It was a studio apartment with a small kitchen, clothes were splayed out all over the floor. It looked like an average apartment, nothing about it looked off or unusual to the untrained eye. But the energy that flowed through it was unnatural. Lily was raised as a neutral being, that is how she can detect when others are swayed one way or the other. The energy in the small apartment told her what she already knew about Yuta.

She took out a stiped candy from her bad and began to mindlessly eat it, while Yuta disappeared into his walk-in closet. “So where exactly are we going?” He sounded from the other side of the room.

“It’s a…uh… a library of sorts.” The name was sacred to witches. She wasn’t really allowed to show it to him, but she wanted his help in figuring their relationship out.

“Will this do?” He appeared again in slim fitting black jeans and a red t-shirt. She gave him a quick nod accompanied by a small smile. He grabbed a set of keys and wallet from the counter as she stood from her seat, both heading to the door.

Of course, Yuta drove a beautiful silver Bentley. At this point he didn’t surprise her anymore. He had everything a man could want.

The moment Yuta opened the door for her, Lily smelled something musty. She sat in the passenger seat, the energy in the vehicle was overwhelming to her senses. Some one had died in this car. She looked in the bad seat, then to Yuta who was turning the key in the ignition.

“Really? In your car?” She looked at him unamused.

“How could you tell?”

“I can smell it.” He smirked to himself, impressed with her ability.

His driving was reckless, he drove 20 mph over the posted sign, made hasty turns and cut several cars off. Lily’s anxiety was certainly on edge, directing some of her calmed energy onto Yuta as a defense mechanism. He held her life at his fingertips, just how he liked it. She had given him the address of a nearby grocery store. The place they were going had no real address.

They left the car hidden in an ally way behind a French bakery, moving swiftly in between streets. A staircase of weathered concrete led them down to the green door of a small shop owned by a friend of Lily’s brother, Johnny. He had promised Doyoung he’d keep an eye on her, but she never saw him around anymore.

The shop sold comic books and dice sets. It was affectionately called the “nerd store” by many city residents. Lily led Yuta through the shelves to the back counter where Johnny sat on a high stool, sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced up to meet her gaze.

“What’s up, kid?” He stood with excitement at the sight of her. “We need to go… downstairs.” She whispered the last word, careful not to let anyone else hear. Johnny hesitantly moved from behind the counter, shooting a glare in Yuta’s direction, and led the others to a small cupboard under the staircase. “You know what to do.” She gave him a quick nod as he handed her a key the size of a needle.

Johnny was what Lily’s family liked to call a Keeper: a person assigned the task of understanding and protecting knowledge of supernatural magic and the beings that possess it. They don’t possess any magic themselves, only the knowledge to keep it safe. Johnny and Lily’s fathers had been close when they were young and died together in the Unspoken War. That’s how Lily’s family knew him.

As Lily held the miniscule key in her soft hand, the presence of her magic began to change its shape, becoming what looked to Yuta to be a skeleton key. He watched, enchanted by the very presence of the magical key. He had only ever heard of things like this in stories.

The key, now being of normal size, fit the oddly shaped keyhole that locked the cupboard closed. As the small door squeaked open, a void of darkness appeared in front of them. It was inviting to Yuta; he liked a bit of mystery. “Feels like home,” he grinned, following Lily into the confined space.

Once they heard the latch behind them, a sudden boom of light surged across the walls shining brightly above their heads. They were descending on another staircase into what looked like a catacomb. The walls were a dull gray filled with cracks and speckled with patches of moss. The air grew damp as they continued.

At the bottom of the staircase stood a large archway, a simple light switch on the right. Lily flicked it on with a swift finger and behind the archway, a large room covered in shelves burst into life. Lily shifted her weight with purpose going to the exact place she needed as Yuta hung in the archway, awestricken from the sight.

“I thought demons were crazy, but this- This is something else.” His dark chocolate eyes sparkled at the sight.

“Witches like to keep track of what we learn. They made these many years ago and scattered them under every major city in the country. Everything we know about supernatural beings is in this vault.”

Lily immediately started pulling volumes off the shelves, holding them in one arm, immersed in the energy around her.

“How can you tell where everything is?” He watched her carefully as she moved with such grace across the room.

“It’s kinda like sonar. I send energy out into the room and it bounces back to me from the book I need.”

Incredible.

There was so much to witchcraft that Yuta had never understood. He knew they existed, and some were stronger than others, but there was something about Lily that was different than any other he’d encountered. There was something about her that he desperately wanted to unleash.

Yuta had been lost in thought when he noticed Lily had stopped moving. She stood completely still in the center of the room; her arms had been emptied of the large encyclopedias. She held her chin to the ceiling, eyes shut tight and her palms facing upwards. Yuta took light steps closer to her, unable to read her emotion.

As he stood a few feet away, she snapped out of the trance, pulling herself to face Yuta now, then quickly shifted her small frame towards the shelf to her left. She propelled herself up using the edge of the shelves, hanging off the edge as she willed a particularly large book away from the wall and into her delicate hand.

“What?” Her voice was faint, filled with confusion.

“What is it?”

“It’s a book of powerful black magic. My parents used to tell me stories about it.” On the front cover, a shiny luminescent lock was displayed. “Only trained witches of high magical ability can open it. But why would it call to me?”

They both watched, standing side by side, as a blue hue danced across the cover. Yuta thought nothing of the unusual occurrence, only that it was truly enchanting, but Lily was deeply concerned. This book was only used by dark witch of great power. It had started the Unspoken War and held more power than any being. Why me? She thought to herself.

Lily brought the book to the pile of others, taking note of all she had collected. The books were not able to leave the confinement of the catacombs, for it would set the world out of balance, so she and Yuta would have to return for more.

Yuta grew weary at the lack of purpose while Lily paced the floor, trying to absorb as much as possible. He glanced at his gold-plated Rolex, surprised at how much time they had spent under the city. He had grown used to feeding on multiple victims every night and always felt like he needed more. He hadn’t fed since early the night before, before he met Lily, and he was growing much more sinful as the desire to feed grew stronger within him.

Lily could sense his energy change, looking up from her book. His eyes were a void filled with dark desire, his skin glowed among the books. She put all of the books into a box, where they disappeared for a moment and resurfaced in their designated space on the shelf. She grabbed her bag and tossed a striped candy at him. He snatched it out of the air and tore the plastic off.

“Let’s go find you something to eat.”

Johnny waited outside the cupboard door for their return, ready to close the store. Not much was exchanged between the group, the key was given back, and Lily simply said, “We’ll be back tomorrow.” Then, they left to retrieve Yuta’s Bentley from the alley.

Johnny knew Lily well enough to know that she wouldn’t bring a normal human to his store. He wouldn’t have let Yuta in if he was human. But he had a hard time determining what alignment he followed, and reluctantly allowed them to enter the sacred space. He ended up following the pair as they left, keeping his appearance discreet, after quickly locking the doors behind them.

The scent of the vehicle still hung in the air, making Lily cringe and open a window for fresh air. Yuta didn’t tell her where they were going, but he drove with more haste than before, a bloodthirsty need coursing through his body. He pulled up to his favorite club in the city, one he visited often. A neon sign reading “Neo Zone” hung above the entrance. The line was long down the street, eager patrons looking to gain access.

Lily was hesitant, wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt. She had never been to a club before; the amount of tension was exhausting to her.

“Don’t worry about what you’re wearing, just go to the bar and ask for a few rounds of fireballs and put it on my tab,” He instructed her.

“And where are you going?”

“I have to check something; I’ll be right there.” He said it softly, but the tone was urgent.

“Fine” Yuta waived to the familiar bouncer to let her inside and opened to door as she looked back to catch which direction Yuta was going, but he disappeared before she could get the chance.

The crowd was bustling around her, people gyrating to the pounded speakers. She found the corner of the bar where she felt Yuta’s energy. He had been here many times and left a mark on the seat.

“What can I get ya, sweetheart?” The bartenders face looked smug as he looked her up and down.

“A couple of fireballs. On Mr. Nakamoto’s tab, please.” He burst into a sudden fit of laughter but was quickly interrupted by the death stare from Lily, fire burning in her cold eyes. The man’s airway became constricted as he choked on his laughter.

She relaxed into the stool, freeing the man of her grip. “Coming right up.” He said with haste, still slightly out of breath.

Yuta appeared in a flash behind her, wearing a tailored suit. “I found one,” He whispered from behind her. She downed the small glass of alcohol with ease, handing him one. “Where?” “Sitting in front of the staircase. She’s on her phone.”

Lily swirled in her seat, scanning the room, finding their target in a long flowing blue dress, hair pulled back into a bun. “What do you need me to do?”

“She was supposed to meet someone here, but they didn’t show. She’ll be reluctant to come with me, but just give her a little push for me.” Lily nodded, standing from her seat, moving with grace toward the woman. Yuta appeared in front of her, his movements were much more angular and quicker, almost frantic. You watched her every move, reaction, emotion. She shook her head at Yuta looking back down to her phone and he turned his head slightly, glancing at you. My turn.

Lily pushed her energy outward toward the woman and bended it to form a sense of pleasure. Yuta held an outstretched hand that she willingly took. He led her upstairs, glancing over his shoulder at you with a smirk, holding up a coaxing finger for Lily to follow.

He led them to a small room filled with red LED lights lining the ceiling. The large bed covered in black sheets was prominent in the middle of it, almost nothing else decorated it. By the time Lily had reached the door frame, Yuta had pushed himself on top of the weak girl. She was putty in his hands, as most women were. Yuta was an erotic creature by nature, but Lily’s cheeks couldn’t help but match the lighting as she watched.

He ravished her body, running his soft fingers along her skin, kissing along her jaw line, and making her wish she could have more. As the night grew on, Lily became impatient, feeling her own desire to be touched. Yuta’s movement were no longer gentle, much more aggressive.

“Hold her down for me,” he growled through his teeth. Lily shot a glare towards the girl, who’s face was now gripped with fear as her body went completely still. He got up from him place in between her thin legs, his hair was messy and he had taken off his suit jacket and dress shirt several minutes earlier.

The girl tried to squirm out of the grip of energy holding her in place, watching as Yuta meandered to the corner where Lily stood. She had been so entranced by him that she hadn’t noticed Lily enter the room. Lily’s magic was strong around the girl as she did her best to wiggle away from them, to no avail.

“Took you long enough,” Lily muttered in a low tone. “Sorry, princess. I get carried away.” His lips curled into a toothy grin as a pair of sharp fangs appeared.

“Hold her still for me, princess. This is my favorite part.” He crawled on all fours from the foot of the bed to straddle the girl as she lay unable to move. His eyes were jet black as he leaned in and gnawed at the base of her neck, drawing a small amount of blood from the area. She blurted out a curdled scream but was easily silenced by the raise of Lily’s hand.

Yuta’s teeth sank deeper into her flesh as he lapped up the fluid pouring from her neck. Her pale skin had been stained by the splatter of her own blood. Lily watched with an evil smirk as the life left her kind face, letting up on the forceful grip that she had placed around her body. Yuta immerged from the crook of her neck, chest and face smeared with her blood.

His demeaner had changed dramatically from when he had entered the club, his features were softer and his muscled were relaxed. His fangs had retracted, and his eyes were there usual shade of brown.

“I’m gonna go… get cleaned up. Don’t worry about the body, just leave it.” He walked to a door attached to the side of the bedroom that led to a rather bland bathroom, Lily could here the tap running behind the closed door. She left the room, leaving the door ajar for the red lighting to seep out of. A wave of exhaustion hit her like a brick wall as she reached the top of the staircase, suddenly becoming aware of the tole her magic had taken.

She sat on the top stair, holding her head low between her knees. Her vision was slowly blurring as her balance became unstable. Before she knew what hit her, she had collapsed, unconscious against the cool floor of the heated room.

#incubus #nctx #witches #magic #nct fantasy au #fantasy #nct yuta #yuta #nct fanfic #nct doyoung #nct johnny #demons #dark magic

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coraxaviary · 4 years

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Sister-in-Arms | CHAPTER 2: The Camp

(Part I, Run the Gauntlet)

Summary: June gets situated in her billet, and runs into some new faces. It’s not very civil.

Word Count: 5.0K

AO3 | Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: Long author’s note incoming; click here OR check my masterlist.

Warnings: Minor canon-typical profanity and slurs.

Taglist: @keoghans @papercinders @junojelli (ask to be added)

As June stepped out of the office and back into the main corridor, she breathed deeply, feeling some new feeling settle over her. The weight of responsibility. She was in, and the burden was heavy. But she would make it. She had to.

“Private Diedtrich,” Coates said. “I’m to show you around the place, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” June said.

He gave her a vague smile, and led the way out of the building, holding the door for her as she came out, back into the hot sun and into the camp.

It was strange to be given a tour. She was sure none of the other men received an introduction to the place when they arrived, but she knew she was again being given an exception despite Sink’s promise to the contrary. She sighed, following Coates down a concrete path deeper into the camp. This isn’t an exception, she told herself. It gives me no advantage over the other men.

Coates snuck a glance behind himself as he walked, making sure June wasn’t trailing too far behind. She sped up a little, suitcase swinging against her knees, and she stubbornly held it a little out to the side, as if proving to herself that her upper-arm strength was sufficient for the training ahead. She knew it wasn’t. Her strength was in her legs, not her arms. She took a moment to curse her female anatomy, eyeing the biceps of a platoon jogging by in training shirts and shorts.

June caught up, thinking all the while about the training. Her record of strength was both mental and physical – something she was proud of – but she’d still be at a disadvantage training with male criteria. She’d trained relentlessly in the months leading up to her departure to Toccoa, and still she couldn’t sustain more than seven or so pull-ups. It was significant, but not for Army training. She was already fitter than ever, yet she felt dismally behind.

Her only advantage, possibly, was her history of running. She was a long-distance runner in high school, and nabbed herself a shiny silver medal in senior year for the 10,000-meter district race. At West Point, she hit her best times, beating a few of the men who happened to be on the track at the same time before realizing just how much they hated being outran by women. The men did a lot of running, June observed, seeing yet another platoon run by.

Someone whistled, and June whirled around, looking for the perpetrator. The platoon was already past, but not without the fading sound of a few laughs from other men. June silently watched their retreating backs, clenching her teeth.

Coates’s eyes flicked to the passing group momentarily, and he turned around to continue walking. June switched the suitcase to her other hand and followed, clacking in her heels down the path. Maybe it was a mistake to come for her first day in a skirt and lipstick. Would the men respect her if they’d seen her before with a full face of makeup?

Coates gestured in the direction of a whitewashed building with a few windows to the right.

“That’s the secretary’s office, where most of the women are on base,” he said. “You’ll use the facilities there.”

One woman was leaning against the doorframe, smoking. She silently watched June and Coates pass, tapping cigarette ash into the dirt.

“There’s a bathroom and showers behind the office,” Coates said.

June wasn’t upset, because what other alternative was there? She couldn’t shower with the men or use their latrine. June disliked her options, looking at the distance between the barracks and the office, imagining having to run from the barracks to the bathrooms for quick bathroom breaks.

“Mess halls are down here,” Coates said, pointing to some houses that looked exactly like the billeting houses, but slightly set apart.

They broke into the barracks, spreading out onto the field to their right, and June felt like a foreigner walking between the rows of training housing, imagining the months ahead of living as the only woman in a crowd of men, always watching her own back. June had held onto some strange hope that it wouldn’t be so bad and that these men were supposed to be disciplined, trained, and respectful. Still, she knew that the military wasn’t an end-all to harassment or assault. In fact, they could probably be more rowdy. She looked around at the buildings and the gaps between them: each had the potential to create some dark corner or hidden gap. Dark corners communicated danger to June, and she forced herself to look straight ahead at the dirt and crabgrass in the main thoroughfare between billet rows.

She was going to take care of herself. Not all men are like that, she reminded herself.

Some of the billets were still being built around the edges of the living quarter zone in various states of construction. They passed a particularly skeletal frame of plywood, some men in ODs perched up top, hammering nails into the roof line.

June and Coates turned to the right and into a gap, following a column of barracks until they met the open field. June guessed that most of the men were out training because the barracks were all empty, and she was hit with the sight of the training field in full when they cleared the last row.

A track ran around the whole thing, and on the far end stood a shooting range with targets. An obstacle course took up a substantial area in the center, and June could make out figures crawling beneath barbed wire, hauling themselves over a wall, and tripping – sprawling – over a network of ropes. And an officer yelling, occasionally leaning down to get in someone’s face.

June took it all in with anticipation. That was going to be her, on Monday, regrettably.

“Let’s go back to the PX area,” Coates said, after giving her a moment to watch the field.

June followed him back across the camp, thoughts of training and sweat running through her mind. She was getting slightly sweaty just rushing after Coates in the afternoon heat, not even doing anything physically significant. She sighed to herself, for the hundredth time that day, and picked up the pace, calves burning a little with the exertion of pushing the bottoms of her feet against her heeled shoes.

They went back to the main grouping of buildings that June had figured to be the headquarters. Coates led her to a nondescript building, just like the rest, which turned out to be something of a laundry house when they were inside.

“Colonel Sink told me you already have your service uniform, correct?”

June thought of the uniform she’d had tailored right before she left for Georgia, now folded in her suitcase. “That is correct, sir.”

Coates nodded. “Stay here.” He disappeared around a corner.

June set her suitcase down and looked around with detached interest. Most of the laundering must have happened in the back, because out front in the main room, there was only a counter, a shelf filled with laundry to the right, and plain walls.

Sound floated through the open door behind June, and she stepped to the side of the entryway right as one man detached from a larger group, boots pounding up the few steps that led inside. He immediately acknowledged June with something of a surprised look – seeing women in the other sections of the camp must have been a shock – and gave her a once-over that June knew she was going to have to get used to. She gave him one in return. He was built, more than Coates, sharp-jawed, angular, and dark-haired. Mischievous-looking.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he said, in a decidedly Philly accent. It was so thick, in fact, that June had to stand for a moment to process the phrase.

June debated how to react, again. She couldn’t be overly friendly because she needed to be respected. She needed it. She would demand respect. She was not another broad to be messed with.

So June raised her chin, and gave a slight smile which probably showed more in her eyes than her face. She had to look slightly upwards – another thing she’d also have to get used to – but she drew herself up to her full heeled height.

“Diedtrich, June, Private.” Her eyes darted to his sleeve momentarily. “Hello, Private,” she added.

He looked taken aback for a moment before settling on a rather disbelieving grin. “Didn’t know there were WACs here.” He sized her up again. “When did you dolls move in?”

June looked over his shoulder at the back doorway, where she expected Coates to come out soon. He was taking longer than she expected, and she chanced a glance out the front door, though she couldn’t see anything at her angle. The conversation had stopped. The others were listening.

She huffed out a sigh, and bit the side of her tongue, looking flatly at the man, who was expecting an answer. She probably looked shifty, nervous. She planted her feet.

“Not a WAC. I’m integrated into training starting tomorrow,” she said, seeing no other way to put it.

He looked confused.

“Same as you,” she explained.

“The hell?” he said, looking lost.

As if on cue, Coates emerged from the back, holding a bundle of olive-colored fabric and a canvas sack. The uniform. He had a rifle strap crossing his shoulder and an M-1 dangling off his back. June made brief eye contact with him before the man looked back at Coates, who was still rounding the corner.

“You hear this girl?” he said to Coates. “Dame says she wants to fight.”

The trainee watched Coates stack the clothes on top of the pile and give the clothes and sack to June after she hefted the M-1 onto her shoulder, who took the bundle with a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

She made a show of flipping through the layers while keeping an iron grip on the heavy sack. Sandwiched between two articles of clothing was a patch. A single gold chevron. She looked at it with pride before remembering she was in the middle of an awkward conversation.

Putting the pile back together, she tucked it under her arm and faced the trainee once again. Coates didn’t do anything, just looked at the man.

“Is she crazy?” the man said to Coates.

Coates looked quickly at the man’s arm, seeming to take stock of his patches. “Name?”

The trainee looked at Coates disbelievingly as if to question his priorities, eyes darting to the sergeant’s triple-chevron on Coates’s arm, but complied after a few tense moments. “Guarnere. Private.”

Coates looked at June. “Well, Private, Diedtrich has been approved by Colonel Sink to take her place at Toccoa. She’ll be running Currahee every day just like you.”

Guarnere’s mouth opened slightly, brows coming together slightly in an expression of indignance. “You don’t mean to say she’s… billeting with the men, do you?” he asked, disbelief evident.

“It’s up to the Private whether she’s going to wash out or not, regardless of your opinion. If you’d excuse the Private, I believe she has some business to attend to,” he said, already stepping out of the laundry building.

Guarnere watched Coates with an expression that grew colder and colder by the second.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, but June was already busying herself with picking up her things, shoving the boots under her other arm, and moving out behind Coates. “You a whore or something, Diedtrich?” Guarnere said to June’s back.

She stiffened, breathing in sharply, and stopped walking. She didn’t bother to turn around, but she took one moment to calm her nerves and her heart, deadened with shock. When she spoke, she’d never been more glad that there was no quaver.

“No, Private,” she said, stock-still. “I’m a trainee.”

She heard a scoff behind her, but June broke out of her immobilized state and started down the steps, out to where Coates was waiting. She passed three men, staring at her in disbelief, who were standing in the dirt outside. She didn’t stop to take their faces down in memory or try to make eye contact. She walked after Coates, who nodded to acknowledge her, and the pair retreated down the path towards her billet.

Mercifully, Coates didn’t check behind him. June sniffed, once, and blinked away tears that had come of shock more than shame. Coates wouldn’t always be around to defend her. After the relatively calm reception June had gotten from Bea, Sink, and then Coates, she’d gotten used to a false sense of security; she’d held onto some fantastical hope that everyone was just as nice as Coates.

Obviously, that wasn’t going to be the case.

June squeezed the handle of her suitcase, hard, and adjusted her uncomfortable hold on the canvas bag. She needed to hold her own the next time, without someone defending her. By herself. She kept forgetting that she was alone.

♤

“Here it is,” Coates said, gesturing to a barrack house that looked exactly like all the rest. June tried to remember the turns and number of other billets between this and the road. She peeked in, feeling as if she was violating someone’s privacy, though ironically, she knew she was in for possibly the most uncomfortable moments of her life.

No one was inside. It was nearing late afternoon, the sun past its apex, and sunlight slanted through the windows on the right. The billet was clean and neat – and each bed was tucked and made – just like regulation, but somehow the place had minor touches of personality that were invisible to the indiscriminate eye. Suitcases were stowed under cots, and each man had a small container of belongings – letters, probably, and extra olive drabs among other supplies.

June walked between the rows of beds, stopping at the first open one. Unfortunately for her, the beds at the far end of the billet were taken, as well as those nearest to the doorway. She set her suitcase on one of the beds a few from the door – woefully away from either end of the billet, eliminating any semblance of privacy – and set her sack down. She sat with her ODs in her lap, putting her elbows on her knees and staring out at the door.

“June?” Coates’s voice drifted in from the outside.

“Yes, sir?”

“Why don’t you get changed and then we can head down to mess?” Coates said.

“Yes, sir,” June said loudly back through the billet, and soon she heard the door drift closed, with just a sliver of sunlight streaming through the crack. The windows were wide open, but June couldn’t do anything about it. She hoped no one walked by, and she laid out her new ODs on her bed after setting her suitcase below her cot.

She had been given a white t-shirt, standard black shorts – PT gear – and a pair of OD trousers and a jacket. There was a helmet, which she placed on top of the shelf above her bed, like she saw that others had done, and other supplies – canteen, lighter, OD belt – she’d figure out later. She set those in the trunk and got around to putting on the OD uniform.

June had embarrassingly asked one of her old high school friends how to put on the ODs before Toccoa. At least she’d had the foresight to ask whether or not the Army men tended to wear their PT gear underneath their ODs, and after the conversation, she’d left slightly red in the face but much more enlightened, especially about the unique usage of lighters, the trading value of chocolate and cigs, and the impossible durability and infinite odor capacity of ODs.

June also had to run into the problem of underwear. The skivvies that the men were issued were, well, skivvies, and nothing else. June took it upon herself to stock up on brasseries, because she’d taken a look at her corselette and thought hell no. Whenever she ran, June had worn smaller bandeau bras and sometimes a bit of bandage cloth. Good thing she didn’t have a huge chest. She’d also brought her smallest pairs of panties because those PT shorts were shorter than anything she’d worn before.

June got to work unbuttoning her white blouse and left it open, working on the side panel on her dark blue wool skirt; she wanted to spend as little time as possible completely unclothed in case someone walked by the window.

In the corner of her eye, there was movement beyond one of the barracks. She sped up, taking off her shoes and then her pantyhose the fastest she’d ever gone, wondering if Coates was waiting. She stripped off her civilian socks and finally got around to taking the skirt off, hastily pulling the PT shorts on and tying the string.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, she said to herself like a mantra, feeling like every extra second cemented her as a stuffy woman and not an able soldier. She kept her normal blouse bra on, intending to change it later when the time permitted, and threw on the t-shirt over the top, stuffing it into the shorts. She put on the issued socks, and pulled the pants over her legs, doing the buttons fast with slightly shaking fingers and then tucking the bottoms into her boots like she’d seen the others do, lacing them up for the first time and feeling the stiffness of the leather with resigned expectation. Her feet were going to be painfully blistered by day two, at least. She pulled on the jacket and started cleaning up.

She shoved her civilian clothing back into the suitcase, already knowing with regret that this was her last day as a woman – but also hoping she wouldn’t have to wear them in a few week’s time, or even a few days, hopping back on a bus out of Toccoa. She hung her service uniform up beside the bed and placed her issued rucksack beside it, on a hook.

Her hand hovered over the tights, spotting a large run. She must have ripped them in her hurry to tug them off.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, throwing the ruined pair back into the suitcase with a little more force than necessary. It was not time for regret, so June slammed the suitcase closed with an air of finality, but the muffled bang was accompanied by another sound, in the entryway.

June spun around, meeting the gaze of a disgruntled man hovering in the doorway, mouth open in surprise.

“Can I help you?” June blurted, face heating inadvertently at the intrusion as she hastily buttoned up her jacket, pulling on her belt and cinching the waist as tight as it would go.

The man looked at her, silent, trying in vain to comprehend what was going on in front of him.

“Who–” he started, then stopped.

June sighed, trying to calm down her own panicked heart. She turned around and took a few deep breaths, finishing up quickly before the man could even leave the billet. He kept staring until after a few more seconds he pointedly looked down and away. June left the top button undone and dropped the dog tags over her head, tucking them below her PT shirt, the cold metal clinging against her chest and on her bra.

She turned back around awkwardly and shoved her suitcase below the bed. The man cleared his throat and ducked out of the billet before June could ask for his name. She breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call.

She’d be dressing in front of the men in a few hours anyway, she reasoned, with a pit growing in her stomach. It would be worse, with everyone changing at the same time with her spot in the center of the billet.

She checked her watch, which she assumed she was allowed to have under regulation. Coates had one, after all, and she gathered her spirits, checked the ties on her boots, and opened the door of the billet.

There were a number of men waiting outside, clearly back from training and all watching her step down from the building. More than a few faces were judgemental. Some simply looked very, very confused. June’s heart picked up speed once again, and a cold sweat gathered beneath the collar of her ODs. All eyes were on her: maybe about seven or eight men watched her step onto the path, and they parted for her as she cast darting, nervous glances at the frowning men. She started to crane her head to look for Coates, trying to give herself something to do.

“What the hell?” came a voice from the back of the group.

June resumed walking away from the gathering, already overwhelmed by the sheer number of people she’d have to try to get to know and possibly win over. These were the people she was to live with, and it scared her more than anything else at the moment.

“Hey, you!” the same familiar voice shouted, and June turned around with no other choice, unable to see Coates anywhere nearby. She schooled her face into something stony and flat, hoping her debilitating anxiety wasn’t bleeding through. She raised her chin and clenched her fists, jaw working. They all had at least three or four inches on her, looming terribly.

The owner of the voice broke through the pack, the others letting him through without protest.

Guarnere.

“Whatcha doing here, Diedtrich?” he sneered, spitting out June’s surname with disgust. “Gonna make some trouble with our billet?”

June froze. She was housed with this trainee, the one who already had called her something unsavory. She avoided eye contact, settling her eyes somewhere below his chin, but staring forward defiantly, daring him to make a move. Say something else. She was afraid, deathly so, but she wasn’t going to show it.

Guarnere was clearly expecting an answer. Someone sniggered behind him.

“I’ve been assigned to this billet,” June said flatly, with just a note of unsteadiness in her voice. She eliminated any waver in her next statement. “I don’t intend to give you any problems.” At that, a litany of men started to quietly talk amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Guarnere laughed. The men laughed with him. June’s eyes darted around him, who was beginning to press in closer. She took a step back, noting the attention their exchange was getting. Where was Coates? she thought, almost ashamedly. Her only protector had vanished.

“I think we do have a problem, girl,” he said, still crowding June. She took another step back. “You’re weak. You’re a dame. You don’t belong out here,” he said. “You’re not gonna last a day, starting with Currahee on Monday.”

June raised her eyes to his, and his gaze drilled into her, searching for weakness. She clenched her jaw, knowing a tendon or two would pop because she’d witnessed some street fights in her time. Not that she was any more intimidating at five feet and four inches, but she stood her ground, not taking any more steps back, the decision not to back down already feeling unnaturally confrontational to her.

He’s just another West Point prick, she thought, trying to make herself less intimidated.

Guarnere looked down his nose at June, clearly irritated enough to try something. June swallowed, and the motion didn’t go unnoticed. He grinned slightly – a shark-toothed one, sort of predatory.

“Private Diedtrich?” came a voice around the corner. “Private, are you–” Coates’s voice came closer and June heard him cut himself off in surprise.

June wondered how they looked. Ready to fight, maybe, or maybe as if Guarnere was about to wipe the floor with June. June was no match. None at all.

“Private Diedtrich,” Coates said, slightly nervously, now over her shoulder. June hadn’t turned around to look, but she knew he was behind her, looking at the mob-like crowd that was forming in front of the billet. “I see you’ve met the rest of your platoon.”

Guarnere directed his grimace-like smile over June and onto Coates.

“Look,” a new voice – calmer – started over the din of whispering men. “Let’s just work this out at HQ.” June watched the guy who’d initially walked in on her changing emerge from the crowd. “Maybe there’s been a mistake or something,” he said, avoiding looking at June.

It hadn’t been the amount of skin he saw – almost none – but the principle of accidentally seeing her putting on clothes that June was embarrassed by. Get over it, she repeated to herself. You’re gonna have to change in front of these guys multiple times a day.

“Fine, Lip,” Guarnere said without looking behind him, backing away from June. He still looked unpredictably ornery, but one of his friends June recognized from the laundry place muttered about chow and gave Guarnere a forceful thump on the back, effectively pushing him away from the scene. The man – taller, tough-looking as Guarnere, and black-haired – directed a powerfully hostile gaze at June before moving away to pull the private towards the mess hall.

Lip, if that was his name – rather gentle-looking in comparison to Guarnere and the other, but still far from domestic – watched the two retreat with a vaguely concerned look. Coates cleared his throat, dropped a finished cigarette, and ground it with his boot. June looked at the extinguished pile of ash and then at Coates.

He went away to smoke? she thought. Maybe he thinks it’s improper or something, like he doesn’t want to encourage me to start. Tough luck. She already smoked infrequently; it was a practice she suspected would get stronger every day she was here in Toccoa. God knew she needed one right now.

As if reading her thoughts, two or three men behind Lip and Coates lit up cigarettes and the crowd seemed to disperse a little. Everyone seemed to want to eat, even though the freakish wonder of the hour was the Broad in the Billet.

“I’m Carwood Lipton. Private,” said the mystery man who had caught June unawares, extending a hand for a handshake. He was the third that day to have done so, and June wondered if simple greetings like handshakes were going to become rare pleasures for someone like her.

They shook, and Lipton looked back at Coates. “Private, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Coates said. “I’m John Coates, Sergeant. HQ.”

“Easy Company,” Lipton responded. There was a lapse of silence, and both men turned to look at June, who was in turn watching the last of her billet-mates-to-be drift towards mess, with her hands shoved in her pockets.

“Would you mind giving us an explanation?” he said to Coates. It did not escape June that she was being talked over, but she kept her mouth shut. “This is all very strange. Are WACs being integrated? Or is she just in the wrong place?” Lipton asked, regarding June’s OD uniform with skepticism.

Coates rubbed at his forehead and stared at the ground. “It’s a new idea, but Private Diedtrich is to train with the experimental training outfit here at Camp Toccoa. If she can clear the physical requirements needed to pass the Basic exam and then keep up with all the men, the Colonel is convinced she can integrate into the paratroopers.” It was the longest and most complete explanation June had heard from him – maybe Lipton seemed more reasonable to Coates, too.

Lipton’s eyebrows came together in concern as he mulled over the statement. “The Paratroopers? She’s trying to be a paratrooper?” he said with obvious doubt, probably noticing how small June was. She was still wearing her makeup from the day, and she almost felt as if she should wipe it off under Lipton’s scrutinizing gaze. But maybe she would pass judgement if she took an effort to reduce the markers of her femininity. She turned around, sensing that Lipton obviously wasn’t going to directly address her anytime soon, and she looked blankly over the field through gaps in the billet rows. “Why?” Lipton asked.

“That’s something you’ll have to ask the Private,” Coates said, and then they both looked at June again, who could feel their stares on her back.

“Fine,” Lipton said, with a tone that communicated the opposite sentiment.

Everything was so obviously not fine, and June doubted she’d find anyone as calm about the issue, even if Lipton wasn’t exactly warm. June shifted uncomfortably. The cat was out of the bag, and it would probably only take a few hours for the entire camp to know there was a woman in their midst, playing at being a soldier.

People were still hanging around. June tried to ignore them and look out over the camp. This was a sight she’d hopefully have to get used to, if she wasn’t thrown out tomorrow for failing the physical requirements. Coates and Lipton were still scuffing around in some disjointed attempt at conversation while watching June. She finally had enough and went back into the billet to get her Army-issue cigarettes, tucking them into a pocket.

She got outside and lit one up, feeling the smoke travel down her lungs. She exhaled, and sighed.

“Wanna eat?” Coates asked. Lipton trailed behind.

“Sure, Sergeant,” June said, letting the cigarette dangle from the corner of her mouth while she talked.

Coates frowned.

June hastily took the cigarette out in her fingers and straightened, reddening in the face.“I mean, yes sir.”

The ghost of a smile touched Coates’s face, but he looked too strained to look genuinely amused. “Relax, Private. It’s just mess hall.”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #sister-in-arms #run the gauntlet #writing #bill guarnere #carwood lipton

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

Orphan - 4

Starring: Fem!Reader and MCU characters! Contents: Spoilers for Endgame!! Cussing (as usual, take that for granted), some fluff, some angst, confusion, sadness, loss, good intentions, awkwardness, flashbacks. Feels...there are feels. A/N: So this is getting a surge. PREVIOUS CHAPTERS can be found on the masterlist. I’ve added more names to the tag list (because no one ever tells me they want in but still “like” anyways…so HA!). As per usual. Thanks for likes and reblogs and comments and tears…cheers! I mean cheers! ;)

4. Foster Care for Adults

… Reader …

You’ve had no energy to protest, but if you’d had then it’s likely nothing would’ve changed the mind of the grim mohawk-dude. Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire and known as Hawkeye, who (after squaring it with the wife) has opened his home to you and herded you onto a little dangerous-looking plane together with his family. The two older kids, Lila and Cooper, don’t say much if anything to you. Well, the little one doesn’t either, but at least he’s staring openly rather than pretending to be busy with the phones or each other.

“Mo-om?” Nathaniel’s clear voice cuts over the sound of the engine. “Is she gonna be my sisther?”

In a flash you’re back to the childhood where terms like siblings and parents were used too loosely or as a means to hurt you, keep you separate from other kids at school. Even within the foster home, there were kids who wielded those kinds of words as weapons, cutting deep reminders into your heart to make sure you never forget what you’d lost. As if that was possible.

In the same flash, the little kid should have fallen over dead from the glared his siblings send him. Turned into dust. Of course, he doesn’t notice, but looks at his mom for an answer she hardly can give.

“Listen guys.” Clint pushes a few buttons before turning the pilot entire seat to face everyone. “I know this is a…surprise. [Y/N] came back from the Blip too and she has nowhere to stay…” Nathaniel merrily begins to hum a song under his breath made up entirely of bleeps. “She’s gonna be a guest until things are sorted out, okay?”

It’s toe-cringing to listen to the Avenger give The Speech™. He means well. Facts are you’re an adult who can talk for yourself, and you don’t have as much of a choice in coming as Clint makes it sound.

Sitting on the bed of the motel, you didn’t know which hero to look at - none of them were the one you needed to get answers because Stark was dead and with him the hope of a better explanation than the documents and files on the tiny drive provided. Facts. The facts were there…but it wasn’t enough.

“How did you find out about the fu-“ Rhodes had to take a deep breath before continuing, “about the funeral?”

He already knew more about you than you liked, such as your (now delayed) university degree in Medicine and Technology where you’d been working on cutting edge ways to deliver medicine to the right place in the body with biodegradable nano-bots. Tony Stark and his old-time pal had kept track of you ever since you were born and your father decided to split…as if that somehow should compensate for the absence. Still, Rhodes and his buddies were questioning you for more information.

Glaring at the furrowed brows, you decided you already were royally fucked. “Watched the news, put two-n-two together, hacked a phone.”

“What do you want from Pepper ‘nd Morgan?” There it was – the protectiveness.

“Nothin’, I just…the Blue Group chick already asked me this!”

On and on they had gone, never relenting despite the circles you were talking in. In the end, only the talking raccoon was stubborn enough to continue (though both the coloured women had offered assistance by torture).

A shiver runs down your spine at the memory. Yeah, it’s a good thing Clint Barton decided to bring you along even if it’s just to keep an eye on you rather than help. You send Laura a shadow of a smile before unbuckling from the seat to make your way over to the pilot’s seat. The domed sky is intense, partially coloured with the drama of sunset but also much darker above the plane than you’d expected. It stretches towards the curve of the horizon, dotted with fluffy clouds. Far underneath are the rolling fields smaller than a fingernail, roads like grey thread cutting through a landscape until it finds a glowing pearl, a town where the lights are starting to shine.

“Not a bad view, huh?” The comment is so relaxed that you almost think it’s your imagination until the archer sends you a shy smile.

Maybe he’s not that bad. “Yeah…’s pretty.” There’s a silence between the two of you – less forced, somehow. “It’s umm nice of you to…y’know, let me stay. Better than a motel with a raccoon and a blue assassin.”

…

I’m gonna die! Clint Barton has landed the plane in the middle of fucking nowhere and you’ve never been further from civilization as you are now. Even in the darkness, you can feel the forest sighing, long branches creaking in the autumn wind as they try to reach you and the Bartons (who are completely unfazed by it). Give me streetlights! Anything! Flashes on phones light up the ground, granting your wish to a certain point.

At least they lead you away from the trees, and while it’s still night with no moon the darkness isn’t quite as dense out in the open. Tall grass catch on your salvaged boots and there’s a very distinct feeling of something chasing you…but nothing when you turn to look. For a second, you whish you were in Nathaniel’s place: he’s sound asleep on Laura’s arm, drool wetting her shoulder each time his head bounces from the steps she takes.

The house appears from the dark as a huge, even darker mass before the lights reach far enough to illuminate the wooden steps of the porch. Lila’s ahead, skipping up the steps and reaching the screen door where she flips a switch. Suddenly, stringed lights spread their glow and the house feels wonderfully real and safe even if it’s still dark inside.

… Clint …

The house still smells musty after years of misuse and there’s a ton of things for him to fix. The boiler works, though, and Laura and the kids have been busy cleaning the last few days while Clint took care of the leaks in the roof and the stock of firewood. Mostly, he’d walked in a daze simply to look at them, touch their hair, pull them into awkward hugs in the hopes it wouldn’t just be a dream.

I didn’t think I’d be back to live here. Clint had tried at first to be on his own, but it was wrong – an empty house full of the ghosts of his family and memories that threatened with eluding him even if the smallest item or scent brought them crashing down on him with a force that’d knock his legs away. That was why he went to stay with Nat at the Compound. She dealt by doing things, trying to clean up the mess one crime or fucked up situation at a time because there weren’t enough cops, no military strong enough. The remnants of the Avengers was needed and the two of them teamed up with others…and nothing was right anyways.

“Baby?” A soft hand curls around his elbow before stroking his triceps. Laura. “We’re here, honey, we’re with you again.”

She understands him better than anyone. The five years felt like seconds for Laura, but she understands how fucked up it was for him and how afraid he is that they’ll suddenly be gone again. Pulling her tight, Clint buries the nose in her dark hair to maybe memorize the scent, at least to have her inside and out.

“You’re the best wife I could ever want,” he mumbles.

Laura smiles against the collar of his t-shirt, making his heart flutter. “Oh, I know,” she smirks, “any other wife would’ve lost it after coming home to such a mess!”

It’s a joke and it does make him laugh…but it hurts too because now he’s added to the mess that’s their lives. “…or taken in a stranger.”

“Hm.” It’s almost a tiny scoff. “She needs a home and we have that. I just…it’s a horrible way to find out about your heritage. She must be so confused?”

… Reader …

Fed, watered, and teeth brushed? Done.

Bed, check.

Borrowed pyjama that’s only a little bit musty, check.

Settling down under the thick covers, it’s impossible not to enjoy having an entire guest room for yourself rather than the dorm at the hostel where ten other people snore and fart all night long. Tonight you’re going to sleep great, you decide as you turn off the bed side lamp. Your eyelids are heavy. It’s so dark, you can’t tell if you already have closed the eyes or not. Silence and sleep, here I come.

The wind outside the window picks up in strength, finding a gap between two boards to whistle with when the gusts hit just right. Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaks – maybe Clint is tugging his kids in? And then it might be his wife who’s using the water, making the pipes gurgle inside the wall. Whenever one sound ends another takes over, all unexpected and unfamiliar enough that they startle you awake. Burrowing deeper under the duvet, you try to cover the ears but then it’s your own heartbeat you can hear instead, thumping away with a constant rush of blood that mingles with the sighs of the wind.

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i-dont-live-in-reality · 4 years

Text

The best betrothal gift

Fishlegs paced back and forth endlessly between the well and Tuffnut, who was looking at him alongside Astrid, arms crossed. ‘How did you forget this.’ Tuffnut commented, following Fishlegs with his eyes. ‘I know!’ Fishlegs threw his hands in the air. ‘I can’t believe it’s almost six months ago! And now I only have a few days to get Ruffnut a betrothal gift. Oh! What should I give her?’ He continued to pace. ‘Well, what do you think Ruffnut wants to get?’ Astrid asked. Fishlegs looked even more troubled. ‘I have no idea! That’s the problem. She doesn’t wear jewelry, she doesn’t read that often, so books are out of the question... Tuff, what do you think?’ Fishlegs looked expectantly to him, hoping Ruffnut’s brother would have some ideas. Unfortunately, he just shrugged. ‘I don’t know, It’s not like I give her things.’ ‘Maybe not,’ Astrid said thoughtfully, ‘but you know her best. Has she ever talked about this to you? What gifts she would like?’ Tuffnut shook his head. ‘Not that I remember anyway.’ Astrid rubbed a hand over her chin. ‘Then maybe we should think the other way around: instead of asking what Ruffnut wants to get, ask yourself what you could make for her.’

‘Ruffnut!’ Hiccup called. She sat on a rooftop, dangerously dangling her legs over a beam. ‘Come down!’ he ordered her. She stuck out her tongue, but climbed down anyway. Snotlout walked past and saw her jumping to the ground. Figuring something amusing was about to happen, he put down the crate he was carrying. ‘What were you doing on that roof?’ He asked. ‘Yeah,’ chimed in Hiccup. ‘that’s dangerous, you know. And it’s also not your roof.’ Ruffnut shot a look up to the beam she had been sitting on. ‘Meh,’ she said, in disinterest of the house owners and whatever danger Hiccup had averted by calling her down. ‘I was thinking.’ ‘About what?’ Snotlout ridiculed. ‘If you must know,’ Ruffnut rolled her eyes, ‘I’ve been trying to think of a betrothal gift for Fishlegs. I’m not pulling an Astrid and offering nothing.’ Hiccup seemed confused. ‘Pulling an Astrid? Is that a thing?’ ‘Yeah,’ Snotlout nodded, ‘it’s where you don’t give a gift because the gift is your love or whatever. Just,’ he suddenly looked scared, ‘don’t tell Astrid about that?’ Hiccup shot a glance at him and focused on Ruffnut. ‘I’m sure Fishlegs wouldn’t mind if you didn’t give him anything. Even so, any gift would probably do for him.’ ‘No,’ Ruffnut corrected, ‘he would accept any gift, because he is that tactful. I want to give him something he actually likes. Any ideas?’

Fishlegs opened his door just a crack, to look over the street that was still empty at the early hour.

Astrid and Tuffnut had discussed their ideas with him for a while, going from unlikely to impossible and back. Tuffnut demanded the best for his sister and suggested Fishlegs to build her a house overnight. No, a ship! No, an island! Astrid had stopped him before he could demand Fishlegs to craft another archipelago for his sister. She, in turn, thought he should give something meaningful from his family to Ruffnut, like Hiccup had done for her. Only problem was, the Ingermans didn’t have such a family heirloom. ‘Well,’ Astrid had asked, ‘what did your parents give each other?’ It had struck him he didn’t actually know. So, he’d waved his friends goodbye and went home to ask his parents. They revealed a long tucked away tale over dinner, that they had hoped never to tell again. His mother had made a tunic for his father, nothing special, but his father had wanted to do something out of the ordinary. So, he contacted a trader and managed to get his hands on a fake dragon egg, meant to be explosive. The idea was to haul it in the air for it to explode in a colorful blast, but his father’s throw had been off and the egg landed on a roof. The roof of his mother’s house... Fishlegs thanked for the story, not much further in the search for an idea. Ruffnut would like explosives, of course, but Hiccup probably would not. Eventually his mother suggested he baked Ruffnut something. Now that, he could do. So in the early morning he snuck through the village searching for the ingredients necessary to bake a carrot cake.

Little did he know, a certain other adolescent snuck over the streets as well at that hour, with her blonde braids slipped in a hood and a full bag over her shoulder. Snotlout’s suggestions had been ridiculous and some crude. He’d proposed explosives, fire, weaponry and hand-to-hand combat, none of which were popular with Fishlegs. Hiccup had been a better help, suggesting something to do with book smarts and Fishlegs’ knowledge of flora and fauna. ‘Yeah,’ Snotlout helpfully added, ‘his dragon stats are super useless now, so I bet he feels useless.’ ‘Snotlout!’ was Hiccup’s threatening response. ‘No, no, he might be on to something.’ Ruffnut had said. That was when an idea had dawned on her. She was going to make Fishlegs a puzzle hunt! At the end would be a certificate of excellent dragon knowledge. She’d shut herself away in her room, designing the puzzles. Hiccup had lent her the dragon book for it. Now, in the quiet morning, she was placing all clues in the right spot, leading to the certificate. In the corner of her eye, she would have seen Fishlegs run behind a wall, hands full of carrots, if she hadn’t been wearing the hood that blocked her sideview.

‘So, we all agree this is going to be hilarious?’ Snotlout grinned. ‘Hilarious? Why’s that?’ Astrid asked. The four of them had just found out about Ruffnut’s and Fishlegs’ asking for help. ‘Because let’s be honest, their gifts aren’t the best. A cake? A treasure hunt? I’d like to see the looks on their faces!’ ‘If you say anything like that to Ruffnut...’ Tuffnut rolled up imaginary sleeves and shot Snotlout a meaningful look. ‘Okay, no reason to get aggressive,’ Hiccup stepped in, arms up defensively. ‘It’s not about the gifts, Snotlout, it’s about what they symbolize: their relationship. And Tuffnut, please don’t hurt Snotlout.’ Tuffnut sighed, almost disappointed. ‘Okay...’ ‘But,’ Snotlout had the nerve to keep talking, ‘we’re still gonna watch, right? They’re supposed to meet at the main square around lunch.’ Astrid met Hiccup’s eyes, as if wanting to say ‘I’d like to see that.’. ‘Allright, we’ll be there. Just keep your heads down!’

As promised, around lunchtime they met up under Stoick’s statue. Tuffnut snickered at one of Snotlout’s jokes, when Astrid spotted something. ‘Guys, look! There’s Fishlegs... and Ruffnut?’ They looked in the same direction and indeed, Ruffnut and Fishlegs came walking to the square together, talking something over. ‘That wasn’t the plan!’ Snotlout complained. ‘They were supposed to meet here.’ ‘Ruff!’ Hiccup called, and they all ran to a very confused Ruffnut and Fishlegs. As they came closer, they noticed something was wrong. Fishlegs’ eyes were a little red. ‘Fish, have you been... crying?’ Tuffnut asked. ‘No,’ Fishlegs replied, but his voice expressed the opposite. ‘Why? What happened?’ Astrid sounded worried. ‘Oh,’ Ruffnut made an evasive movement with her hand. ‘he dropped the cake he made for me and was afraid I’d be mad.’ Snotlout looked at Fishlegs, Ruffnut and back again. ‘So... wait, Fishlegs doesn’t have any gift?’ Ruffnut shrugged. ‘Turned out I set my clues down in the wrong order. My gift also doesn’t work. So, we both don’t have gifts.’ Astrid, Hiccup and Tuffnut just expressed their sympathy, but Snotlout sported a wide, worrying grin. ‘I have an idea what you could give each other.’ ‘What’s that?’ Astrid asked him, unimpressed. Snotlout pulled his face as dramatic as possible. ‘A lovey-dovey first kiss!’ Everyone was silent for a moment. ‘Wait,’ Tuffnut glanced at Fishlegs, whose eyes had finally ceased being watery. ‘you mean to tell me,’ and that was directed at Fishlegs, ‘you’ve never kissed?’ Fishlegs shook his head. ‘Not really, no.’ Ruffnut’s cheeks had turned rosy. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t mind it...’

Another silence followed. No one dared speak, as they felt it wasn’t their place, and Fishlegs fiddled with his hands. ‘I just, um, don’t know how it works?’ Ruffnut looked at him as if he was an idiot, a funny sight with her face still pink. ‘We put our lips together? C’mon, can we?’ she pleaded. ‘I, well, you see, maybe...’ Tuffnut cleared his throat, as some sort of warning. Fishlegs sighed deeply. ‘Okay, yeah, I guess we can kiss.’ Snotlout snorted. ‘Finally!’ Astrid nudged him in the side. Meanwhile Ruffnut was making her move and hooked her arms around Fishlegs’ neck, her fingers playing with his hair. He awkwardly tried to figure out where to put his hands, so she slid an arm down to direct him to her waist. She then moved her face close, very close to his and swallowed. Fishlegs looked her in the eyes, but she glanced at his mouth and seemed to step over a mental barrier. Then she tilted her head and closed the remaining gap, kissing him on the lips. They remained like that for a moment and broke apart. ‘That’s it?’ Snotlout exclaimed, sounding disappointed. ‘Gotta be honest sis,’ Tuffnut nodded, ‘I expected more from you. Fireworks! Passion!’ ‘Oh, that’ll happen,’ she assured him smugly, ‘just not while you’re around.’ Fishlegs was visibly concerned about this comment, but pulled himself together. ‘Well, I liked it. A fitting betrothal gift.’ Ruffnut smiled at him. ‘I liked yours too.’

#I guess this happened #drabble #httyd #Ruffnut #Tuffnut #Fishlegs #Snotlout #Astrid #Hiccup #RuffLegs #betrothal gift

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Just Make It to Next Time

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Overwhelmed!reader, Dean Winchester and some Sam

A/N: Beka @impala-dreamer asked for some comfort; I don't know if I have ever written it? Here goes nothing! Mental health, drinking, self harm and language warnings. xoxo

*^*^*^

It wasn’t a roller coaster, those go up at some point. This, this was a teeth chattering, stomach purging twenty story drop with the occasional pause; taunting reprieve before taking you down another notch. If there was an end, you hadn’t found it yet, unfortunately your brain had tapped out a while back. Everyone had rough patches, sure, but the past few months had been one train wreck and devastation after another. You needed a vacation, or a lobotomy.

Staring at the screen, you tried to make out what there was to do on the latest pile of shit that had landed on your plate: it seems all you could do was wait. Which was the last thing you had time for. You walked away, passed the pictures on the wall and into the kitchen to pour yourself some coffee. When you saw the time on the microwave you decided to make it Irish.

The label on the bottle caught your eye, taking you back to another lifetime, when you first found comfort in that particular poison.

Tending bar had a way to earn quick cash after high school, your uncle knew the owners and helped you land the job without any experience. In just a matter of months, you learned more about the world than you thought a gap year could teach someone. A hunters’ bar wasn’t always the friendliest working environment, but it was probably the quickest school for a newb you could have asked for.

You don’t remember who had ditched on their shift, but you were running between the store room and the bar all night. You felt grimy and knew your tips were going to be crap because you hadn’t plastered a fake smile on in over an hour; you were too tired for games. A group of four had been purposely asking for the stupidest shit, just to get another eye-full of your ass. Oh well, it was their tab to close, and you were used to it by now.

Suddenly a commotion erupted back by the pool tables, a biker type nose to nose with a cocky guy barely older than you. You reached under the bar for the fire extinguisher when a deep voice broke apart the impeding fight.

“That’s enough, Dean.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied, not breaking eye contact from the bald guy who he apparently had just hustled.

“Yeah, that’s right you listen to daddy, kid,” the bald biker taunted.

“I might be a kid, but I still have your cash, cue ball,” he threw over his shoulder, as he followed his father out the side exit.

The rest of the night passed in a blur and you got home smelly and exhausted, free to sleep the day away. The phone woke you just after noon, it was the owner looking for the key to the beer fridge, which of course you had taken home with you. So much for your day off.

The smart ass pool shark was the only customer in sight as you strolled in.

*^*^*^*

Five Years later

“What are we doing here, Dean?” You heard an exasperated voice ask before you turned the corner from the parking lot to your apartment. That big black beauty of a car the confirmation your messages were being answered. You pulled the sleeves of your hoodie down, trying to hide one of the things you had been up to since you last saw Dean.

“Got a tip on a case in town, relax Sammy.”

“Sammy as in the infamous prodigal son?” You sauntered forward, trying to play up the carefree casualness.

The tall kid with a mop of dark hair chuckled nervously, while Dean played up the annoyance. “More like the thorn in my side. Y/N,? Sam. Sam, this is Y/N, best whiskey Old Fashions for three states.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” He gave you a soft wave over the roof of the car.

“What you got for us?” Dean got down to business, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“What do you guys know about skinwalkers?”

Three nights and a handful of minor injuries later, you sat with Dean in the courtyard of your apartment complex. A six pack at your feet and a nearly cloudless sky above you.

“Okay, now that we are passed the impending doom. I gotta ask about the cuts, Y/N. I’m not an idiot, I know how frequent and fresh those are.”

You got through it, barely. The shame and frustration and defensiveness melting into a trail of hot tears that Dean’s thumbs carefully brushed away. You felt dead inside and the pain was the only thing that made any sense anymore. You didn’t want his pity and he wasn’t giving it. He just listened, quiet and sad beside you. It grew cold, but he only held you tighter until you both fell asleep. Only to be woken up by the early morning sprinkler setting.

He left after a very strict agreement that you call him once a week, if you didn’t he would drop what he was doing and check on you. “I’m not kidding, Y/N. You don’t have to be happy, hell, no one is ever really sunshine and beer commercials, but you gotta keep going. Okay?”

“I’m doing my best,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Good. Just keep doing that until next time and I’ll be there to kick your ass again.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious. You stop calling, I’ll be here in less than a day.”

Sam had been packing the trunk, his jaw jutting out as he tried not to worry at the tone of your conversation. You rolled your eyes at Dean, but threw a half-hearted punch into his shoulder.

“Come here.” He pulled you into a quick hug, “Don’t be your own punching bag, you’re better than that.”

“Look whose talkin’.”

They left with eyes squinted in concern; boys who would be your heroes and sounding boards more often than you asked for. The car taillights a wistful goodbye as always.

*^**^*

Last Year

“Have you seen him?” A question that you never knew could make the world tilt. You had been up anyway, one of the kids were sick, the clock glaring back at you with its hands open; useless and without answers.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Dean’s not Dean right now. If you see him, steer clear and call me immediately.” His tone was fierce and flashes of black eyes sent your stomach rolling.

“What happened?”

“He said yes.”

Michael never came for you, but Dean did. As soon as Sam let him, he called, boisterous and smooth, the cocky pool shark of your past needing a distraction. You told him to meet at your place once you were done for the day. After stopping at the local bakery for a fresh tin of apple pie, Dean and eventually your kids shuffled through the door with growling tummies.

The younger one gave Dean a tour of their latest collection and the oldest a concert. He was appropriately impressed, though his demanding of ‘Free Bird’ was met more with confusion than the rightful annoyance. He helped you wash the dishes while asking about your life. Your phone was constantly buzzing and the kids interrupted every few minutes, which told him more than you could convey.

You apologized, but he brushed it away. He left full and grateful, but you knew he wasn’t alright. Not yet. You called him exactly a week later, but it was a while before he called you back.

*^*^*^

Now

A younger you, Sam and Dean smiled back at you from the picture frame on your wall. The trunk of the Impala your bench as you balanced your feet on their ancient green cooler. This wasn’t life and death, not for you at least. But every other breath felt like too much effort and giving up would be so easy. You stared at the empty coffee mug, wishing you could throw on an extra layer and hit the road. Fall into the life that you had only ever sight-seen.

Maybe you just wanted an excuse to get hurt. A way to break all ties for good, to be the bad guy.

Except they weren’t bad guys, not even when they were at their lowest, Sam and Dean fought to be better and to do the right thing. They didn’t throw in the towel and they certainly wouldn’t forgive themselves if you did. A rueful grin burst over your face at the thought of the look Dean would give you if he heard you had started hunting, had given up on normal. Sam’s puppy dog eyes as he would try to understand, because he would so easily.

You went back to the computer, seeing if you were free from the waiting game or damned to fill your hands with the other things you had yet to do. An hour, two baskets of laundry and three unproductive phone calls later, a knock came at your door.

There he stands, pressed suit making him look like a goddamn GQ cover model. When Dean sees you, the smile stops before it hits his eyes. He always knows. “Hey there, grumpy. Got time for me?”

“Not a chance. Come on in. Sam with you?” You hold the door wide, and he places a scruffy cheek against yours.

“He’s still working, gonna meet up with him later. Maybe grab dinner if you’re free?”

His face falls slightly as he takes in the house; your time spread so thin each room wore a line between cleanliness and chaos. You make detail-less excuses and bring him back for coffee. He raises his mug in solidarity once you share the special ingredient.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom.” You try to steer the conversation towards him. It’s been a disconnected year for all of you.

“Thanks, is it weird to say it wasn’t any easier the second time around?”

“Not to me,” you whisper, hand falling on his while he watches you. His eyes trail up your wrist and over your shoulder, noting any clues he can to your current predicament. Dean did always know how to apply the right amount of pressure.

“How bad is it?” His hand warm and firm in yours.

You hum before sniffing back the stress tears that are perpetually under the surface. “How is it you show up today of all days?”

Dean shrugs, eyes crinkling as he takes another sip. “Maybe it was the case, maybe it was just checking in after so long, but I’m sure glad I went with my gut. Why didn’t you call me? Do we need to go back to that? Every week?”

You huff in amusement, “No, besides, who even knows what day it is anyway?”

“You sure?”

“Nope.”

Dean tosses back the rest of the coffee, puckering those lips that were just too distracting in person. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

“What? No, I am waiting on like five things and the kids will be home--”

“Look, I’ll give you a hall pass. No one is gonna give you crap if I flash my badge. Let’s go for a drive.”

You got to sit shotgun, you’d never been shotgun before. That big bench seat and all you can do was stare at the driver. Dean revs Baby’s engine and pulls out of your neighborhood, back the way he came. He finds a country road and lets her loose, music blaring and summer breeze floating through the windows. He sings too loud, fingers drumming with that easy smile that coaxes a few out of you as he goes.

The weather is shifting, you feel the wind speed and the pressure drop. It will be gone before you get back home. Before anything can be remedied. This too shall pass, even if it gets darker you are going through it because that is all you can do, even if your heels are still dug in against the forward momentum. You crank the windows closed, watching the fat drops fall.

Sam calls and you take the phone, teasing Dean for everyone’s benefit. He gives you the details of their case, knowing that your brain needs a puzzle like his brother knows your heart needs a break. You give Sam the answer he already knows and he feigns consideration. He was always such a nerd. You wish him luck and promise him you’ll have him over for dinner next time through.

You set down your worries, one at a time until they are behind you like the passing corn fields. You aren’t fixed, but you’re better and that’s more than you had hoped. You look to your old friend, time and guilt have stamped their paths over his face, but so has love and loyalty and life’s little pleasures. He reaches for your hand again, and though you may never be whole, he isn’t asking you to be. He’s just holding you up, until the next time.

*^*

#comfort fic #spn fanfic #dean winchester #self harm #mental health #stressed!reader #dean hurt/comfort #dean fanfic

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