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orange-waterfalls · 3 years

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Hugs From The Captain!

Captain Magnum x gn!reader

A/N: hi. it's me. i'm not dead! which is an awful surprise considering the amount of people who WROTE MY OBITUARY yesterday, PREEMPTIVELY in case I did die. but i didn't! so suck on that.(yes this is a markiplier quote no I do not remember what video) anyways here's a soft Magnum fic with a lil angst. as a treat. after fucking MONTHS. I have been kind of experimenting? with like more banter or realistic type of dialogue. just like. lemme know if u think it's good. Rated T for cursing. Fluff and sort of angst. Uhhhh tw: self-doubt, tw: guns, tw: alcohol, tw: drugs. Reader doesn't like. Use guns. Or drink. Or do drugs. Uhhhh I think that's it enjoy!!!

Word Count: 2.8k

Hugs From The Captain!

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“Good job, matey!” Magnum yells out when you drop a large sack of coins on the ground. You breathe heavily and your arms are shaking, but by God you carried that shit onto the ship. In the middle of a gunfight, no less!

You don't respond, preferring to hit the deck as bullets continue to fly. You cover your ears with your hands and squeeze your eyes shut tight. No matter how long you'd be on this ship, you were sure you'd never get used to this part. You don't know how long you were on the floor, but when you looked again, two other crewmates were on the floor as well and it was silent. You scramble to your feet and look around, sighing when you notice the other ship sailing away.

"Good job, Y/N!" One of your mates says loudly, still on their stomach on the floor. Ah, yes. Gunshots. Ringing in the ears. Love it.

“Thank--!” You’re cut off with a squeak as Magnum squeezes you in a giant bear hug.

“Aw, you’re doin’ fantastic! That was wonderful! I never thought I’d have such a great first mate!” He turns to another crewmate. “...no offense”

“Some taken…” he sighs and rests his cheek in his hand.

"Mag-" you can't finish before you wheeze a breath out, and the captain takes that as a sign he should put you down. He does, holding your shoulders as you sway, and brushes you off a bit.

"Apologies… I get a bit excited," he flushes.

"You're-" you clear your throat, "you're fine."

"Anywho, let's all celebrate tonight! I have some o' that fancy whiskey in me cabin!" He suggests.

"Fancy?" You croak.

"Ya know. Fancy! The bottle actually has a label on it!"

"Right… uh, sure. We can do that. Ok."

"Fantastic!" He reaches out for another hug but freezes when you flinch away. He plays it off by grabbing a rope and telling the crew what to do.

You sigh in relief. You love the guy, you do, but goddamn he is strong. Sometimes a hug is a bit too forceful. You were sure he's cracked a rib before.

You stand next to him, waiting for him to let you know what you can do, but he just smiles and sets a hand on your head.

"Ye were wonderful today. Yer arms must be tired. Ye should go rest," He explains.

"What? No, I'm fine!" You put your hands on your hips. He squints at your arms, and you look down and notice they're shaking. You let them drop.

"Mm. Go rest," he instructs and you cross your arms before sulking away to your room.

You lay on your bed completely still. You'd been in this position for the past 4 hours. It had gotten dark and you were sure you missed dinner.

Ok, fine, your arms hurt before.

But now you couldn't feel your body at all. Everything was completely numb. Maybe carrying a giant bag of gold coins that was nearly the same size as you wasn't the best idea.

You hear the door creak and your heartbeat speeds up but you literally do not move a single muscle.

"Mate? Y'alright?" Magnum asks. You groan in response. That was supposed to be a "yeah". He walks over to your bed and you manage to move your neck a bit to look up at him.

"I have a feelin' yer bein' dramatic." He chuckles, a deep sound that echoes through your room.

"How dare you," You whisper, your throat hoarse.

"It can't be that bad."

"Not everyone is a seven foot tall mass of muscle."

"There's a bit I'm pudge in here too, don't worry."

"Whatever."

"We're celebratin'. Ye wanna come or are ye gonna lay here for another 6 hours?"

So it was 6, not 4.

"Magnum, boss, cap, mate, I don't think I can fucking move, much less dance with you people." Because whenever there's drinking, there will be dancing. You've been here long enough to know that is a fact.

"Here, I have an idea."

"Wha--" He lifts you up like you weigh nothing and you feel your face heat up a bit. He pulls you into a bone crushing hug. Literally. You hear and feel your back crack in several places. He drops you onto your feet and, again, you sway a bit, and again, he steadies you. You stretch your limbs, sighing.

"Uh… thanks. Still don't think I can dance, though..." You scuff the floor with the toe of your boot.

"Eh, thas alright. Ye can sing, can't ye? Ye know a few shanties?" He asks.

"... a few…" You say with a smile.

"Good! I'm sure they'll love to hear ye," He gently sets a hand on your shoulder. He sets it gently on purpose. You know because he was about to slam it down with a force that would probably dislocate your shoulder, but stopped a few centimeters away and made sure to let it down soft.

"Mm. We going now?" You pat the hand on your shoulder.

"If ye want."

"Bet. Let's go."

After an hour or so, you had exhausted your voice and all the shanties you knew. Magnum was right, the other crewmates were very excited to hear you sing. They even chanted beforehand. As soon as they recognized the songs they joined in they joined in. They started dancing after a while, too.

You're sitting by a light in the corner, sipping your drink. They're having a lot of fun, and you can't help but smile. You feel… safety. Comfort. Affection. Love.

You love these people. This is your family. This is a group of people who you might have never known if your life had gone just a bit differently. You thanked whatever being is out there in the universe for giving you this… family. This feeling of pure joy.

You hear loud creaking towards you as Magnum approaches. You tilt your head back to look up at him behind you.

"Oi. Ye alright?" He inquires in a voice much quieter than you're used to.

"Yeah, I'm good," You say, matching his volume.

"Ye were actin' like we were goin' ta haveta saw yer arms off," He teases.

"I thought you were!" You defend jokingly.

"I'da been the one to do it."

"Woulda given me a cup of beer and said 'it's basically an anaesthetic'."

"Well, of ye drink enough…" you both chuckle. You look down at your drink and swish it around in your cup a little. You can feel him staring at you and it starts to make you uncomfortable.

"What is it?" You snap a bit on accident. He frowns. "Sorry…"

"Ye sure yer alright?" You groan loudly in annoyance.

"Yes! I am absolutely sure, 100%--"

"Tell me and I'll buy ye a treat next time we get to shore." You both stare at each other for a moment. Your arms are in midair since you were cut off from your dramatics. He had an eyebrow raised and was looking at you suspiciously. You drop your hands onto the table.

"I feel useless." You say bluntly.

"Wha? Why? Did someone say somethin'? I'll shoot them out o' me cannon right now!" Magnum panics.

"See, this is why I didn't want to tell you!" You sigh and fall back in your chair.

"Wha d' ye mean?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"There's no… nobody said anything, I just… I got a bag. One bag!"

"Aye! An' that was very--"

"Mags, they each got at least two. Some even had three. You got seven. Plus a chest."

"Ok, so we're a little… little stronger than ye, what about it?"

"I'm not… useful to you! I'm not as strong, I'm not good in a gunfight, I can barely talk my way out of anything--"

"Ye talked John out of his potatoes."

"I thought his name was Jack?"

"Eh, he-he never corrects anyone. I called him James the other day and nothin'."

"Huh. But that doesn't count. I know him."

"Ye are useful, and even if ye weren't, yer a valuable… valuable? Yea, valuable member of this crew. I haven't seen 'em dance this much in months. I haven't smiled this much in months. Ye are a very important part of me ship. Crew. Me crew."

"...Mags, are you drunk?"

"Not the point. Wha I'm sayin' is we love ye and now we're attached and ye can never leave."

"Ah, I see. C'mon. Bedtime," You stood up and walked over to Magnum, putting a gentle hand on his arm. He squints at it.

"No," He looks up at you.

"Mags…" You warn.

"No," He crosses his arms and leans back.

"Magnum," You cross your arms. Is he really doing this right now?

"Call me captain," He smiles brightly.

"...I'm not doing that," You can't help but smile back.

"Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why do you want me to?"

"I like it."

"Ok, Mr. authority complex."

"Stop psychoal… psychoan… psy--"

"Psychoanalyzing."

"Yeah that."

"Only if you get to bed."

"...bah."

"Bah, yourself. Stand up."

"I'm a lil tipsy, it's fine." He says, swaying a little. You put your hand back on his arm and he stares at it as you lead him to his cabin.

"You'll thank me in the morning when everyone has a pounding hangover and you just have a headache." You pat his arm.

"Mm. Mate?" He asks, still staring at your hand.

"Yeah, Mags?" You open his door and let him walk in. He looks at you standing in the doorway with this… weirdly soft look on his face.

"...I love ye." He whispers. Ok, that was way too quiet and a very uncharacteristic thing to say.

"Love you too. You're drunk." You repeat.

"I know. I still love ye."

"Thank you. Go to sleep."

"Cuddle?"

"No, you smell like whiskey."

"Please?"

"No. Love you. Go to sleep."

"G'night."

"Night."

"Morning, everyone." You smile over your cup at the tired and annoyed faces that walk through the door. Some mumble a "good morning" back, some only give you a wave, some straight up ignore you. Magnum walks in, visibly doing better than the others, and makes his way to you.

"Uh…" He scratches his beard.

"Hm. Let me guess…" you tap your chin with a finger and raise your eyebrows.

"...thank you." He sighs.

"Called it," You tilt your seat back and put your feet on the table.

"Yeah, yeah…" He grumbles.

“Sleep well?” You sip your drink.

“Eh… yeah…” He says after a couple seconds.

“That’s a hesitation I hear,” You raise an eyebrow.

“Mm… dream was a… a little bad…” He sits in a chair across from you.

“Bad? Bad how?” You tilt your head, and the look he gives you isn’t a very good one.

“Eh, jus’… jus’… mm…”

“Don’t wanna talk?”

“Not… really…”

“Ok. Coffee?”

"Aye." You stand up and get another cup of coffee with a little bit of sugar and some whiskey and hand it to him.

"... sugar 'n whiskey…" he says, surprised for some reason.

"Yeah. You like it that way, right?" You ask, worried you'd gotten it wrong.

"Aye, aye I do…"

"...is something wrong?"

"...no. Nothin'."

"You… sure?"

"Aye."

"Ok… I'm gonna… go see if the others want anything." He nods as you walk away.

That was. Very weird.

You shake your head and walked up to John. James. Whatever.

"Mornin'... Joseph." You say experimentally.

"Mornin', Y/N." He smiles. So, he just answers to anything. Great.

"Need anything? Coffee? Food? Drugs?"

"Why would we need drugs?" Another mate asks.

"For your hangovers, duh." You clap your hand on Jim's (Jake's?) shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll spike your drinks." They all thank you at different energy levels as you leave to get their individual cups of coffee. You feel someone staring at you and turn to see Magnum gazing at you from his seat. He clears his throat and turns away once you see him. You sigh and distribute the cups among the crewmembers. One of them stares at you as you hand them a cup.

"What?" You ask defensively.

"He's in love with you." She comments.

"Yeah, I know…" you sigh and sit down at her table.

"You know? What do you mean you know?!"

"I mean, I know!"

"Do you like him back?"

"That's a difficult question."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I love him a lot but he's a greedy bastard with an authority complex and he hugs way too hard."

"The hugs are not that bad." You give her a look. "Ok, yeah, they are."

"Uh-huh."

"You could… teach him how to hug and see where that gets you?"

"I think I'd hurt his feelings if I suggested that."

"Then just… hug him!"

"What? No!" You whisper-shout to get your point across but also make sure Magnum doesn't hear you.

"Why not?!" She whisper-shouts back.

"That's… weird! I don't give hugs! Hugs are not a thing I give! I get hugs I do not give them!" You both stare at each other for a minute.

"You're touch starved," she raises an eyebrow.

"No shit, so is he."

"One hug! That's it!"

"I refuse."

"I'm sure it'll make him happy!" You pause, thinking about it. He did seem a little upset when you flinched at him. You glared at the pirate and she gave you a shit-eating grin back. She knew what she was doing. Fuck.

"One hug." You hold up your finger to emphasize the point.

"That's all I ask." You point at her and stand up from your seat. You walk over to Magnum. He looks up at you, eyes widening for a moment.

"First mate." He nods.

"Captain," You nod back, "Can we talk?"

"...uh."

"Just real quick? Somewhere private?"

"Uhhhh."

"Magnum."

"Ok. Yea, we can… do that." You nod and began walking towards his cabin. After a couple steps you realize he's not following you and turn around. There he is, sitting at his table.

"Mags?"

"Hm? Oh! Comin'."

He makes his way over to you and enters his cabin. You enter afterwards, shutting the door behind you. You look at him, this 7-and-a-half foot giant of a man, fidgeting. Nervous. You squint at him. How are you gonna go about this?

"You hug too hard." You state. He frowns and drops his hands to his sides.

"Oh…" He says, sounding disappointed. Fuck hurting his feelings, he was gonna hurt your organs, goddamn.

"You need… you gotta be softer. More-More gentle. Like… like, uh…"

"I'm not sure I can--"

"Here, lemme-just…" you shuffle over to him and wrap your arms around his torso. You feel him tense up under your touch. You lay your cheek on him and just squeeze your arms a little. You can't reach all the way around, but it seems to be working pretty well for what you can do. His arms are just frozen in the air, and he keeps moving them just a little, like he wants to hug you back but can't. You inhale a little and smell gunpowder, wood, and coffee. It's a comforting smell, mostly because it's just his, and you can't help but squeeze a little tighter and nuzzle into him. His breath hitches and his heartbeat speeds up. You grin.

You're fucking with him. Not on purpose, but it's happening.

You finally pull away after a few minutes, giving one final squeeze to his midsection before finally stepping back. You look up at him, an innocent smile on your face. He just stares down at you, a blush on his face. His eyes are a little foggy, and you start to get a little worried. Maybe that was… too much, too fast.

"Mags? You okay?" You whispered. He seems to snap out of whatever trance he's in at that because he sucks in a breath and drops his arms.

"Aye! I'm alright! I'm going to uh… go now!" He announces loudly and stomps out of his cabin.

You chuckle as you watch him walk robotically over to the front of the ship, almost tripping over himself and yelling at anyone who laughed. You sigh, shaking your head and sitting on his bed.

You'd wait until he told you about his feelings. You'd wait until he was ready. You could do that... You could do that.

You look out the door again, seeing the crew all working, and him just standing at the wheel. He has a dopey, crooked smile on his face and his hands keep twitching like he can't contain himself. He catches your eye and looks at you. You stick your tongue out and scrunch up your face. He smiles wider and it looks like he chuckles. He looks away, embarrassed. You smile again before standing up and leaving his cabin, planning to ask what you can help with.

Hugs are good enough for now.

#tw: guns #tw: alcohol #tw: drugs #tw: self doubt #ahwm #ahwm magnum #captain magnum #captain magnum markiplier #captain magnum x reader #captain magnum x gn!reader #captain magnum x gender neutral reader #captain magnum x you #captain magnum x y/n #markiplier egos x reader #x reader #x reader fic #x you #x y/n #a heist with markiplier

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myblueeyedbuggers · 3 years

Text

My Boys

Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

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

Word Count:1843

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

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

Annnddd I’m back! so I know it’s been a while since the last update and I just wanna thank you all for having patience with me while I finished up with college, just a warning this chapter may feel a little awkward to read due to me just getting back into my writing mind so apologises in advance for this one. Anyways I’ll quit blabbering, Enjoy everyone! :)

This was my day of reckoning, my punishment for all the bad deeds I’d done over the past couple of years…I was finally being sent to school. Okay maybe that was a tad dramatic, but can you blame me? I mean who wants to be trapped in a building against their will for 7 hours straight learning about dead guys?! No sane person would willingly agree to that crap!

I’ve tried just about everything to avoid my approaching doom, hell I even went as far as hiding in the basement surrounded by cobwebs to try and get out of this, but as per usual neither Steve or Bucky took mercy on me, hence why in currently trapped between the two. “You are aware I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ by myself aren’t ya? The looping of the arms is not needed boys” I swear down these two are being more annoying than usual, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible cause these two are basically the living embodiment of annoyance. Steve turned and raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his head as he let out a small laugh, “Yeah there’s absolutely no way I’m fallin’ for that again, last time that happened it look me and Buck an hour to get you outta that tree”. Ah crap there goes that plan.

I’m pretty sure the noise I made wasn’t even human, it was a mix between a seal and a possessed monkey “I’m not gonna get outta this am I?” “Nope” and que another frustrated groan. “Is this payback for the time I placed that bucket of flour above your bedroom door and watched the both of you turn into ghosts? If it is then I want you to know I regret nothin’” both of them stopped and glared at me, for some reason they didn’t find that as funny as I did, and I have no idea why. Okay whatever you do y/n don’t laugh, even if Steve’s face looks like a slapped arse don’t laugh! A snicker slipped past my lips and a few seconds later I was full on laughin’. Goddamn it.

Both of em just let out a bunch of sighs and started draggin’ my butt along the street, wait there’s somethin’ I haven’t tried yet…in hindsight this is completely stupid but screw it. “OH MY GOD LOOK A SPACESHIP!” I’m pretty sure poor Bucky jumped outta his skin, Steve ended up trippin’ up and falling down, I’ll admit that I felt bad about but hey may plan worked! So why am I still standin’ there?… maybe we try this thing called running y/n! I quickly pulled my arm away from Bucky and used my new-found freedom to run in the opposite direction of them, I could hear the shouts of protest from the both of them, so I decided to kindly ignore them and absolutely leg it. “GODAMMN IT Y/N! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MORNIN’!” when were the boys gonna catch on that I didn’t wanna go? Do I need to prepare a firework show and blast it in their faces or somethin’…probably.

I know I probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as my feet hit the ground made me feel free, after so many years I could finally begin acting my age and enjoy my childhood. I finally felt content with my life, which is probably the opposite of what I should be feeling at this moment in time, considering I was currently making my grand escape. And to completely honest I’ve got no bloody clue as to where I am. I glanced behind me to see where the hell those idiots were, to my surprise Steve was directly behind me, Buck was somewhere in the back holdin’ his knee and I’m guessing the daft sod decked it. Why am I not surprised? Okay maybe I should of kept my mouth shut cause literally a second later my foot tripped over a rock and, you guessed correctly, I landed on my ass for the thousandth time!

“Sh*t! Cr*p! B*lls! That f**king hurt!” and that ladies and gentlemen is my fine command of the queens English, a groan of pain made me loose my train of thought as I turned my head to Steve, to put it simply he was laid flat on his back with his eye closed. Well there’s the rush of guilt I’ve been waiting for, “Sh*t Steve I’m sorry, you okay down there tough guy?” I quickly offered him my hand to help him up, I mean it’s the least I could do. Steve’s hand grabbed mine, a not so quiet grunt of pain made me feel even worse, quick question why am I such an assh*le at times? “Yeah, I’m fine y/n, don’t worry about it you know for a fact I’ve had worse” a quiet sigh left my lips as I brought him in for a hug, which was a tiny bit awkward due to the height difference. Once we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t supress the need to check him for anymore injuries, much to Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s amusement, “Jesus I’m gonna have to start wrapping ya up in blankets and pillows, Steve how the hell did you manage to get a bruise on your ear?!”

The sudden gasp behind me pretty much answered the question for me, it’s safe to say barney boy is in trouble…for the first in my life Bucky looks pretty f**king terrified of me, perfect. Slowly I started inching towards him, the glare I was sending him would probably make a demon cry for his mum…so yeah imma go kill the boy. I didn’t even have to say anything, he just started runnin’, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE STOLE MY FR**KING PUDDIN’ AND THE PUNK KNOWS I LOVE MY PUDDIN!’” YEP DEFINITELY KILLIN’ HIM “HE IS A SMALL AND GENTLE BOY HOW IN THE NAME OF HELL CAN YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYIN’ A HAND ON ‘IM?!” god this sounds like a bleeding soap opera.

At this point I wouldn’t be surprised of someone called the cops on us, all everyone woulda seen was a big lad runnin’ for his life as a small lass tried to murder him while a smaller lad ran after the pair yellin’ for em to quit it. Now that I think about, that’s actually hilarious. Wait, where was I? ah yes the murdering of one James Barnes…okay that is not a normal sentence I am aware. “HE.STOLE.MY.PUDDIN’! THAT A CRIME WORTHY OF DEATH!” oh for f**ksake “HOW THE HELL DO YA KNOW IT WAS HIM?! DID YOU NOT THINK IT COULDA BE BECCA?!” I think he made a sudden realisation, cause the dumbass stopped running and BOOM I was on the freakin’ floor. Again. We both groaned, mine was mostly in annoyance more than anything, but seriously the bloody floor is quickly becoming me best mate! “…. It just dawned on me that that could be a possibility…” if my neck twisted any quicker I’m 100% sure that I’d end up doin’ that weird owl thing “Oh now you realise?! Ya gonna say sorry to Steve or not?” a few seconds of silence gave me my answer. “Don’t give me that look y/n! I ain’t doing s**t till I’ve got some evidence so he’s still under my list of suspects!” oh my Jesus Christ this is gonna be the day I get arrested for murder isn’t it?

“Barnaby…you have exactly five seconds to run for your life so I highly recommend you get your affairs in order and kiss ya ass goodbye” oh hey look at that I didn’t yell at him! Well done me I’m so proud! “could you two quit trying to kill each other for 5 minutes?! We’re already late enough as is it and I ain’t explainin’ to the teacher why Buck’s outta it on the floor!” my f**kin god Steve just yelled! At me! why do I never have a camera when this s**t happens? “Jeez, alright I’ll murder him later, calm your damn t*ts Rogers” and cue the sound of barely contained frustration in 3,2,1….

“I’m beginning to get the feelin’ that you don’t like me y/n” oh really? I wonder what gave that away “wow you catch on quickly don’t ya Barnaby?” by the looks of things I’m really doing wonders for his ego, buck’s head looks like it’s gotten smaller so the risk of him turning into a hot air balloon’s gone down. The feeling of a pair of eyes glaring at the back of my head once again reminded me that the blonde boy was quickly getting tired of our crap, my worst fears were confirmed once I met Steve’s surprisingly intimidating glare…how he manages to be both adorable and beyond f**king terrifying is a mystery to me. “Okay I’m comin’ just stop staring at me like I just murdered your kitten!” and the little s**t has the nerve to smirk and look pleased with himself, ugh he’s been hanging ‘round me and Bucky too long that’s for sure.

“Ya know Buck and you are gonna be the death of me” right do I be offended or pleased with that statement? “actually, if anything it’s gonna be the pair of you that send me to an early grave cause god knows the both of ya don’t know how to stay outta trouble” two muffled sounds of protest came from my left and from behind me, “what’s that supposed to mean?!” once again the point has been missed “do you really wanna know the answer to that? I’ve got my report and presentation ready on how you two are a pair of numpties”.

Maybe that was a tad harsh…okay wait never mind it seems I’ve learned how to fly again with the assistance of one James Buchannan Barnes. “this is coming from the girl who can’t walk five feet without fallin’ over somethin’?” as much as I hate to admit it the walking embodiment of frustration and annoyance has a point “what you call fallin’ I call floor hugs, now how about you pUT ME DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” wait when did Steve walk off? See this is what happens when an overgrown ape demands attention. I don’t even have to look at Buck to know he’s givin’ me that look that says, “what the hell?” and “I’m not surprised by this” at the same time, “Nah I don’t think that’s gonna happen doll” the temptation to kick ‘im where the sun doesn’t shine is too much to bare for me at this point. “And you wonder why I love Steve more that you” Buck’s face kinda looked like someone just shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, I’m almost certain that he woulda dropped me on my ass if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve came over and dragged us both through the gates of hell.

This is gonna be so much fun!……said no-one ever.

Okay…maybe it didn’t suck as much a thought it did, hopefully my skills as a writer will come back for the next couple of chapters XD Thanks for reading ! :)

Rose xxx

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

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riosnecktattoo · 3 years

Note

After seeing your post about Atonement - what’s better - the sex against the bookshelves in Atonement or in 4.06? (Is this question too difficult to answer?)

AHHHH ahsbsusbdh

Listen I love 4x06 and Brio are far sexier of course and I love them way more obvs but Atonement bookshelf sex is better for me just in general sex scenes terms.

4x06 is HOT but it's like 30 seconds and edited together with Dean. So minus for that. I don’t know why we needed to have Dean in that moment tbh it kinda taints it for me and feels random

But with Atonement like the lack of music? Inspired lemme hear every breath. The release of it after being friends for yearsss? After they both know she read his letter saying he dreamed about eating her out and making love to her all day? No ulterior motives just their want and love for each other coming to a head finally? James McAvoy doing the lord's work with his grunting? The dick had her levitating straight outta her shoes so yeah....

Atonement.

4x06 woulda taken it had he actually railed her up against the shelves and had they kissed and had I seen both of their sex faces clearly and had their been no wire murkiness.

#asks #sorry i sat on this ask im lazy lol

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cozy-fantasy-corner · 4 years

Text

Band of Idiots Pt. 1: July

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and illness

Word Count: 1K ish

Summary: Y/n and Steve Rogers have been best friends since they were babies. One day, Steve is taken ill and Y/n has to find someone else to play with. This encounter will change all three of their lives forever.

Author’s Note: This is my first fic, but I’ve put a lot of love into it. I really hope you fall in love with this story as much as I have!

I was a runty little kid growing up, just like my neighbor, Stevie. I was always sick, and I was so skinny that it scared my mama. My poor health and my small size did nothing for me, but it never stopped me. If you asked anyone that knew me, I was ten times more stubborn than my Stevie. Thick as thieves, us two. We did anything and everything together.

Our mamas both worked at the hospital together. I stayed with Stevie most nights because they had late shifts, not to mention Papa was a mean drunk. He would never watch us, just wake up and yell, maybe slap us around a bit. I’d do all of my work with Stevie, play on the fire escape with him, and curl up in his bed at the end of every day. It was nice, it just being us two.

Everything was wonderful as it could be. Every day was the same things, but they never got old. A case of pneumonia or the flu here and there spiced things up, not to mention the random asthma attacks. But sometimes I craved a little more. I know, it sounds silly. I wanted more adventure, maybe even a new friend to add to our duo.

Stevie got really sick the night after he turned 7. He had come down with something that could kill both of us if we weren’t careful. Mama said I had to stay home until he got better. This left me real uneasy. He was my best guy, we were never apart, and all of a sudden I couldn’t see him at all. I hated it.

I sulked around the apartment for 4 days before Papa got sick of my long face. He got so annoyed with me that he put me on the fire escape and locked the window up tight. Boy, did that grind my gears. I just missed my Stevie, and then Papa wanted rid of me.

I sat on the landing for 2 hours with my arms hugged tight to my chest and a scowl across my face before something jerked me out of my brooding. A girl, about the same age as me, with steely blue eyes, plopped down beside me. She had this quizzical look on her face and her eyes shone bright in the Brooklyn heat.

“My name’s Rebecca Barnes, but Buck and Mama call me Becca. You can call me Becca, too. What’s your name, Grumpy-pants?” she teased gently, poking my side.

I rolled my eyes at her remark, but I softened at her touch. I looked her up and down, taking in her bright energy and her curly brown hair. I unfurled my arms and smiled shyly at her. My fingers brushed the trousers I’d stolen from Stevie, plucking at a string without noticing. All I could do is be scared she wouldn’t want a loser like me to play with. Stevie woulda told me to go for it. Woulda said I needed a new friends anyways. I decided to go for it.

“I’m Y/n. Mama and my Stevie call me Minnie, not Grumpy-pants. Wanna play?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t meet her eyes entirely.

I fully expected her to say no, and much to my surprise, she didn’t say anything. In fact, she just nodded excitedly and grabbed my hand. She yanked me to my feet and set off up the fire escape. I followed behind her, stumbling every couple of steps. Jeez, she moved quickly. All I could see were her curls bouncing as she raced up the steps. She came to a stop suddenly, and I slumped onto the landing, wheezing a little bit.

I put my hands on the metal and tugged myself up the last step. Mama doesn’t let me climb much because it takes so much out of me. I could feel the energy leaving my body. The heat just sucked it right outta me. I shuffled into a seated position, breathing heavily. I put my hand up as if to ask for a second, and Becca looked at me with a deep concern in her eyes.

She settled on the floor next to me, and studied me carefully. She could hear my chest rattling and wheezing. Most people would pity me, but Becca just waited for me to settle my lungs. She wasn’t rude or impatient. She just sat and made sure that I was okay. My heart felt funny. No one but Stevie or Mama was this nice to me, ever.

“Are you okay, Minnie?” she prompted, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I just nodded and gave her a weak smile. My breathing was still a little funny, but not too bad. Not enough to worry. I straightened my spine a little and placed my hands on my thighs. I rocked forward a little to try and stand, but Becca had already shot up and held out her arm for me. I hoarsely whispered my thanks and leaned into her. She guided me to the window of her cool apartment and took me to the couch. I flopped gracelessly and pressed my wrist to my forehead.

“Got asthma” I weakly explained, pressing my eyes closed tightly.

She nodded like she knew already. She shuffled off past me. I heard a glass clink and the faucet running. She came back with a wet rag and a glass of water. She nudged my arm away from my face, replacing it with the rag, and set the water in my hand. I sipped silently as she studied me. It was almost as if she did this often. I shooed the thought from my head when I heard the tip tap of shoes on the floor.

“Bex? That you?” called the boy in the doorway. His eyes shifted between us girls, curious as to who was on his couch.

Becca gave him a “leave it alone” look and his features softened. He was very pretty. I could tell that he was a little bit older by his height and how he spoke to her. His arms were crossed over his chest casually. His eyes were the same piercing blue as Becca’s and his dark hair was perfectly styled. They must be brother and sister.

My study of him was interrupted by his voice floating over the room. He was introducing himself. Something about James. I didn’t really catch it. My head was too fuzzy. I blinked dumbly and just from that he knew I hadn’t heard anything he said. He waved his hand up to snap me out of my daze. My attention was fully on him.

“The name is James Buchanan Barnes. I hate James and Buchanan. Call me Bucky, please” he said with a soft sort of arrogance in his tone. He was gentle, but full of himself. A real brother.

That one moment, unbeknownst to any of us, had changed all of our lives for good.

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

Author’s Note: I really hope you guys liked this first chapter. I’m going to start working on the next one ASAP!

#Band of Idiots #Part 1 #July #Marvel #MCU #Stucky x Reader #1920's!AU #Kid!Reader #Kid!Steve Rogers #Kid!Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #Steven grant rogers #captain america #winter soldier #MJ Writes

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Road To The Aisles

AO3

So with a bit of powering through the block, here is the penultimate chapter. Thanks for sticking with this story and all your comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @wickedgoodbooks @happytoobserve for their support with the story

Chapter 24: An Enduring Commitment

Ever mine, ever thine, ever ours.

Letter from Beethoven to his Immortal Beloved. (Also used in Sex and the City)

Claire, in that blissful state between sleeping and wakefulness, rolled over and stretched out, her hand automatically reaching for the hard body next to her. The unaccustomed coolness of the empty sheets quickly pulled her fully awake. She lay still for a moment, content to savour the anticipation of the day ahead, triggering a small flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

Propping her back against the pillows, she could hear a flurry of activity outside the bedroom. A familiar low voice spoke, too softly for her to make out the words. The reply, however, came through loud and clear, in scolding tones.

“Unca Jamie, I said no! Mam has told me I’ve tae look after Auntie Claire taeday. Mam says ye canna see her, no’ even a wee keek. Mam says ye’re like a rat up a drainpipe given half a chance. So ye need tae go away… right now.”

There was a small knock on the door and Wee Jamie’s head peeped around the door.

“Are ye awake, Care Bear?” He ran in and perched on the end of the bed before she had a chance to answer.

“I had tae tell Unca Jamie tae go away jes’ now.”

Claire smiled. “I heard.”

“Weel, he canna be seein’ ye ‘til the kirk, Mam says ‘tis bad luck. Why?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe people are scared the groom will see the bride and suddenly change his mind?”

Wee Jamie scooted up the bed and snuggled into Claire. “Unca Jamie wouldna change his mind, no’ about ye, Auntie.”

“Aw, thank you. So you protect me from your uncle today, then.”

“Aye, I will,” he gave a big sigh. “I’ve an awfa lot of jobs tae do taeday, ye ken. And mam told me tae ask ye what ye want fer breakfast. Mam thought a couple o’ boiled eggs wi’ soldiers might do ye.”

“But,” he added conspiratorially. “Ye could always have toast wi’ chocolate spread… I can help ye eat it.”

“Boiled eggs sound great.”

Wee Jamie pulled a face in disgust as he climbed from the bed. “I’ll go tell Mam. She says tae stay here fer breakfast, ‘cos ye ken what Unca Jamie’s like… a rat—“

“I know,” Claire laughed. “Thank you, Jamie. You go and tell your mum what a big help you are to me. And tell Uncle Jamie to behave himself… or else.”

***********

Feeling guilty at the prospect of being served breakfast in bed, Claire quickly dressed in leggings and an old university sweatshirt of Jamie’s. She opened the large mahogany wardrobe and gazed at her wedding dress hanging there, now free of its protective covering. The kaleidoscope of butterflies resumed their fluttering in her stomach. Six hours to go…

“Claire, can I come in?”

Rushing to the door, Claire let Jenny in. She placed a plate with two boiled eggs, and an army of toast soldiers on the small side table together with a large mug of coffee.

Claire smiled appreciatively. “Thanks so much. I’m not sure how much I can eat though. My stomach is flip flopping all over the place.”

“Ye’d best try and eat something. It’ll be a long time ‘till we have the dinner and we canna be having ye passing out at the altar.”

Jenny moved over to the open wardrobe. “So this is it?” She asked, recalling much cherished memories of another wedding gown at Lallybroch nine years before.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present bride, she continued with genuine emotion in her voice. “Oh, it’s jes’ lovely. Ye’ll look beautiful in it.”

She sat on the bed as Claire half heartedly dipped a soldier into one of the eggs. “How are ye feeling? Ma brother canna stop still, he’s fidgeting about the place and keeps trying tae see ye, of course. I’ve ordered him tae take William fer a nice long walk. They both need tae burn off some energy and it’s a grand day outside.”

“Like I said, my stomach is in knots, but in a good way… does that make sense? I just want it to be three o’clock, yet, on the other hand I don’t want the day to go too quickly.”

“Aye, I ken what ye mean. I was jes’ the same maself. I wanted tae be able tae remember every minute. But Da, now, he was sae nervous, he couldna stop shaking. He fair sprinted down the aisle. I had tae hold him back and try tae enjoy the moment.”

Jenny stood up. “Ah, weel, I’ll go and make sure Jamie goes fer a walk. Then ye can come down fer a bit, if ye’d like. I dinna want ye to feel ye’re in isolation up here.”

Claire took a swig of coffee. “Thanks, Jenny.”

“Nae bother.”

“Not just for this… or today… but for everything.”

"I always wanted a sister, as well as my clot-heid of a brother. It’s taken Jamie some time, but I now really feel like I’ve got one. We're family."

Jenny fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out an old leather box. “Claire, I ken Jamie has given ye our mam’s pearls, but I have the matching earrings here. If ye like, ye could wear them today… fer the ‘something borrowed’.”

She opened the box and passed them to Claire. “I mean, ye dinna have tae.” She quickly added. “I willna mind if ye already have others tae wear.”

Claire wiped her hands on her leggings before taking the box. “Jenny, they’re lovely. Of course I’ll wear them. I don’t know what to say… thank you so much.

“I’d best away now. I’ll let ye know when the coast is clear.”

Jenny bent down and gave Claire a big hug. Claire didn’t speak, but hugged Jenny even tighter before letting go. She wiped her eyes as Jenny left the room.

As soon as Jenny closed the door, Claire could hear footsteps rushing away along the landing.

“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, I ken what ye’re up tae, creeping ‘round here.” Jenny called out sternly.

“I was only going tae see if Claire wanted tae say hello tae William. She hasna seen the bairn this morning.” Jamie sounded very sheepish.

“G’on fer yer walk and dinna be mithering Claire. It’ll all be worth it this afternoon, when ye see her coming down the aisle.”

Claire felt a shiver of excitement up and down her spine at those words. She glanced at the clock. Only five and a half hours to go…

********

Wee Jamie loudly announced outside her bedroom door when it was safe for Claire to venture downstairs. He gallantly accompanied her into the kitchen and insisted on standing guard at the back door, despite numerous protestations that it wasn’t really necessary.

Claire poured a coffee and settled herself at the kitchen table to await the arrival of Geillis. The kitchen, the heart of Fraser-Murray family life, was unusually quiet, the only sound being Wee Jamie singing a song to himself, featuring lyrics clearly about a variety of toilet habits.

Growing up, this quietness had been the norm but now, ever since meeting Jamie, she relished the noisy mealtimes around this table, with several generations coming together to share food and whisky (adults only), conversation and laughter…and love.

The scrape of a chair against the stone tiled floor roused Claire from her thoughts. A warm hand reached across to lightly rest on her upturned palm.

“Ye were miles away there, lass. Ye’re no’ having second thoughts about our Jamie?” Brian asked, a broad smile on his face.

Claire returned the smile. “No, I was just thinking about mealtimes here, around this table. So different to my life growing up.”

“Different, aye. But fer the better, I hope?”

“Yes, of course. It’s so nice to feel part of something, you know?”

“Aye, I do. I can tell ye, the first time Jamie brought ye tae Lallybroch and we sat around here, I looked at ye and I kent ye belonged. No’ jes’ wi’ Jamie, but here wi’ all of us. He may have been a fool about some things, but no’ about ye.”

“I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Brian released her hand for a moment before placing a small coin in her palm.

“Silver sixpence fer yer shoe… if ye’d like. Ye dinna have tae use it.”

“Of course, I’d like to.” She studied the coin for a moment. “You know Jenny has lent me Ellen’s pearl earrings… for the something borrowed.”

“Aye, she said she would. Ye ken, ma Ellen woulda loved ye. And ye remind me of her in many ways. No’ jes’ in looks. Her hair was red like our Jamie’s, and her eyes werena amber, but they were as warm and sparkling as yers are now. And she always had a calm, practical nature—like yers.” Brian’s voice began to crack. “And love, always so much love.”

“Aye,” he repeated. “She woulda loved ye. We went tae tell her yesterday, Jamie and I, we paid a visit tae the kirk yard. Left her some flowers. She always loved this time of year, ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ as the poet says, and tae ken her wee Sawny is getting married now, here…weel—“

A panicked yell came from the back door. “Auntie, there’s a car here, but I dinna think it’s Unca Jamie.”

“Oh, ‘tis alright,” he continued with a loud relieved sigh, ‘‘Tis only yer friend, G.”

“I think that’s my cue for us to go and start getting ready.” She moved around to Brian and gave him a hug. “I’ll see you in church, then.”

***********

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew. Despite the chill of the late October day, he was suddenly very hot. William, held tightly in his arms, seemed to sense his father’s nervousness and pouted before starting to grizzle, quietly at first, then building up to a loud wail.

Isobel, in her wedding role as baby minder for the ceremony, was positioned in the pew behind Jamie and Ian. “Hush,” she crooned softly as she tickled William under the chin.

Distracted from his woes, William grinned at his aunt and then amused himself by grabbing his father’s curls with both hands and babbling.

“Dadadada.”

Jamie’s heart filled with pride as he gazed at his son, clad in a little white shirt, Fraser tartan trews and matching waistcoat.

Ian nudged Jamie gently. “There’s nae doubt who his Da is. How ye doing?”

Jamie licked his lips and tried to swallow. “Fine,” he croaked. “A wee bit nervous but… shouldn’t she be here by now?”

“It’s a bride's prerogative tae be late. It’s only ten minutes. Yer sister kept me waiting for nigh on twenty, remember?”

Jamie smiled at the memory of how worried Ian had been, convinced that Jenny had changed her mind and was, at that moment, somewhere on the road to Glasgow. He had no doubts about Claire, he knew that she was on her way, but the waiting was excruciating.

Suddenly the atmosphere in the church changed. The organ music which had been playing quietly in the background ceased. The priest strolled down the side aisle and halted in front of Jamie and Ian.

“They’re here,” the priest whispered and indicated for the congregation to rise.

As the organ sounded with the opening bars of Händel’s ‘Largo’, Jamie stood and passed William to Isobel, wiping his hands, now damp with sweat, on his kilt. He tried to keep his eyes fixed on the altar, unsure if he was allowed to turn around. Ian had no such concern and craned around to watch before, smiling broadly, he clapped Jamie on the back.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Jamie swivelled around to watch the procession down the aisle. Wee Jamie led the way, carrying a small velvet cushion with a piece of Fraser tartan laid on top. Jamie knew that the two white gold wedding rings were nestled inside that fabric. His nephew’s face was a mask of concentration, only breaking into a smile when he spied first his mother, clutching Maggie to stop her toppling off the pew, and then his father and uncle.

Geillis brought up the rear, her bronze satin gown complimenting her strawberry blond hair, caught up at one side by an ornate pearl comb. The simplicity of the dress, with its cowl neckline, ensured that the congregation’s main focus was where it should be… with Claire.

Jamie caught his breath as he looked at Claire. The late autumn sunlight streaming through the church windows caught the highlights of auburn and gold in her hair, falling in loose curls onto her shoulders, the only adornment a simple pearl headband matching her necklace and earrings. In her hands she carried a bouquet of creamy peony roses and pale orange tinged ranunculus with autumn berries, seed pods and leaves, tied together with a bronze ribbon.

He felt tears prick his eyes as he recognised how Claire had lovingly included his mother in their wedding, wearing Ellen’s necklace and earrings and carrying peony roses, his mother’s favourite.

As she drew closer, he could see the detail on her dress, enhancing the creamy whiteness of her shoulders and neck. She was never less than beautiful to him, but here, now, he knew she was all he ever needed… companion, confidante, wife, lover. She stopped alongside him and flashed him a warm, yet nervous, smile. His heart was so full, it felt like it would burst.

As Jamie and Claire said the familiar words of the traditional wedding service, repeated by millions of couples over hundreds of years, each vow, each promise felt, to them, fresh and unique, a covenant for the two of them alone. In front of their family and friends, they made their commitment to each other, their love clear in every word they spoke.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest intoned the final authoritative words.

“Dadadada,” yelled William at the top of his voice, clapping his hands.

The air of solemnity immediately lifted throughout the guests. With applause, cheers and much laughter, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #road to the aisles #nearly the end #wedding time #chapter 24

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1939

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: slow burn, racism, prejudice, fluff, language barrier

word count: 5805

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

Bucky loved Brooklyn, he loved everything about the borough. The Dodgers, the noise, the diner down the street from his house that made the best cherry pie he’d ever had, he even loved the way it smelled. The salty breeze from the that rolled in every morning and evening, the Statue of Liberty lighting up the bay. He was a Brooklyn boy through and through, even if his birth certificate said he was born in Shelbyville, Indiana. His parents moved here before he could even remember, Brooklyn was all he knew.

He was on the cusp of manhood. The final years of his schooling before he was ready to take on whatever life threw his way. He didn’t have any expectations. To him it was so simple. Take up more hours in his Dad’s shop, find a beautiful dame, get married, pop out a few kids, have everything his parents ever had and everything they ever wanted for him. He felt so young, full of hope and ready. Ready for anything.

Munching on crackerjack he sat, feet swinging on the edge of pier five, his best friend sketching idly next to him. He tried to ignore the younger boy’s rattling breaths. He was fine, those breaths were normal for him, that’s all that mattered. Steve had recently had a pretty bad scare, when his Ma came down with TB and passed there had been a big concern that the sickly boy had caught it from her. There was quarantine and Bucky thought he was going to lose the best friend he’d ever had.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with years of companionship. Just the company soothing them from their day. A test in math, the girl that just broke Bucky’s heart, another girl that wouldn’t pay Steve any mind. Bucky’s eyes drifted to his friend’s sketchpad, the Manhattan skyline taking shape slowly but steadily.

It was warm, the beginning of summer. The switch from wearing sweater vests to short sleeve button downs, wool socks traded in for more breathable cotton. Bucky leaned back on his hands, feet swaying slightly over the edge of the dock watching the ship moving slowly in the water towards Ellis Island.

“I wonder what it must be like,” Bucky said, “To leave your entire life behind and go somewhere completely new.” Steve’s pencil stopped on the page, looking over at his friend.

“Must be scary,” Steve started, “Not knowing anyone I mean.” Bucky hummed in agreement.

“Ma said she’s gonna make meatloaf tonight,” Bucky stood from the dock, helping his friend to his feet, “You’re comin’ to dinner right?” Steve nodded, stuffing his sketchbook into his bag. “Good, cause you really didn’t have a choice there pal.” Bucky’s arm swung over Steve’s shoulder, dragging the smaller boy behind him as they hopped into the junker that was Bucky’s pride and joy.

The 11 year old Ruxton he’d found rusting away in a scrap yard last year, totaled in an accident and discarded. He’d only recently gotten it back up and running, but it was still a terrifying ride. He dared not take it farther than a few city blocks, but it was still nice to drive. They pretended like they were rich folk above it all, driving the recently painted sleek black car down the streets, wind in their hair only because the windows wouldn’t roll up.

The next day Bucky fell in love again, and he couldn’t even remember who broke his heart yesterday. Dorothy Seeley. A beautiful blonde dame, bright green eyes, legs for days. She was in his english class. He could see a future with her, something Bucky always wanted. He could imagine loving her forever, her pretty pink mouth pressed against his in his car because he had one, and that made him special. Better than the other boys.

He was sweet on her, doting, for days. A trip to Coney Island that left him broke, the drive-in, burgers and fries at the diner by his house. Steve in tow. Always.

He was leant up against the side of his car, Dot pressed against his chest as they exchanged a soft kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked. She grinned, lips parting like petals around shiny white teeth.

“You’re keen on me Barnes.” Holding his hand and stepping back, her skirt twirled around her legs.

“Is that a bad thing?” He grinned, his own pearly whites showing. He could feel Steve rolling his eyes from inside the car.

“Tomorrow then,” He pulled Dot in close to land one more cheeky kiss before she was skipping up the steps into her family’s brownstone, and out of sight. Bucky’s grinning face turned around to look at his friend, slipping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m gonna marry that girl.” He said.

Steve rolled his eyes, “You say that about every girl.”

“I mean it this time,” Bucky assured him, pulling the car away from the curb.

Steve laughed, “You say that too.”

Bucky’s family wasn’t rich, but they weren’t poor either. His Ma would always say, “We have just what we need.” And it was true.

Bucky was the eldest of five, the only boy with four younger sisters, each spaced two years apart. The youngest being his favorite, but he’d never tell the other three.

Rebecca Barnes was his partner in crime, the sweet girl looked most like him, at only nine years old she was a spitfire. Full of attitude and sass, almost always covered in dirt, and easily conned both him and his father into giving her penny candy on almost a daily basis.

Susan Barnes was eleven and extremely smart, she’d often help her older siblings with their homework, studying. She almost always had a book in her hand and could recite Shakespeare off the top of her head.

Ruth Barnes was thirteen and hated everyone and everything. It was just that age. She was experimenting with makeup, almost always on the telephone, and generally didn’t speak to anyone in the house unless she absolutely had to. Talking to her lately was just about as hard as pulling teeth.

Lastly was Virgina Barnes, she was fifteen and much to her father and brother’s chagrin was a little boy crazy. Bucky was sure she was dating someone she wouldn’t bring around to the house, he’d often spy on her in the halls of their high school trying to catch a glimpse of who the punk was that had necked with his sister, but so far she’s been sneaky and kept out of sight.

His parents were still very much in love. The two were always touching, kissing, slow dancing to music that wasn’t there. It was everything Bucky ever wanted. His mom, Winnie Barnes, came from money. Old money and his grandpa every rare time they saw him would be sure to make it known that he didn’t like their father.

George Barnes had grown up pretty poor, very wrong side of the tracks. He’d fought in the War to End All Wars in the 107th, met Winnie Barnes when she was a nurse. Real classic story. One Bucky loved hearing.

His Pops owned his own shop now, one of the only mechanics in Brooklyn which kept him pretty busy, but provided well for his family if their four bedroom brownstone was anything to say for it. Bucky parked the car outside the garage, men laughing, radio playing, he could see his Pops sitting in the back office, pencil behind his ear, looking over the books.

“You gonna be good from here pal?” Bucky asked Steve. The smaller boy nodded,

“Probably gonna walk around for a bit before going home.” Bucky wished Steve would take up his offer and come stay with them for a while, but the kid was too proud for that. He was currently living alone in a small apartment, selling funnies to the local paper.

“If you need anything I’ll be here until seven probably, then I’ll be home.” Steve nodded, backing away.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” With a wave he was off, disappearing down the street.

Bucky worked hard. As he was expected to. He was his father’s only son and George Barnes put a lot of pressure on his son to be a good example, not only for his sisters, but for the other guys that worked for him. He worked, and he worked hard. His hands had become calloused over the years, having worked in the shop since he was old enough to hold a wrench, he knew almost everything there was to know about fixing cars.

His father believed that a good red blooded American man should know how to do three things. Auto work, Wood work, and wife’s work. He should be able to fix a car, fix the house, and keep his wife as happy as possible. It was ingrained into him since he could barely see over the hood, his father’s words ringing in his ears.

“Keep your wife happy, the roof strong, and dinner on the table.” He said, “As long as you do those three things you’ll have a good life.” A life like his. Despite the hollowness of his eyes sometimes and the extra beers before bed.

“It was the war”, his mother told him once, “Sometimes it just catches up to him.” Bucky wouldn’t understand that, not for a while.

“Jaime.” His pops called him into the back office, a wrapped parcel on his desk. “Run this down to the post for me woulda? They sent us the wrong part, sendin’ it back for an exchange.” James nodded,

“You need anythin’ else while I’m out?” His father’s eyes, blue like his, peeked up over the lenses of his readers,

“Grab me a soda pop woulda?” A couple of cents placed into his hand and he was out the door, walking down the sunny streets to the post office three blocks away. There was a corner store next to it where he’d pop in and get his Dad a cola with enough change to grab himself one as well and he’d be on his way back. That was until his eyes landed on the girl peering into the store window in front of the said corner store, brows pulled tight in confusion.

Her skin was beautifully caramel, dark hair and lips painted red. She was in a soft linen dress, buttoned front, low heels, roses stitched onto the sides. She was a sight. One that made his heart stop in his chest and his mouth drop open wide enough to collect flies. Her dark brown eyes and perfectly curled hair made his hands tremble. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his uniform pants, looking at himself in a car’s side mirror and fixing his hair before approaching.

“Whatcha lookin’ for doll?” The young woman jumped, turning to face him, perfectly plucked brows raised in alarm. “Sorry,” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He saw the girl take a step back, he was blowing it. “It’s just not everyday that you see such a beautiful dame such as yourself.” You worried your bottom lip. “Sorry,” He took a step back from you. “That was corny I just…”

“Lo siento,” [I’m sorry] You said, “No puedo hablar ingles.” [I can’t speak english] His face dropped slightly and he took a step back. He didn’t know what to do here, he looked at the window and back at you.

“James.” He said, pointing to himself, then pointing a finger at you,

“Y/N.” You replied, figuring out what he meant. He pointed to the store.

“Store?” You looked at him confused. “Uhm…” He put his hands on his hips and looked inside, holding a hand out to you and pointed at the sign of the shop, “Store?” You looked at him skeptically, taking his hand and letting him bring you inside. He’d walked to the ice box in the back, pulling out two cola’s as he watched you pick up a loaf of bread, looking at him nervously. He tried to smile at you reassuringly but you didn’t seem to feel comfortable still. He took the change out of his pocket, counting out the coins. He had just enough for his two cola’s, not room for much else as he walked you to the counter. If he’d had enough he woulda bought the bread too.

The shop keep seemed to glare at you, which confused Bucky. He looked between the guy at the counter and back to you behind him, placing his two colas on the counter, having the guy ring him up. “Have a good day,” the man told him, Bucky watched as the girl placed the bread loaf on the counter. The man glared at her, not moving. “No sale.” He said.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, you looked between the two nervously. “Here.” Bucky took the coins from her open palm, and tried to hand them to the shop keep. He glared back at Bucky.

“We don’t take their money here.” He said sternly, pointing to the sign behind him. Bucky had been in this shop almost five times a week and never noticed that sign before. ‘WHITES ONLY’ in big bold lettering. Bucky looked back at you and while he figured you couldn’t understand english you at least could feel that you weren’t wanted here. Suddenly your nervousness made sense.

“It’s my money then.” Bucky said, slapping the coins on the counter. “Let her buy the damn bread.” The shop keep stood from the stool he was resting on, leaning over the counter.

“Get out.” By the time Bucky realized he was talking to you and not him you’d quickly walked out of the store and back onto the street. He’d quickly grabbed the loaf of bread, coins still discarded on the counter and followed you out.

“Wait! Y/N!” He called, catching up to you. “Here.” You looked at him, brows pulled skeptically together before taking the bread from his hands. “I’m sorry about that guy, he’s usually so nice I-” Bucky bit his lip, he was unsure what else to say. Nothing he said made any sense to you anyway. He couldn’t say anything regardless as you gave him a funny look and slowly walked away from him, turning your eyes away as you crossed the street.

He stared after you longingly and confused. He’d heard people speak spanish in passing. Guys that worked in the factories near the docks. He wasn’t ignorant to that. He just never really gave much thought to them. They were in a different world than him, it didn’t matter as much. But you’d struck him. The way the shopkeep had treated you struck him. He’d never seen a pretty girl treated that way. Usually guys would bend over backwards for a girl like you, but to be fair, Bucky never had a reason to think about skin color.

It’s not that he didn’t see it, he just never cared. He’d heard whispers of people being irritated at the growing hispanic population in Sunset Park, but never really gave it much thought. It never crossed his mind. He had other things to worry about at the time, a girl to love, a friend to protect.

The sweating colas in his hands reminded him that he had somewhere to be, and you’d long since disappeared around a corner. Gone from his sight. He was quiet that night at dinner, suspiciously so.

He didn’t see you again for three months, the end of summer drawing near, the days just beginning to get shorter. He’d been walking around Sunset Park occasionally, looking for you, under the guise of a stroll. Steve thought it was strange, his newfound obsession.

“I’m gonna marry her Stevie.” He’d said. He knows he’s said it before,

“I mean it this time.” He said that before too. “But you didn’t see her Stevie.” He grinned as the pair walked around the neighborhood for the first time, “She was more beautiful than Aphrodite.” Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure how many times he’s walked this neighborhood looking for you, but he told himself he’d do it every night if it meant he’d find you again.

School had ended, he was working full time at his Dad’s shop now, little time for extracurriculars, the dance halls missed him, his favorite waitress asked Steve about him all the time, and he hadn’t seen a movie since the last time he went with Dot almost 3 months ago. All of his energy had gone into working and on his days off with Steve, looking for you. He thumbed through the spanish phrasebook he’d spent a pretty penny on, pages dogeared with things he might try to say to you when he saw you next.

If it ever happened.

He was beginning to lose hope, truth be told. Maybe you’d moved away. Maybe you were in the neighborhood visiting someone and didn’t even live nearby. It wasn’t until he’d taken a street down in the factory district on his day off that he saw you again.

You were just as beautiful as he’d remembered, hair pinned under a cap, lips painted red, you were wearing another linen dress, flowers stitched around the skirt and on the lapels. You were leaving a dress factory. That’s where you must’ve worked. He watched you twirl in your dress, laughing at something another woman had said to you. The gaggle of them speaking such quick Spanish that the few phrases he studied didn’t even make sense to him anymore.

He swore his heart stopped in his chest when your eyes met his, a firm blush spreading across your cheeks. Bucky, the hopeless romantic that he is, would tell everyone that time stood still. There you were, he would say, his future wife. Pin Curled and sweet, dark lashes and rose petal lips waiting for your first kiss. Like you’d been made for him. He would say that in that moment the stars aligned and brought you to him.

He was a sucker like that.

Steve had stopped a few steps ahead of him, noticing that his friend wasn’t following, the group of girls you had been walking out with also stopped, looking between the two of you and giggling at the sight. One girl pushed you forward and you turned to glare at her saying something to her that Bucky couldn’t hear. He took one step forward and then another, thumbing through the pages of the book and swallowing heavily, hands sweating. He’d never been this nervous talking to a dame before, never. He raised the book to his eyesight, glancing at you before looking back down at the page,

“Lo siento,” [I’m sorry] He said in just about the worst pronunciation you’d ever heard, the girls behind you giggled and you shushed them with a perfectly red lacquered hand, he smiled nervously continuing, “Eres tan hermosa,” [You are so beautiful] He flipped a couple more pages not being able to find what he wanted to say next when you gently grasped his wrist, smiling at him.

“James.” His heart almost dropped out of his ass as you said his name for the first time, “Hello.” Very heavily accented and you bit your lip with insecurity.

“Hi.” He breathed. He looked back down at his book, finding what he wanted to say next, “Te estaba buscando.” [I was looking for you.] His pronunciation was horrible and he knew it. But the thought was still there.

“Uhm…” You looked at him nervously, the girls were sure to gossip about this later. This white man who was holding a Spanish phrase book telling you about how you were beautiful and he was looking for you.

“Y/N!” Came a yell, Bucky watched an older woman approach, she looked so similar it had to be your mother, “Que haces con este hombre blanco?” [What are you doing with this white man?] The older woman gripped your arm, looking at the girls behind you, “Veta a casa.” [Go home.] She spat to the other girls, glaring back at Bucky as you looked at him apologetically. He caught a few words. He knew casa meant home, he also knew blanco meant white. But he was unsure about the rest.

Steve stood awkwardly off to his side, a silent witness to this strange situation. “That’s her I’m guessing?” The little shit grinned next to him. Bucky turned to his friend, matching his grin.

“Yeah.” His heart was still racing, “And now I know where she works.” He looked up at the tall factory building next to them.

He looked around the flower shop, the various blooms staring back at him. He wasn’t sure what to get, what you would like. Roses were maybe too presumptuous and a little too expensive “Can I help you?” The older woman asked him. She was wearing an apron over her plaid dress, hands brown with dirt. Bucky smiled softly,

“I’m a little lost here,” He admitted. The older woman smiled,

“What’s she like?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets looking over the blooms.

“Perfect?” He offered, laughing, “But beautiful, sweet…” His eyes scanned the arrangements around him, “I don’t have a whole lot to spare, but…” The older woman nodded, understanding.

“You could always do a single stem,” The older woman plucked a beautiful red flower from an arrangement, “If she’s as sweet as you believe, she’d be more than happy with it.” A peony. Vibrant red. Like your lipstick.

He waited outside the factory for you. Hair slicked down, he wore a tie, his work uniform stuffed in the backseat of his car. He hoped you wouldn’t notice that he smelled a little like motor oil under his cologne. He barely made it before the door opened and his palms immediately sweat in a Pavlovian response. The anticipation of seeing you.

Your dress was yellow this time. Stunning against you skin, yellow and white plaid. He wondered if every color was made just for you. Your eyes immediately met his this time, a shy smile spreading across your face. He timidly stepped a foot closer,

“Hello, James.” In your beautiful broken English.

“Hola.” Your nose crinkled when you smiled. “Oh, here.” The vibrant red peony being handed over to you, you twirled the stem between your fingers as he pulled the well worn book from his pocket. “Uhm.. Te ves hermosa hoy.” [You look beautiful today] He looked at you for your response, a red dusting on your cheeks as you held the flower up to your nose.

“Es guapo.” [He’s handsome.] One of the girls teased you to which your eyes widened and you turned to glare at her, shooing her away.

“Has estado practicando?” [Have you been practicing?] You bit your lip knowing he probably wouldn’t understand that. “How,” You started, “are you?” He grinned, he could respond to this one. Flipping back,

“Muy bien, como estas?” [Very well, how are you?] It took him a bit too long to say four words, but the smile on your face was worth it.

“Bien,” [Good.] You replied.

“Away!” You mother was back, standing in front of you this time, looking into Bucky’s face. His cheeks flushed. “Go away!” Your mother’s english was worse than yours, the words coming out thick and accented he almost didn’t understand. “Mantente alejado de ella.”[Stay away from her] She was scary, your mother. He looked to you for help, fingers nervously moving against the spine of the book in his hand.

“El es una madre inofensiva.” [Mama, he’s harmless.] You explained, but your mother’s face turned red, turning fully to you she said,

“Él te arruinárá.” [He will ruin you.] Her voice was tense and Bucky couldn’t begin to understand what she said as he watched her drag you away again. But it was fine, he was back tomorrow to try again.

And he tried again, and again. It became a constant. He was spending $1.30 every week on flowers, considering he was only making $25 a week working for his Dad it was a good chunk of his money. He’d show up with a red peony for you every day. The girls, he knew, were making fun of him but the five minutes in between when you’d get off of work and when your mother would get off of work were the best part of his entire day. He was showing up even on his days off, rain or shine.

Today he felt victorious, your mother hadn’t yelled at him. She simply looked at him and raised an eyebrow to you saying, “El no se rinde.” [He doesn’t give up.] With a smile and laugh. She pulled you away a little more gently that time, taking a look back at him and shaking her head.

“You know it’s going to be hard,” Steve said to him once.

“What do you mean?” Bucky bit into the burger Frankie, the waitress, had just put in front of him. His favorite burger at his favorite diner, he’d have to bring you here. Maybe the two of you could split a milkshake. He wondered if you’d ever had a chocolate malt. Steve looked at him incredulously,

“I can’t tell if you’re dumb or blind.” He’d slipped a picture from his sketchpad over, a picture he’d sketched of you for Bucky. His heart fluttered at the sight, tracing your jaw.

“She’s it for me pal, nothing complicated about it.” The temperature had just begun to drop, a hot August ending. Fall was sweeping through the city, Steve was just starting art school, Bucky was pulling overtime at the shop saving up cash to move out and start his life. Hopefully with you.

“Buck.” Steve sighed, “You know I have no problem with it, but…your parents, literally almost everyone else… it’s illegal.” Bucky paused, a few fries in his mouth.

“It’s not technically illegal in New York.” He knows, he looked it up. “Just not…”

“Not approved of.” Steve finished for him. He sighed heavily, sitting back in his seat. “It’s gonna be difficult, pal.” Bucky shook his head,

“Nuthin’ could be difficult when I have her,” A sip of soda, “Nuthin.”

The next day when Bucky showed up with his flower your Mother was already waiting for him when he pulled his car up. He finally got the windows working. She knocked heavily on his window before he’d even pulled the keys out.

“Come.” She said, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a man, a scary one by Bucky’s count, who was standing where he’d usually wait for you. “Preguntarle.” [Ask him.]

The man was hispanic, but not old enough to be your father. Your brother maybe? “She wants to know what you keep doing here.” The guy’s English was perfect, his voice gruff and accented, but perfect.

“I’m…” Bucky started nervously, “I want to date her daughter.” The guy scoffed, making Bucky feel like an idiot standing there with his one flower.

“Él quiere llevarla a una cita.” [He wants to take her out on a date] The older woman scoffed as well. He smiled sheepishly. She looked at Bucky, studying him for a moment, “Dile que Y/N no es un juguete.” [Tell him Y/N is not a toy.]

“She’s not a toy,” The man said, he looked at the older woman before continuing on his own, “Look, Y/N is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never going to happen. Your kind is not allowed with our kind.” Bucky felt anger rising in his chest. The man lay a hand on his shoulder heavily, “I’m saying this honestly, if you care about Y/N in any way you’ll back off. You’ll ruin her reputation with our people if you keep showing up here. The women are already gossiping about you showing up here everyday.”

“This is about her being Spanish?” Bucky asked.

“She’s Cuban.” The guy explained, “You are privileged enough to pretend not to care about race, but this is only an obsession, you’ll ruin her reputation and leave her when you find someone of your own kind to be with.” The man’s grip on Bucky’s shoulder tightened, a warning. “Get back in your car and don’t come back. If you do, our conversation may not be so pleasant next time.”

Bucky looked to the older woman with pleading eyes, pulling the Spanish phrases book from his pocket, but before he could find anything the man across from him snatched it from his fingertips. “I said go.”

Bucky wanted to pummel him. He wanted to punch the guy right in the jaw, but he didn’t. He’d find another way to see you. He’d figure something out. The flower in his hand dropped to his passenger seat as he sat heavily behind the wheel, staring out at the doors to the factory. You walked out just in time to see him drive away.

Nueva York. That’s what your Mother called it. A new start in America where anything could happen. Your belly had never been that full before. There were no jobs in Havana. Less and less by the day. Your nimble fingers had always been useful as a seamstress, but the less money people have, the less money they had to spend paying someone else to fix their hemlines for them. Your Mother and you moved here in the beginning of the summer, hopeful for a new life.

And you found one.

The neighborhood of Sunset Park had a growing Hispanic community the two of you had quickly nestled yourselves in. A small one bedroom apartment became your home. The two of you not needing much space. You’d quickly found factory work through a neighbor. Not exactly a seamstress, but you did spend 12 hours a day hunched over a sewing machine. Pennies saved and eventually you’d have enough money to live comfortably. You might even have enough to get a new bolt of fabric to make you and your Mother some dresses. Maybe.

The only thing you had to look forward to every day were the few minutes watching a handsome man trip over his words, speaking broken Spanish to you and flipping, very endearingly through a book trying to have a conversation.

It’d gotten a little easier lately, a boy in your apartment building helping you and your Mother learn English and with James practicing his Spanish you’d been getting a little farther past ‘how are you’s in the past week or so. The growing collection of dried flowers in your closet was becoming alarming, the row of dead peonies hanging by their stems, but you didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

That’s maybe why it hurt so much when you’d exited work today, waiting to see the blue eyed boy that made your heart flutter in your chest, and saw him driving away. Your Mother and Mateo staring at the back of it. “Qué hiciste?” [What did you do?] Neither of them answered you, sharing a look.

Your eyes met the back of the fading car once more, longing in your chest, eyes prickling with tears. “Vamos,” [Come on] Your Mother called, beginning down the street. You sent a steely glare to Mateo, turning to follow her away, his large footsteps following.

When you first came to America almost five months ago both you and your Mother were enamored with Mateo. She’d teased that you’d found a husband the first day you’d moved in, but the more time you spent with him the less you liked him. He worked a taxi service, one his family started. They had a good amount of money, promising, is what your Mother had said. He could provide for you. But he was pompous. He thought because he had a little bit of money he was running the whole block. His ego soured your opinion of him. If it wasn’t for the fact he was helping you learn English you would have closed your door to him a long time ago.

Your Mother didn’t want this life for you. Truthfully she’d brought you to America so you’d marry, find a nice Cuban boy and settle down. Let him provide for you. Take care of her grandchildren God willing. It wasn’t as though you didn’t want that life. You wanted to marry, you wanted love. You loved children and always wanted to be a mother but the most important thing to you was love.

When James approached you that first time you were confused, yes. You hadn’t understood a word he said. But he was handsome and he made you feel butterflies in your stomach. You felt as though his blue eyes could drown you, like a siren’s call, you’d lost yourself in them. But you’d found yourself embarrassed at the counter when the man was angrily talking to him. James was animatedly arguing back, in words you didn’t understand. Taking the eight cents you’d had for bread and slamming them on the counter.

You’d been surprised when he’d actually left successfully with the bread, you had been peering for the sign the shopkeeper had pointed to before he’d actually drug you in the store, and your stomach dropped when you’d found it while inside. You should have known you weren’t welcome in that part of town. A little too far outside of your little barrio.

You’d like to think it was fate, God ordained. You’d thought about it again when you saw him outside the factory for the first time. He was nervous, but so were you. You thought it was cute, him flipping through the phrasebook trying to figure out what to say. It warms your heart and every day since you couldn’t wait to see him. He’d even ignored your Mother and kept coming. The collection of red peonies growing by the day.

It broke your heart to see his car driving away from you. And you knew exactly who was to blame.

“No tenes derecho.” [You have no right] You stomped up the stairs next to Mateo. “Deberías mantener tu nariz fuera de oso.” [You should keep your nose out of it]

“Te quiero, Y/N.” [I love you Y/N] His arm gently grabbed your hand, “Please don’t do this.” Your jaw clenched, heart still aching from the sight of James driving away from you.

“I... hate... you.” His hand let go of yours, dropping his to his side as you returned walking up the stairs and entered your apartment, slamming the door behind you.

Germany had just invaded Poland.

taglist // @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #captain america #challenge #the winter soldier #1940s bucky barnes #steve rogers

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martelldoran · 4 years

Text

Ave Maria

Title: Ave Maria

Fandom: MCU

Ship: Steve/Bucky

NSFW: No

Summary:

And Bucky loved him.

It was clear to him now as he sat, head bowed, at his bedside. He had almost lost him, could lose him still, and if that were to happen, he knew that he would lose the very best part of himself.

“How am I supposed to live without you?” he whispers, daring to take Steve’s hand in his own.

Steve has only gone and got himself hurt. Again. So, Bucky keeps a watchful vigil over his friend and struggles with newly realised feelings.

Written as part of @hogwartsonline‘s Dialogue OWLs from the prompt, “How am I supposed to live without you?”. Thank you to @stevenroguers for beta-ing. <3

Read on AO3 or Keep Reading here

Steve’s face is ashen and he looks like death is courting him. Bucky should be at school but he can’t face it. Not when Steve almost died.

He’s kneeling on the floor, the bare wooden boards digging into his knees.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena ,” he mutters, tracing unwilling fingers over his pa’s old rosary.

He doesn’t think it’ll do much good. When has God ever listened to him? But he considers, maybe he’d listen to him today. Or if not him, then maybe his Holy Mother in all her mercy. If only they’d save Steve. Steve, who is good, Steve, who doesn’t deserve to die because he was trying to do the right thing.

“Please, please don’t die on me now. I’ll do anything, give anything .”

The woman who found him bleeding on the sidewalk said he’d sliced himself open trying to vault a fence after running from some asshole with a shiv. She didn’t know why he was being chased, but Bucky could hazard a guess. The guy woulda been ragging on some dame or a skinny, knock-kneed kid and Steve woulda seen and thought, “Not on my watch.”

Bucky didn’t need to know the details because there have been plenty of other assholes Steve has insisted on putting in their place over the years. It didn’t matter that he was barely scraping 5’4” or that he weighed about as much as a Raggedy Ann doll, the boy loved a cause.

And Bucky loved him.

It was clear to him now as he sat, head bowed, at his bedside. He had almost lost him, could lose him still, and if that were to happen, he knew that he would lose the very best part of himself.

“How am I supposed to live without you?” he whispers, daring to take Steve’s hand in his own.

It feels much too small and his skin is cold and clammy. Bucky’s afraid he might break him if he grips too tight. He strokes his thumb across Steve’s knuckles and imagines what it might be like to walk down the street holding this hand. But, as quick as the thought surfaces, he pushes it away, pushes it far down, where no-one, not even he, can see it.

Bucky swallows with a shudder and grips his rosary once more.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena ,” he prays, a tremor running through the familiar words. “Holy Mother, don’t let him die. Have mercy on his soul. Take mine instead even if it’s only worth half as much. The world needs more people like him.”

Steve is meant for more than this, Bucky knows it, has known it for years. All he has to do is make it a few years further, until he's grown, and can take the entire world by storm. And Bucky will stand by his side through it all if Steve will have him.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena . You’re not so cruel to take him just yet. I pray thee intercede on his behalf, it is not yet his time.

“ Pater noster, qui es in caelis . Will talking directly to you work better? If you damn me, will you save him? Do you hear me, Father? It’s a fair exchange, isn’t it? Take me because I tell you this, I’d let you do it - a thousand times over.”

“James, darlin’? Won’t your ma be wonderin’ where you’re at?” Sarah Rogers’ voice reaches him from the door. Bucky starts. He hadn’t heard her approach. She is silhouetted against the light from the hall but Bucky can see how her worried eyes flicker over her son’s prone body.

Bucky scrambles to his feet, knees protesting after too many hours spent kneeling.

“No, she knows I’m here. I phoned her from the hospital before we left,” he says fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Please, I’d like to stay. If I can?”

“Of course. Stay as long you like,” she says and enters the room fully.

Sarah looks tired, Bucky notes. Her face is drawn and she won’t stop wringing her hands. She approaches the bed and perches at Steve’s side, pushing back his fringe from his sweat soaked forehead. He moans in his sleep and tries to lean into a touch that was barely there. Bucky averts his eyes, it feels like a private moment.

“Are you hungry?” she asks him after a moment, voice tight and tired.

He shakes his head, not wanting to be even more of a burden than he already is even though it has been hours since he’s eaten anything. He hopes that the yawning hole in his stomach won’t give him away. With a heavy sigh, she raises her eyes towards him. It seems as though she might cry.

“I have to work . . .”

“I won’t leave.”

She nods, placated. At least there would be someone with him if the worst was to happen. Bucky shoves the thought away.

Steve’s breathing is shallow and ragged, rattling around his chest like a marble in a beaker. Sure, it rattles at the best of times but this feels different. Death is wet on his breath and her pale fingers are on his cheek.

Bucky resumes his vigil.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena .”

Bucky wakes, hours later bent over the side of the bed with a crick in his neck and strain up his left side. Blinking, confused and with aching knees, he struggles up. Darkness has enveloped the room in a cool embrace and it’s deathly silent.

A horrible thrill of panic shoots through him and he’s climbing across the bed, holding a hand over Steve’s face.

“No, no, no,” he moans, holding very still. “Please be breathing.”

He is. It’s faint but it tickles across his palm like a welcome breeze on a hot day. Bucky sags, his head coming to rest on Steve’s thin chest as he offers up another prayer.

Oh, if only Sister Catherine could see him now. She’d probably piss herself with joy. Finally, the Lord’s good teaching had come home to roost. She’d think he was a proper good Catholic boy in this state, reciting all his prayers nice and proper. But none of this is for her benefit, the Lord’s benefit or even Bucky’s benefit. No. It’s all for Steve. Steve who’s too doped up to pray for his own immortal soul.

So, it’s Bucky’s responsibility to offer up the right words and make sure whoever is listening knows exactly who Steve Rogers is. He couldn’t care one jot about himself. As far as he's concerned, there is nothing waiting for him on the other side but he won’t condemn his friend on his own misgivings.

He settles next to him on the narrow bed, trying not to jostle his still healing body lest he bust open all those neat stitches. There’s a murmur and Steve scoots closer, a frown pulling at his already pinched features. It just about breaks his goddamn heart. With gentle fingers, he pushes Steves’s hair away from his forehead and lets out a low, long breath.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena .” And so the cycle begins again.

With every new repetition, he tries to put as much feeling, as much concentration as he possibly can into it but his mind keeps wandering. He’d never been much good at praying. His ma would scold him for fidgeting during Mass and Becca would get all prissy because she knew the prayers better than he did. It wasn’t his fault. His mind couldn’t stay still, so it always wandered off someplace nicer than the badly lit, stuffy chapel they found themselves in every Sunday.

Usually, it was only bearable because Steve was there too. Half the time his ma was working so they took him, crammed him onto their pew shoulder to shoulder with Bucky who would try his darndest to distract him. Of course, ever the good, god fearing and pious child, he’d swat him away with a reserved smile even when Bucky would pinch the backs of his legs just to get a rise. It never worked but he liked it, relished it, even, because it made him feel important. It made him feel seen.

Well, it’s a damn good thing no-one can see him now with his rumpled shirt, bleary eyes, and hedgerow hair. He is a mess and he’ll be a mess for days to come. He doesn’t plan on going home until he knows Steve will recover. He will. He has to. Bucky will make him. He can do that, right? Because if he can’t, then he’s not sure if he can face what his life will be otherwise either.

He works his way through the rosary again, rubbing each bead with renewed fervour, as if the pressure he exerts correlates directly to how much holy power he can divine. Steve snuffles in his sleep, hooking an arm around Bucky’s leg.

“ Salve Regina, mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exult- exsus - ex- No? Shit.” He could never remember this one.

Fuck the Salve Regina. It was his least favourite prayer.

“ Exsules filii Hevae ,” rasped a thin voice by his side.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes, dropping the rosary into his lap as if electrified. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They flutter for a moment before one settles on Steve’s back. His pajamas are soaked through and he’s shivering, hands trembling something terrible as he tries to push himself into a seated position. “No, no. Don’t try and sit, you’ll bust your stitches, you goon. Lay back.”

With a groan he does as he’s told. He only ever seems to do that when he’s at death’s door but Bucky takes the victory, small though it may be.

“Water,” croaks Steve. His lids hang heavy, obscuring the blue of his eyes and he can’t seem to focus on anything but he gropes for Bucky’s hand, giving it a squeeze before Bucky pushes off the bed to fulfill the gasped request.

“Here, you go.”

Bucky holds the glass in one hand, supporting Steve’s head with the other as he takes tiny kitten-like sips.

“Sister Catherine would beat your ass for not knowing the Salve,” he tells him when he’s finished, voice breathy as he leans back against the pillows, eyes closed. The faintest hint of a smile curling across his lips.

“Well, it’s a good thing Sister Catherine isn’t here then, isn’t it,” Bucky retorts, rising easily to the bait.

Steve sniggers which turns into a cough which turns into a wince that has him clutching at his belly. Bucky frowns, hands hovering above his friend’s stomach, unsure. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath and chews on his bottom lip, considering his options. He needs to check his stitches and, really, he should get him something clean to wear. If he keeps on shivering like this then it won’t just be the threat of infection they’ll be fighting. Another bout of pneumonia and then the writing really would be on the wall.

That settles it.

With quick, deft fingers, head now feeling blissfully clear, Bucky strips off Steve’s pajama top. The stitches are holding, thank God, so he redresses the wound and then redresses his friend. His chattering teeth still but now, he's keening. The pain meds have worn off and the full, fiery pain down the length of his belly has returned.

Bucky attends to him as best he can. He gives him water and what little food he can bear eating but mostly he sits by his side, serving as an easy distraction. At Steve’s insistence, he squashes into the bed alongside him, letting him rest against his side while he talks. He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time– he’s rambling ceaselessly to take Steve’s mind off the pain. He tells him about Dorothy, the redhead in his class who’s been making eyes at him, the neighbour’s dog who keeps yapping at all hours of the night, and that he thinks Becca will make a great nurse one day.

“Just like your ma, Stevie,” he says in hushed tones. “Maybe they’ll work in the same hospital. Wouldn’t that be grand? She might be her mentor.”

Sometimes, Steve grunts in response, but mostly he stays silent, breathing still shallow but looking a bit more peaceful.

As he speaks, Bucky’s voice quivers, straining under the pressure of remaining calm and in control for his friend. It wouldn’t help anybody to have him falling to pieces - at least on the outside. Inside, he feels like he’s breaking, like he’s being torn apart piece by grizzly piece. The shock of almost losing him is wearing off now; it’s still rocked him to the bone, but Steve’s ribbed him, tried to make jokes, he’ll be fine. Of course, he’ll be fine. He has to be fine. No, it’s the realisation that the very axis of Bucky’s world now revolves around the boy curled into his side that keeps his mind occupied throughout the night’s steady march towards daybreak.

People out there would have some helluva strong opinions if they found out. He knows what happens to boys like him. Pressing his lips together, Bucky stares up at the ceiling and blinks back the tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes.

No, he won’t cry. Not about this. Love is supposed to be a glorious, wonderful thing. Didn't Jesus die out of love? Wasn’t God supposed to be all loving and forgiving of all sins?

Except this didn’t feel like a sin.

It felt like salvation.

“ Ave Maria, gratia plena . Have mercy on my soul.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfic #fics #marvel #stevie #bucky baby #my writing #angelblue007

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

J.B.B (16)

Bucky x fem!Reader

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul. Yes, the usual. With a dash of the not so liked canon that I wanted to set on fire and drop into a 2000 ft deep valley.

Chapter content: The Endgame Endgame?

Warnings: Just Captain Holt saying PAAAIIIIIIIN. But with a little nice ending.

Word count: You know what...the comic sans theory might be working. I mean *gestures at this update* who woulda thought!!!!

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, doll

It was a lullaby on your lips that soothingly swung in the air with the rays of a fresh morning while your hands instinctively worked on stroking the soft dark hairs on the head of this little angel in your lap, putting her to sleep; putting her at ease in the absence of her mother and father all the while taking all that worried her unto you.

The call had been an alarming one. Well, any call is at five in the morning. You were still in your pyjamas when you ran towards the Stark residence barefoot, watching Pepper coming out in her tracksuit.

“Is everything okay?”

“Tony needs my help.”

There wasn’t much more to say. It was all written on Pepper’s face.

“Go. I got her,” you reassured her.

Pepper nodded with gratitude in your direction, putting the little glowing triangular device on her chest and tapping it to let Rescue engulf her and take off into the sky.

“Mom,” the soft voice called out from inside the house, making you rush in even though you did not want to look away from the scene.

“Hey, why are you out of bed, love?” you closed the doors behind you, taking a drowsy Morgan into your arms. Well, she and Mr Snuggles. No sooner had you picked her up, she was leaning on your shoulder, filling your insides with warmth. “I heard mommy so I went to her room but she’s not there. Neither is daddy,” the little one muttered into your shoulder.

“Oh, they’ve gone to help some friends, sweety. They’ll be back soon. Come, I’ll put you to bed.”

“No,” Morgan whined, wiggling in your embrace to find the perfect spot to settle in, “I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Oh...okay. So, should we lie down on the couch? It’s still bedtime.”

“...okay.”

You moved to the living room, settling down on the sofa before letting Morgan find a comfortable spot in your lap to lie down and request a lullaby. You were hesitant at first, your anxious mind not ready to speak for the fear of choking on the worst thoughts it kept conjuring up. Even though they had tried their best to keep you out of the loop, it hadn’t been hard to miss the trips made by Tony at odd hours. Or the time you’d gone into town to buy groceries and seen Tony, Rhodey and Scott Lang have a rousing discussion about ‘quantum’ something before they got into his car and left. And for the last three days and last three nights, you or your new family had not seen Tony home.

“Y/N, the lullaby.” Morgan broke you out of all the possibilities that led you into nothing but darkness.

“Yes, love.”

The little lion sleeps at night

Over the jungle; the forest so wide

Watched by the stars and the moon

While her heroes fight monsters

To come home to her soon

The little lion sleeps tonight

Covered in the love of the land

In the shade of her mother’s shadow

Her father’s hugs she grows

And her brother’s love shows

When she roars the world bows

That little lion sleeps tonight

Over the jungle; the forest so wide

Watched by the stars and the moon

While her heroes fight monsters

To come home to her soon

The little lion sleeps tonight

The gentle strokes of your hand along with the concoction of sleep in your voice made Morgan go to sleep faster than she had woken up, leaving you alone in the house with your thoughts, your gaze far out, looming into the vast nothingness of the eventful past and some impossible future. As much as your heart wanted it all to work, your head knew that failure would be another stab in old wounds. Giving hope where it’s not due hurts more than death. But that one ray of sun through the clouds sometimes is enough to bring so much back to life in nature.

You don’t know how much time had passed since Pepper had gone. You couldn’t tell except for the sunshine filling up the living room space and warming your frozen toes.

A little sparrow landed on the window to sing its first song, chirping a two-syllable melody before being accompanied by another, spreading its wings in swinging its tail to show worthy he was for her. Lucky birds.

If it weren’t for the birds, you might not be looking outside in the direction of the lake. And then you would have missed the appearance of a tree right next to an oblivious Gerald. If it weren’t for them, you would not have caught the streak of light in the sky outside- like the ones left by meteors- getting bigger by the second. But this one looked like a burning star slowing down till it landed with its two feet in the backyard in the shape of a beautiful woman with a pixie cut blonde hair carrying Tony Stark in her arms.

Your first instinct was to wrap your arms around a snoring Morgan and hide her in your chest so that she could not see her father’s weak body being brought into the house by this woman with a horrifyingly composed Pepper and a really toned down and more mannered version of the Hulk following right behind. And that was not all. You could hear thumps and cracks in the ground outside, making you turn your head to watch one by one all the heroes, those you knew and those you had no idea about, gather there. Concern lined some foreheads, while for others it was a wild downpour of tears mixed with blood. Some strange faces stood there with no emotion as well, not reflecting even one ounce of the storm brewing inside them. The fear that was slowly setting in. The fear that slowly was catalysing inside your heart as you looked back towards the way down to Tony’s lab.

Tony.

Better put Morgan to bed, your mind kept telling you till it registered you safely tucking her in. But now that the only task that was stopping you from panicking was done, your breaths got shallow and a searing pain slowly started to develop in your chest.

Composing yourself till you were out of the room, you closed the door and made your way downstairs to the kitchen, running for the tap to run cold water on your wrists. The splash of cold over your skin gave you a moment to breathe; a moment to collect yourself enough to look out the window once more and see him.

The world stood still. No songs, no cries, no laughter, no lullabies. No wind to tease you nor any clouds to mistake this for a mirage or some dream that would end as soon as you would open your eyes. It was just that glimmer in those ocean eyes; the one you dreaded you might forget with years; or that smile that warmed you up till tears were breaking out without permission. That hair you wanted to hide in till the end of days.

James Buchanan Barnes.

In flesh and blood.

The frozen world lay still, not making a sound; wanting to compensate for all those nightmares to let you have this moment. The world witnessed you walk out of the house and observed him grow a hundred years younger as you dashed towards him, tears remaining behind, not keeping pace with the need of your existence to leap into those arms. And those arms, ecstatic to feel you in them, holding you as close as humanly possible, apologising for the absence and promising to never let you go.

Ever.

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years

Text

Getting Attached

A/N: More of that Boy Meets World AU! Because... I just love it so much.

“Jack, you are the same age that I am,” Katherine stated. “Don’t you feel like you need a commitment in your life?”

“Yes, I do!” Jack admitted, turning to the woman sitting on his couch. He looked at her for a long moment. Really looked at her. There was a chance he could be falling. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to take that chance just to get left broken all over again.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, leaning closer to him, even as he stood behind the sofa.

He stared at her, wishing he could’ve frozen time the moment they’d met and stayed there forever.

But he couldn’t. These things were supposed to develop and get stronger.

He just wasn’t ready.

That’s when the knock on the door came.

Jack groaned and immediately went to answer it, scoffing when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side. “Higgins, right now really ain’t a good time,” he forced out, frustrated with himself, mostly. He hardly noticed that he was slipping into his Brooklyn accent. He was just to stressed. But he shouldn’t be taking it out on a kid.

That wasn’t fair.

But Race just shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “You’re tellin’ me...” he agreed, just as another man rounded him. Jack’s eyes widened when he saw the badge. He looked back down at his student. Race shrugged. “He’s a cop,” he stated, as if the uniform hadn’t made that obvious.

Jack mouth hung open.

“You James Kelly?” the officer asked, placing a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder, like he was trying to keep him from bolting. That much didn’t surprise Jack.

He nodded. “Yeah... yeah, that’s me...”

“You know this kid?”

Again, he nodded. “Yeah... Anthony Higgins... I’m his teacher,” he answered truthfully, crossing his arms over his chest. Race all but ripped himself from the officer’s grip and placed himself at Jack’s side. Jack placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but didn’t look down at the kid. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We found him loitering outside the high school with some older kids,” the old man informed, giving Tony a disappointed look. “They had about twenty of these,” he explained, lifting up a colorful looking can.

Mr. Kelly’s eyes widened as he looked down at his student. “Spray paint? Really?”

The cop zeroed in on the boy who tried to open his mouth and come up with some kind of explanation. “Looks like they were plannin’ ta do some redecoratin’,” the officer stated.

But Race shook his head. “What? No! We were just gonna sell them ta some bad kids,” he defended, smiling up at Jack. It would’ve been funny if Jack wasn’t so worried. He glared down at the boy. “And overcharge them! Serves them right,” he shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Jack looked back up at the officer. “This one takes off down an alley. We caught up with him outside your place. Says he’s stayin’ with you,” the man said, looking between both Jack and Tony, waiting to hear the truth.

A bit taken back, Jack looked down at the boy. But the way Tony looked back up at him so pleadingly broke his heart. Jack looked back towards Katherine who simply sat there, waiting to hear what he had to say next. So Jack sighed and nodded. “Yeah... yeah, he’s stayin’ with me while his folks are outta town...”

“Called! Called out of town to save a baby girl in East Virginia who fell down a blowhole, just like a told you,” Race stated a little too quickly, turning back to the officer. Jack shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, biting his lip.

“Look, Officer... I’m sorry, I thought he was in his room,” Jack lied. It was like riding a bike. It was easy to lie. After all, he’d grown up doing just that.

The officer nodded at him. “You wanna do him a favor? Keep him in the house.” Then the man turned to Katherine and tipped his hat. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Kelly...”

Then he left. And Race was left standing there, unsure of what to do.

But he always felt safe here.

When he was sure no one was going to speak, Race let a smile creep onto his face. “Mrs. Kelly,” he repeated, turning to the other teacher in the room. “Hey, congratulations,” he joked.

Katherine just rolled her eyes and grabbed her stuff. And she walked over to Jack.

“Goodnight, Kat...” he sighed.

She nodded, looking at him intently for just a moment. “Good luck, Jack...” she responded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before she walked out the door.

And Jack bit his lip as he watched her go.

But Race went to follow Katherine out the door. And Jack rushed up to close it. “Stay!” he demanded, blocking the kid’s exit.

Race gaped. “How come she got ta go?” he questioned.

“Because I got more ta say ta you,” the young man reasoned, locking the door as Race groaned and turned around, walking back over to the kitchen. “A little girl who fell down a blowhole?” he questioned. “Wow.”

The boy laughed and turned around with a sheepish smile. “Yeah... thanks for coverin’ for me... Al’s family woulda freaked if I showed up with that cop...”

“What, like this?!” Jack yelled, taking a step closer to the boy who flinched a little. “Would they have yelled at you like this?!”

But the kid smiled and nodded. “Yeah! Like that! That was pretty good,” he laughed, desperately trying to avoid this.

“Would they have told you how stupid you are for bein’ out so late?!” he questioned, knowing his whole building could probably hear them.

His student licked his lips as the smile faded from his face. “Okay... I get your point...” he sighed.

��No! I don’t think you do!” So many emotions bubbled up in Jack. Some that he didn’t truly even understand. He hadn’t had anyone in so long and suddenly he was getting attached.

He didn’t know if he was ready.

“Fine, then. I’ll just get outta your hair...” Race spat as he walked around the man and tried to get to the door. “I thought you were cool...”

That was when Jack grabbed the back of the kids jacket. The one that was far too big for him. “No! I’m not cool! In fact I get very uncool when I see someone that I care about bein’ brought home by cops!”

At that they both froze. Race didn’t know what to say. Whether to be angry or sad or happy that someone cared. But he settled on his old sarcasm to get him through that moment. “Mr. Kelly, do ya gotta yell? I’ve had a really rotten night...”

“I’m sorry do ya see me ballroom dancin’ ova’ here?” Jack shot back, running a stressed hand through his thick brown hair.

So Race sighed. “Look, is this gonna take all night, cause I got places ta be, man!”

“Higgins, you keep headin’ down this road n’ the places your goin’ aren’t gonna be places ya wanna be!” Jack countered, his voice almost breaking at the end. It scared him how familiar this was. He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t watch it happen.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry I ruined your night...” the boy finally apologized.

And Jack shook his head and scoffed. “I ruined it before ya got here, kid...” he assured walking back to his couch and collapsing back into it.

To his surprise, the boy didn’t leave. In fact, he came and collapsed down right beside him. “Yeah... women...” he sighed.

Scoffing again, Jack looked over at the kid. “What do you know about women?” he asked.

“What d’ya wanna know?”

At that, Jack let himself laugh a little. “You gonna help me out, Tony?”

Shrugging, Race turned to him. “You helped me...”

Shaking his head, Jack swatted playfully at the boy’s leg. “Why can’t ya be this sharp in my class?” he asked seriously. This boy was smart. He knew he was. He just didn’t want to do the work.

“Eh... math ain’t my best subject...”

Jack didn’t know if he was joking or being genuinely serious. But he corrected him anyways. “I’m your English teacher.”

“Then why’re ya teachin’ math?!” The boy was impossible. Jack knew that. He lightly hit the back of the boy’s head.

And the boy laughed.

He was getting attached.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready.

#newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #katherine plumber #source: boy meets world #boy meets world #jonathan turner #mr turner #shawn hunter #anonymous #anon #anon response

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 14

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood

Word count: ~8700

You can find the AO3 link here.

The sound of the rain beating down on the roof above your head pulls you gently from your sleep. You stir a bit under the sheets, becoming aware that you’re lying naked on the bed, a somewhat alien sensation but not an entirely unwelcome one. What happened last night between you and Arthur suddenly comes back to you. You stir slightly again, feeling a tenderness between your legs. You remember how sore you’d been when your former husband, James, had taken you the first time. How painful it was the next couple of days after. The soreness you feel now is different; less painful and certainly less hindering.

You roll over and find Arthur sitting on the bed, his journal in his lap. The sheets cover his legs, but other than that he’s entirely exposed. The scratching of his pencil stops and he smiles at you.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says gently.

You bite your lip and blush before sitting up, using the sheet to cover the majority of your body. You don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so self conscious. It’s probably just the fact that your parents used to drag you to church, where the priest used to hammer into everyone’s brain that to have sex before marriage was a damning act. You stopped going to church after you were forced into your marriage. No one said that what James did to you was a damning act because he was married to you. What you and Arthur had done last night felt more right than any night you had spent with James.

Arthur puts down his pencil and sets his journal next to his leg. He turns his body so he can see you better.

“You a’right?” he asks.

You nod your head, finally finding your voice. “Last night was…” you begin to say.

He takes your hand. “Amazing.”

You feel your face blush again, the heat sinking down your neck. You shake your head. “I don’t know if I would say that. Not that you weren’t incredible,” you say, trying not to make him feel like he was inadequate. Arthur had known exactly how to please you; he’d made you feel things you never knew you could feel. “But I doubt I was any good.”

Arthur smiles sadly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I thought you were great, darlin’,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “Those sounds you made last night.”

You blush again but reward him with a smile. You’re sure you had gotten pretty loud; the neighbors probably didn’t appreciate it.

“You know, I never did pay you back for that day in the woods,” you say.

Arthur chuckles. “I didn’t do that with thought of payment, sweetheart. That was entirely for you. Besides, think you paid me for it last night. That never wouldn’t have happened if…”

“If you hadn’t shown me it could be so good?” you finish. He looks up at you and nods. You make a mental note on how gorgeous his eyes are; you still don’t know if they’re green or blue.

“I love you, Y/N,” he suddenly says, completely throwing you off. You blink and then smile.

“I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”

He leans back on the pillows, placing an arm behind you and pulling you into him. You happily lay on his chest, your fingers trailing through his hair. You realize how attractive it is, how the light coming from the window makes it glint gold and red. It doesn’t help that his shoulders and chest are so broad.

“Hmm, you’re much harrier than my husband was,” you say without thinking, watching your fingers comb through his hair.

“Is that a bad thing?”

You look up at him and smile. “Absolutely not. If anything, it just makes you more handsome.”

He looks away, his hand rubbing up your back. “Well, that makes one of us, darlin’.”

“Arthur,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek to make him look at you. “You are handsome.”

He smiles softly at you, but you can tell by his eyes he doesn’t believe it. You sit up and look at him, your hand still on his cheek.

“Arthur, you are the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

He looks down. “That’s real kind of ya, sweetheart, but I know ya ain’t met many men. Doubt you really have much to compare me to. ‘Sides, I’m a bad man, Y/N. I killed a lot of people and over a lot of real dumb stuff.”

You gently lift his head so he has to look at you again. “Just because you’ve done bad things, Arthur, doesn’t mean you’re a bad man. The fact that you regret those things means you have goodness inside of you.”

You can tell by his face that he’s about to argue, so you cut him off gently.

“Arthur, my husband and my father were both law-abiding citizens. Would you consider them good men just because they hadn’t killed anybody?”

Arthur sighs. “I done more than kill people, Y/N. I’ve robbed people, too.”

You stroke his cheek with your thumb. “My father owned a store, and my husband was a compulsive gambler. You think they didn’t rob people? Besides, you know what they did to me. Does the fact that they weren’t wanted by the law make them good men?”

Arthur places his hand over yours. He kisses the inside of your hand before looking back at you.

“No, Y/N,” he finally says. “They weren’t good men.”

“Exactly. My father was the biggest terror of my life, yet he was respected in the community. I was terrified every moment I was around my husband, yet he had friends who were lawmen. But when I’m with you, I know I’m safe. And Arthur?” you say, making sure he’s looking in your eyes. “Truly bad people don’t ask themselves if they’re bad.”

He suddenly smiles softly, his hand grabbing yours again. “How did I get so lucky to meet someone as amazing as you?”

You blush, looking down. Despite the fact that you’ve just been trying to help Arthur see himself better, you can’t believe that someone like him would think something so good about you. His finger slides under your chin, lifting your face up gently so he can look at you again.

“I mean it, darlin’. Yer amazin’.”

He bends down and kisses you. You lean your body into his, your hand sliding up and settling on his shoulder. He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you. You break the kiss by the need for air. You smile at him.

“Ya know,” he says. “I may not have been with a lot of women, but yer certainly the best of ‘em.”

“Arthur,” you say with a small laugh. “The only woman I know you’ve been with is Mary. Forgive me, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person that ever deserved you. Besides, if you’re comparing me to her, well she and I don’t seem nothing alike.”

He sighs heavily, his smile fading. “She ain’t the only one I been with, Y/N.”

His eyes look away, but not before you see an incredible sadness in them.

“What happened, Arthur?”

“I had a son once.”

Your breath hitches in your chest. Out of all the things you might have guessed he would say, that was the last one. “Did you… was Mary his mother?”

He shakes his head a little. “No, this was after Mary. I… I met a young girl named Eliza. 19. Waitress. I went into a saloon in this one little town for a few drinks. When we saw each other, we connected. Had way too many drinks, me and her.

“Took her home that night and we… well, I don’t remember much. But a few months later, Strauss brought me a letter from town that was from her saying she was pregnant. I did everything I could to help her while still workin’ for the gang.”

“Did you tell anyone? About Eliza and your son?”

“Only Hosea. Don’t know what I woulda done without his help. He helped keep my head straight so I could be a father to Isaac and still be part of the gang. Every few months, I’d stop by Eliza’s place for a few days. Brought her as much money as I could, and I took Isaac out huntin’ and fishin’.”

His eyes are far away as his hand runs up your back.

“One day, I got to her place and I saw two crosses outside. I knew immediately what it meant. Turns out some bastards had come and robbed ‘em, shot ‘em both dead. For $10. It hardened me, seein’ their names on those crosses.”

You hadn’t even been aware of your eyes watering, but a tear suddenly slides down your cheek.

“Arthur, I’m… I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine…”

Arthur just sighs, his face heavy.

“He was a good kid. Could never do wrong in his eyes, that was a lot of pressure. I shoulda been better to him. I could have saved them both if I… If I had been there the way a real father would have been.”

You don’t know what to say. You wipe your eyes quickly, trying to stem the flow of tears.

“It’s not your fault, Arthur,” you say without really thinking. “It’s not your fault that this life, this gang is all you’ve known. It’s not your fault that you’re as loyal as you are to Dutch, Hosea, the others. Anyone in your shoes would have done the same. You did the best you could with the situation you were put in.”

Arthur sighs again, but doesn’t say anything more. You can tell he hates himself for what happened.

“Did you ever find them?” you ask. “The men who…”

“No. ‘Sides, even if I did, it wouldn’t bring them back.”

You slide off his lap and kneel onto your knees. He looks at you curiously. Hesitating slightly, you grab his shoulders and bring him to you, placing his head on your shoulder as you hold him. His arms suddenly wrap around you so tight you almost struggle to breathe. His entire body shakes as you hear him sniff loudly. You brush your fingers through his hair and rub his back.

You don’t know how long you and he stay like that, but after a while he finally pulls away, his eyes slightly red and puffy. He places a hand on your cheek and kisses your forehead.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers.

The rain carries on for the next two days, essentially trapping you and Arthur in Strawberry. Most of the time you spend in the hotel room, where you make love twice more. The rain finally begins to slow into a light drizzle.

The constant rain has dropped the temperature considerably to the point that the few times you have been outside, you’ve been able to see your breath.

Arthur leads you down the muddy street, ignoring the light rain, hand in hand with you. He takes you across the bridge and down to the saloon in town. You don’t really know why it’s called the saloon, Strawberry’s a dry town.

Arthur grabs a table for the both of you and orders venison steaks.

“Hope this rain stops soon,” you say over your meal. “We ain’t hunted much on this hunting trip.”

“I know. Camp definitely needs it, but I’m glad it rained. Gave us an excuse to…”

You blush over the table, smiling at him. “Me too.”

He grabs your hand resting on the table. “But I think it’s come down enough we could go huntin’ now.”

You agree and finish your meal. He walks you back to the horses where you mount Rannoch, with some difficulty. Arthur watches you with what you find to be a slightly cockish grin. He catches your eye and chuckles.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says from Artemis’s back.

“It’s okay, Arthur. I’ll get used to it. Gonna have to around you.”

He chuckles again before leading you down the trail and towards Big Valley again. The remainder of the day you spend hunting, mainly pronghorns, deer and elk. The rain has stopped by nightfall, allowing you and Arthur to set up the tent on the soggy ground. You would have frozen during the night if it hadn’t been for Arthur lying close to you. You remember with a small grin how on the first night you’d spent in a tent with Arthur, you had hugged the side of the tent and barely moved. Now you curl into the crook of his arm, loving the feeling of his hand resting on your shoulder. You fall asleep, drinking in his comforting scent.

In the morning, you find yourself completely lying on top of Arthur, his thin blanket draped across you. You start to stir, hoping you’re not crushing him. His hand settles between your shoulder blades as he kisses your forehead.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says.

You look up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to completely take over your space.”

He grins at you. “You didn’t. I… pulled you up here.”

“Why?” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, I just wanted to.”

You kiss the scar on his chin before laying your head into the crook of his neck.

“You warm enough? I know you was cold last night,” he asks.

You sigh into his neck. “Yeah, I’m good.”

After a while, you finally slide off of him. He looks at you curiously.

“We probably need to get back to hunting, Arthur. We’ve been gone for days.”

He sighs before nodding. You both get up and pack up the tent. Just as you’re resaddling Rannoch, you hear something not far off growling and grunting. You look over Rannoch’s back and see a massive grizzly about 50 yards off in the trees. You’ve never come across a grizzly bear before, so you definitely don’t have the confidence to go after one.

Arthur stands behind you, watching the bear. “He’s got a lot of meat on him,” he says in a deep voice.

“Yeah, but there’s no way we can take him down without him attacking us.”

Arthur rubs his chin. “I might.” He grabs his bow from Artemis’s saddle.

“Arthur, an arrow isn’t going to kill a grizzly.”

“Not a regular one, no. But Charles gave me some poison arrows.”

He hunches down and starts slowly walking towards the bear.

“Be careful,” you whisper.

He continues on, his eyes never leaving the large bear. When he’s about twenty yards away from it, he stands up and aims the arrow. The bear looks up and sees him; it roars angrily. Arthur lets the arrow go, which hits the bear in the shoulder. The bear roars again and begins charging towards him.

“Arthur!” you scream. He’s just about to run back to you when the bear suddenly stops and starts running a paw against its neck. It turns away and begins ambling towards the tree, grunting. It suddenly slumps down on its side, its legs twitching.

Arthur gives you a knowing grin before turning and approaching the grunting bear. You’re worried the bear might attack him, even in its state, but Arthur plunges his knife into its heart. You hear it give one pained roar before its head slumps on the ground, completely still.

You approach Arthur as he begins to skin the bear. You help him since the thing is so massive. He heaves the rolled up skin onto his shoulder with a grunt and throws it onto Artemis’s back.

“What ya think, darlin’?” he asks. “Ya ready to head back to camp?”

“Guess we oughta. I know Hosea’s got a job for you.”

“Shit, I forgot about that. Well, let’s go.”

You smile at him as you mount Rannoch and follow him to Wallace Station, taking the train to Rhodes again. You manage to stay awake for this trip, Arthur’s hand on your leg the whole time.

“You ever rob a train like this, Arthur?” you ask. You know he’s robbed trains in the past, but you never knew what kind.

He smiles at you with a huff.

“Of course, darlin’. Even beaten a few passengers.”

“You don’t think any train we get on will be robbed, do you?”

He shakes his head. “No. Train robberies are mostly a thing of the past. The only ones that really get targeted are ones travelling a long distance. We’ll be fine.”

The train pulls into Rhodes and you both make your way to Clemens Point.

As soon as you enter the clearing, Hosea’s waiting in the trees with a wagon full of jugs you can only assume are full of moonshine. He hollers at Arthur, John sitting by his side. He dismounts Artemis and throws the bear pelt on to Rannoch’s back, patting your thigh before approaching Hosea.

You continue off into the clearing, donating the pelt to Pearson, who thanks you. He remarks on how you have fewer pelts for the amount of time you had been out. You try your best not to blush.

“Yeah, it rained heaps up there. We got trapped for a day or two.”

Pearson just gives you a smile beneath his thick mustache, going to a deer hanging up to drain.

As soon as Grimshaw sees you, she pounces on you, dealing out a large round of chores. By the time the sun has set, the rim of the horizon peaked with gold, you’re just finishing. Your stomach rumbles angrily; you haven’t taken a break since you’ve returned. You flex your sore fingers, which had been scrubbing laundry for the last hour. You stand up, heading over to the stew pot.

Just as you finish scooping up a plate, you hear someone approaching you. You turn and end up face to face with Micah.

“Ah, so nice for you to grace us with your presence again,” he sneers.

“What do you want, Micah?” you say harshly.

He lifts up his hand in an unconvincing gesture. “Nothing, miss. Y’know, I bet yer real happy to be this far from Blackwater.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His grin widens. “I know you’re still wanted in Blackwater. From what I understand, you got a real nice bounty there.”

“Too bad yours is bigger than mine. Prevents you from claiming it,” you snarl.

His smile slinks into a frown. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll cut your tongue out, girlie.”

His words suddenly remind you of those Murphrees, taunting you in the cage. You try to ignore the icy stab in your chest.

“I’ll talk to you however I please, Mr. Bell. You’re nothing but a foul piece of shit.”

He raises his hand, you stand firm. A voice echoes through the camp.

“That was fun, Fenton!” you hear Hosea.

Micah lowers his hand, spotting Arthur and Hosea climbing off the wagon.

“Ah, you ain’t worth it right now,” he growls, stalking off. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Arthur approaches you, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What did Hosea need with you?” you ask, your voice surprisingly steady.

He grabs a plate and starts filling it with stew. “Ah, we went to go sell it back to the Braithewaites. Only guess they knew we were the ones who stole it, so they had us go give it out for free at the saloon.”

He stands up straight, rolling his eyes. “Hosea came up with some scheme that required we dress up. Not my favorite thing to do. But we pulled it off until them damn Raiders showed up.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to the table so you can both eat. Afterwards, you follow him to the campfire and spend the remainder of the evening listening to the others’ stories.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur speaks up.

“Been a tough few weeks. I know I been kinda mad with you all. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry but I… I want us to get outta here. Everybody nearly gone crazy. I’m just trying to keep things together.”

He sighs heavily before continuing. “Sometimes it gets hard. I guess I’m… I’m just struggling to find a path forward for us all. Same as Dutch, same as Hosea. I don’t wanna die, but if I have to, I will. So forgive me, all of you.”

The others stay silent, including you, as you listen to his words. He stands up and heads off towards his tent. After a moment, you stand up and follow him.

“What was that all about?” you ask quietly, closing the tent flaps.

“What?” he says, taking off his shotgun coat and vest.

“That. Your little confession or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Oh. Nothing, darlin’. I just… I know I been hard on everyone lately. Just wanted ‘em all to know I ain’t doin’ it outta hate.”

You walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek. “They know that, Arthur. Everyone here knows why you been angry. You’re just trying to keep everyone alive. Can only imagine the pressure on your shoulders right now.”

He sighs before wrapping his arms around you. “I don’t even wanna know where I’d be without you, darlin’.”

You smile at him. “Probably in a mudpit, drunk as hell,” you tease.

He chuckles. “Probably.”

He gives you a small kiss before letting you go and sits down to take off his boots. You do the same before you lie down next to him, curling into his side once more.

Over the next few days, Hosea and Dutch keep Arthur busy dealing with the Grays and the Braithewaites. Micah came up with the idea that they should attempt to rob both families, something Arthur found to be an unwise decision. You’ve noticed that Dutch has been listening to Micah more and more. You don’t like it since it was Micah’s idea to rob the ferry in Blackwater and that turned out to be a complete mess.

Arthur had come back to camp early in the morning after spending all night with Sean, something to do with the Gray’s tobacco fields. He walks into the camp, bringing the smell of burnt tobacco with him.

“How’d it go?” you ask tiredly. You’ve been sleeping soundly until he had come in.

“Ah, ‘bout as well as you’d expect. Burned the fields just fine, then the Gray’s started shooting at me and Sean. That boy may be a fool, but he knows how to play people. You shoulda seen him talk his way into their land,” he says with a chuckle.

“You didn’t get hurt, did ya?” you ask, sitting up and giving him a look.

“Course not.” He sits down and sighs. “I have to head out in a bit. Join John at the Braithewaites. Grays mentioned they got some real nice Thoroughbred stallions.”

You grab him by the shoulders and pull him down to lie on the bed. “You need to get some sleep first, Arthur,” you say, planting yourself on top of him.

“I’ll get some sleep when I get back, darlin’,” he says with a smile. You can tell by his eyes he’s exhausted.

“Arthur, I know you pride yourself on pretty much carrying this gang single handedly, but you need to get some rest.”

You bend down and kiss him. His arms loop around you, squeezing you to him. He groans suddenly and you can feel him getting hard beneath you. You laugh against him.

“I’m serious, Arthur. You need some sleep.”

He kisses you again. “I could get to sleep a lot faster if…”

You grin at him, knowing exactly where he wants this to go. You stand up and close the tent flaps.

“Okay, fine, but you have to promise to be quiet,” you say, climbing back onto him.

After Arthur’s fallen asleep, you approach the campfire to grab some coffee. Abigail greets you warmly.

“How’s Jack?” you ask, sipping.

She smiles. “He’s… well, he’s doin’ just fine. If only…”

She trails off and shakes her head. You know she was about to say she wished John would be a better father to the boy. You just give her a sad smile before finishing your coffee.

You walk away towards Rannoch. You pull out a brush and begin grooming him.

“Good morning,” says a quiet, raspy voice behind you. Facing it, you find Kieran the O’Driscoll.

“Hello,” you say somewhat apprehensively. You’ve never actually spoken to him or even been around him much.

“Real fine horse you have, miss,” he says with a soft smile.

“Well, thank you.”

“You tamed him yourself, right?”

You smile. “Well, with Arthur’s help I guess.”

Kieran smiles and approaches Rannoch, offering him a sugar cube.

“What did you name him again?”

“Rannoch.”

“Rannoch?” he repeats. “Bit of a strange name. What’s it mean?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admit. “I got it from a book my grandmother used to read to me. It was the name of the main character. Thought it fit.”

“Well that’s real nice.”

You smile at him, turning back to Rannoch to pick out his hooves. When you finish, you stand up and find him staring at you, almost sadly.

“Arthur told me you saved his life back at Six Point Cabin,” you say awkwardly.

“Oh, that… that-that was nothing,” he says, looking away. “Weren’t nothing to me,” you say. “Thank you.”

He just nods and smiles before walking away towards his red roan horse.

You hear someone from near the main campfire calling your name. You turn and find Lenny and Bill standing near each other. Lenny gestures to you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, approaching them.

“Kid heard about a stage coach comin’ up from Saint Denis,” Bill says. “Headin’ up through Scarlet Meadows.”

“We figure it would be easiest to stop and rob if we had someone like you helpin’ us,” Lenny finishes.

“Me? Why me? I ain’t ever even robbed a stage before, fellas.”

Bill looks hard at you. “‘Cause yer young and pretty. Pretend like yer injured by the road and I bet them fellas on the stage will stop to see yer okay.”

“Ah, you mean you need an innocent woman’s help,” you say, trying not to sound accusatory. “Wouldn’t Mary-Beth be better? She’s younger than me and, well, she at least wears skirts.”

Lenny grins at you. “Yeah, but you know how to handle a gun. I saw you at Shady Belle.”

“Am I going to need to handle a gun again?” you ask.

“We’re hoping not,” Bill says, growing impatient. “Now let’s go. Grab yer horse and follow us.”

Not having much choice, you walk over and hop onto Rannoch’s back. You glance over at your shared tent briefly, seeing Arthur still sleeping in his cot. You wonder if he’d be happy about you being pulled into this. You shrug your shoulders and follow Bill and Lenny.

They lead you up to the Scarlet Meadows until you pass a small stream called Ringneck Creek. Just beyond it lies a trail heading north. Bill and Lenny stop in the trees.

“Okay, Y/N,” Bill says gruffly. “Now you just sit by the trail there and pretend to be lost or injured. We’ll wait here.”

You nod, feeling a little unsure. You dismount Rannoch and go to stand next to the trail. Looking down south, you find no one on the trail just yet.

“What time’s the stage supposed to come through here?” you yell back to the others.

“Just whenever it comes through,” Bill shoots back. “Ain’t like these things run on clockwork.”

“Your encouragement is staggering, Bill,” you shoot back, looking down on the trail again.

Fifteen minutes go by and still nothing. You’re just about to ask if you’ve possibly missed it when Lenny speaks up, looking through his binoculars.

“I see ‘em, they’re comin’!”

You reposition yourself on the trail and decide to use the injured woman technique. You sit down on the grass and grab your ankle, trying to put a pained expression on your face.

The stage comes over the small rise on the trail and approaches you, followed by four riders.

“Hey!” you yell out. “Hey, could you help?”

“We don’t take passengers, lady!” One of the men on top of the stage yells at you.

“Hold on,” the driver says, coming to a stop. “It’s just a girl, Henderson. Need help, ma’am?”

You nod and act relieved. “Yes, sir. My horse threw me and I think I twisted my ankle. Could you just drop me off at the closest town you’re going to?”

“I told ya, lady,” the man named Henderson snarls at you. “We don’t take passengers.”

“Will you calm down?” the driver says to him. “It ain’t that far to Emerald Ranch, we can drop her off there.”

Just as he’s about to hop off the wagon, Bill and Lenny run over on their horses, rifles pointed, bandanas covering their faces.

“Hands up! Get off the wagon!” Bill demands.

“You sons of bitches!” Henderson yells out. He points his rifle at Bill, but Lenny shoots him. Immediately the air is filled with explosions as you and the others fire upon the riders. The driver had jumped off the wagon and vanished before he could get shot. After a few moments, you, Bill and Lenny are the only ones left standing.

“Well, that weren’t too hard,” Bill says. You holster your gun and approach the stage coach. Just as your about to reach for the door handle, something grabs your ankle and pulls you down to your knees. The driver of the stage, who had been hiding underneath it, kneels behind you, pointing the barrel of a pistol to your temple.

“Drop your guns!” he yells to Bill and Lenny. “Or I’ll kill her!”

You start to struggle and his hand comes up and wraps around your throat.

“Easy, fella,” Lenny says, holding up his rifle and his other hand. “Let her go!”

The driver pulls back the hammer. “You think I’m kidding? I’ll do it!”

You thrust your elbow into his gut, he grunts and lets go of your throat. He buckles over and you turn around and punch him in the nose. You hear his gun go off before he falls down. Something hard tugs on your shirt, pulling you down. Bill’s rifle goes off, the bullet striking the driver in the head and splattering you in blood. You lie on the ground, convinced you’ve been shot although there’s no pain.

“You’re okay!” Lenny says, running over and helping you up.

“Am I shot?” you say, looking down at yourself. The only blood you see is the driver’s. Upon further inspection, you find a tiny hole in your shirt on the very edge of your body. You stick a finger into it and find that the bullet went through your shirt, which was a little large for you, but didn’t hit you. You take a deep breath, relieved.

“Ya shoulda been more careful, Y/N,” Bill snarls at you as he throws open the stage door.

“I wasn’t the only one who didn’t see him, Bill!” you say loudly.

He just grumbles as he searches the stage and comes out. He throws you and Lenny a bundle of $75.

“Not a bad take,” you say, putting it into your satchel.

The three of you head back to your horses and run back to Clemens Point. It’s late afternoon by the time you return. You see Artemis hitched next to John’s horse Old Boy.

As soon as you dismount, you hear Arthur speaking. He sounds angry.

“Takin’ her out! She don’t know the first thing about robbin’ a stage!”

You look over Rannoch’s back and find him hollering at Bill.

“She did just fine! No one got shot, we got paid!” he yells back to Arthur.

“Yeah, though not for lack of tryin’!” Arthur stomps away from him and towards you, waving his hand behind him. You’re suddenly worried. You’ve never liked being yelled at, despite how much your father did it to you. You straighten up, resolved to face it with all your courage.

Arthur comes to stand in front of you, his eyes hard and his brows furrowed.

“Are you hurt?” he demands.

You sigh. “No, Arthur. I’m just fine.”

“Who’s blood is that, then?” he gestures to your shirt. You’d managed to wipe it from your face but knew there was nothing you could do about your clothes. You tell him about the driver.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he says in frustration. “That’s the first thing ya do when robbing a wagon!”

“How was I to know? I never robbed one before.”

“Then why’d ya go out with Lenny and that fool?”

“How am I supposed to learn if I never do it?” you retort.

“I was gonna teach ya!” he says loudly. “But I been doin’ jobs for Dutch and Hosea! I was gonna take ya out when the time was right! I never wanna hear that you gone out robbin’ while I’m doin’ another job, ya hear me?!”

You wince at how loud his voice has gotten.

“It wasn’t my idea, Arthur,” you say quietly. “Bill told me I’d be perfect for the job.”

“And yer really gonna listen to that fool?”

“It went just fine, Arthur! I didn’t get shot, no one got hurt.”

He points to the hole in your shirt. “And like I said, it weren’t for lack o’ tryin’! It only takes once, Y/N!”

“So it’s okay for you to get shot at by a dozen men during a job, but one guy on a job of mine owns a pistol and I’m too weak to handle it?”

“That ain’t what I’m sayin’, Y/N,” he says quickly. “I’m just sayin’ ya need to be more careful! I don’t ever wanna hear ya been out doin’ this without me, understand?”

“I can take care of myself, Arthur! You know I can! I lived by myself for a year until I met you, chased by bounty hunters. Even shot a few.”

Arthur raises his hands and takes a step back from you, lowering and shaking his head. “I know what you done, sweetheart,” he says in a quieter tone. “I ain’t tryin’ to say yer weak. I just…”

He looks back up at you and you see the worry in his eyes. You take a hesitant step towards him, realizing how scared he must have been when he came back to hear you’d gone out on a job you had no experience with.

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand nervously. You’re worried he’s still angry with you and that he might shake you off. Instead, his hand wraps around yours.

“Just promise me ya won’t do that again. If ya wanna do a job, let me know. I wanna be there with ya.”

“And what if it’s another situation like it was today?” you look up at him. “Where you’re gone and one of the others presents the opportunity.”

He sighs. “For now, tell ‘em to find someone else. I just… I want ya to know what yer doin’ before ya do stuff like that.”

You nod and slide your hand out of his. You’re just about to walk away when he grabs you gently, pulling you into his chest. You hesitate before wrapping your arms around him, nestling into his neck. He kisses your forehead before letting you go.

“That bullet didn’t get ya now, did it?” he asks, his voice gentle.

You shake your head and look down, pulling at your shirt where the bullet struck.

“It missed me somehow. Got lucky, I guess.”

He smiles at you. “Well, thank God for that. Now come on, let’s get ya somethin’ to eat.”

He takes your hand and guides you over to get some stew. Sitting down at the table, he grabs your free hand again. You’ve noticed how, ever since you both came out in the open about your relationship, he’s almost always touching you. Not that you mind, of course. You rather enjoy it.

“So, how much you come out with, anyways?” he asks.

You swallow the salty stew. “About $75.”

“Pretty good for yer first stage.”

“How much you get your first one?”

He chuckles. “Ah, about $20. Think it was one of them decoy stages.”

“What are those?”

Arthur explains how stage companies will send out decoy stages with a relatively small score to lure in criminals. You try not to smile at the end of his story, which ends with him recalling how he had tripped and fallen into some mud.

“Susan gave me a real good smackin’ when I got back, covered in that shit,” he chuckles.

After a few moments, Grimshaw, Pearson and John approach the table.

“We’re gonna play some poker,” John says. “You mind if we use the table?”

Arthur looks up at them. “Shoar. I’ll play, too.”

You stand up and grab yours and Arthur’s plates, taking them back to Pearson’s wagon, dumping them into the washbin. You go back to the table, planning on playing but finding that all the crates used as seats have been taken up.

You stand next to Arthur, placing an arm on his shoulder and leaning on it.

“You wanna play, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Sure, but there ain’t no more seats.”

He chuckles. “Shoar there is.”

His hand winds behind your waist, bringing you forward until you’re sitting on his lap.

“Arthur!” you say with a laugh. He just chuckles again as John shuffles the deck and hands everyone two cards. You look at yours: King of spades and 3 of hearts. You spot Arthur glancing at your cards.

“Are you cheating, Mr. Morgan? Is that why you made me sit here?” you playfully smack his shoulder, making him laugh. You hear Pearson and Grimshaw chuckle. John rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Arthur says, smiling. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Sure you couldn’t,” you respond.

You and the others start throwing in your bets.

“Hope you’ll actually be around the next couple of days,” Grimshaw says to you. “Girls could use your help.”

“Ah, it’s my fault, Susan,” Arthur says, folding his hand. “I been takin’ her out huntin’.”

“Well, you need to remember she has other responsibilities, Mr. Morgan.”

“I won’t complain,” Pearson says, tossing in his bets. “Always appreciate the meat you both bring in.”

The cards on the table show you’ve got next to nothing. If it weren’t for your King, you’d be folding. You lay your cards down, losing to John’s hand.

You play a few more hands, occasionally peaking at Arthur’s cards. You’re sure he’s been looking at yours as well. After a while, you’re growing tired. You throw your hand in, which had nothing, and settle into Arthur.

“You gonna head off to bed?” he whispers in your ear.

“Nah, I’ll just watch with you for a bit,” you say. He nods and places his bet. You look up into the sky and silently acknowledge the stars. You recall how a few months ago, you’d been staring at the same stars tied to a tree and thinking it would be your last night alive.

You wake up in the morning, lying in your shared cot. You stir as little as possible due to the fact that this cot’s really only big enough for one. Your back is to Arthur, so you turn as gently as possible. He’s sleeping on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped over the journal lying open on his stomach.

You reach over and gently grab the book, slowly sliding it out from under his hand. He grunts a bit in his sleep, his head turning slightly, but he doesn’t wake. You turn the book so the page he was working on faces you. You find a detailed pencil drawing of a long-legged horse. You don’t recognize it and you wonder if it was one of the one’s he’d stolen from the Braithewaites.

You flip through the previous pages, reading some of the passages he’d written. You marvel at his hand writing, the graceful loops and curving letters. You find your face drawn multiple times, along with some passages about things he had done with you. On one page, you find a highly detailed drawing of you lying in bed, your naked back exposed to him. You blush slightly at the fact that he even wanted to draw you in such a way. You read the passage he wrote explaining how you and he had connected in a new, more passionate way that night and how much he loved you.

Flipping through the pages, you find more drawings, more entries entailing the things he’s seen on his travels, the people he’s met. You find a page that catches your attention. On the left side is your face. He’s drawn you wearing a pained expression. On the right side, you read his passage.

Y/N confronted me on Mary. Told me that woman were never good enough for me, that I should find someone worth my efforts. Me being the fool I am, I threw it in her face. I know she’s got feelings for me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any for her. This whole thing has gotten my head into a spiral. Oh Mary, what have you done to me? Got me so wrapped around you, I can’t even let you go long enough to find someone else. I said some bad things I’ll never be proud of to Y/N, I know I hurt her. She thought I was gonna hit her. I’ll never forget that horrible way she looked at me.

You flip the page, feeling sad. You wonder if he still has feelings for Mary, or if he’ll ever be over her. You read the next passage. You don’t dare mention it to him though.

I been a real fool. Chasing after Mary the way I have. Y/N told me if she really loved me, she wouldn’t be treating me this way. She’s right, of course, I known that a long time. I plan on telling Y/N the truth, how I feel about her. She’s gone now, off hunting or robbing or something along those lines.

Under that passage was a drawing of you standing in the trees across camp from where his tent had been in Horseshoe Overlook, your back to him. You flip the page and read the next passage, accompanied with a drawing of you looking hurt and miserable, your arm crossing your stomach.

Poor Y/N. Running from me, she got herself caught by some nasty folk called the Murphree Brood. They shot her horse and tortured her. Found her by her horse’s body, half dead. Surprised she could even stand, the way she was. When she saw me, she looked as though she was waiting for me to put her out of her misery. All I could do was hold on to her.

I’m a coward and a fool. I couldn’t even tell her the things I feel for her. She might have had feelings for me before, but after all this, I’d be lucky if she felt even a bit of that for me.

Arthur begins to stir beside you. You try and shut the book quickly, but you’re not fast enough. His eyes open, finding you immediately.

“What you doin’ with that?” he mutters, hardly moving. You can tell by his eyes he isn’t angry.

“Sorry, Arthur. This was lying open. I… I really shouldn’t have read it.”

“‘S’a’right, darlin’,” he says, sitting up next to you. You shut the journal and hand it back to him with a small smile. He slides it into his satchel before turning back to you, wrapping an arm behind you.

“I love your drawings,” you say before you can stop yourself, not knowing what to say in regards to his passages.

He laughs. “Those silly things? Ain’t nothing special.”

“Well, I think they are. Wish I had your skill.”

He just smiles before kissing your head. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

The two of you stand up after putting your boots back on. He holds your hand as he walks you through the camp. You greet Sean warmly, who’s just come from guard duty, standing next to the campfire with a cup of coffee.

“Ah, English and his girl!”

“Why are ya always calling me that?” Arthur says gruffly to him. “My family weren’t even English!”

Sean just chuckles before strolling away. You pour Arthur and yourself the steaming liquid, handing him his cup. He nods in thanks before taking a sip. You hear someone from near the lake calling Arthur’s name. You both turn and see Micah beckoning to him from Dutch’s tent.

“Ah, what now?” Arthur mutters.

You follow him to Dutch’s tent, where Micah is cleaning his pistol.

“What you want, Micah?” Arthur says. You hear a small hint of hesitancy. He’s told you how every job he’s done with Micah has turned into a blood bath.

“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Micah says sarcastically. “For they shall be called…”

Arthur cuts him off, beckoning to Molly, who angrily walks past. “Hey, Molly, where’s Dutch?”

She just raises her hands and continues wandering off.

“Well, however it goes,” Micah finishes as though Arthur had never spoken.

“I’m not sure that line of thought serves you and me very well.”

“Well, that’s because, cowpoke, you are a man of profoundly limited intelligence.”

You step forward. “Shut your mouth, Micah.”

He chuckles. “I only speak the truth, miss.”

You’re just about to spit at him when Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder, stepping towards him.

“Enough of that. Now what you want?”

Micah adjusts his gun in his holster before leaning towards him. “While you and the old man and Dutch have been running around digging us ever deeper into shit, old Mr. Pearson might have gone and lightened the load a little.”

He calls Pearson over. The cook scurries over quickly, an excited grin on his face. Dutch wanders over as well, greeting them.

“You tell ‘em, fat man,” Micah says to Pearson.

“It’s peace, Dutch. The O’Driscolls. I mean, I think there’s a way.”

“Get the words out properly, fat man!” Micah says to him, rolling his eyes.

Pearson begins explaining how he bumped into some of the O’Driscolls. “Things were about to get ugly, but you know how I am in a fight!” He whips out his knife with a grin. “Like a cornered tiger!” He smiles over at you, clearly trying to look intimidating. You just fold your arms and smile back at him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Anyway,” he continues, putting his knife away. “We got to talking and they suggested a parley to end things like gentlemen.”

“Gentlemen?” Dutch suddenly snaps, walking heavily over to Pearson. “Colm O’Driscoll? Have you lost your minds?”

“You’re always telling us, Dutch,” Micah says. “Don’t fight wars ain’t worth fighting.”

Hosea, who’d been sitting at the table nearby and reading a newspaper, calls over. “It’s a trap!”

“Well, of course it’s probably a trap,” Micah responds. “But what have we got to lose finding out?”

“Getting shot,” Arthur says, glaring at Micah.

“We ain’t getting shot,” Micah says to him. “Because you’ll be protecting us! If it’s a trap, you shoot ‘em all, but if it’s that slim chance…”

“I don’t see the point in any of this!” Dutch says, walking past you and Arthur.

“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah says, following him to the table where Hosea sits.

You don’t like the way Micah sounds, something seems off about it. You’re just about to say something to Dutch, to tell him this is a bad idea, when he holds a hand up to silence everyone.

“I killed Colm’s brother, long time ago.” He takes a long pause, looking away. “Then he killed a woman I loved dear.”

Micah sighs and leans his hands on the table. “As you say, Dutch. It’s a long time ago.”

Dutch sighs and nods. You can tell by his eyes that he’s made a decision. “Let’s go. You and me,” he gestures to Micah. “With Arthur protecting us, no one else!”

Pearson begins to argue until Dutch tells him this isn’t a good job for him. Arthur turns to you. You’re suddenly worried. From everything you’ve heard about the O’Driscolls, a parley seems like the last thing they’d want between them and Dutch.

“It’ll be a’right,” Arthur says.

“I don’t want you to go,” you say, clutching his arm.

“Come on, Arthur!” Dutch calls from the back of his horse.

Arthur just sighs before patting your arm and heading off to Artemis. You watch him leave with the other two.

Pearson stands next to you, looking disappointed. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

He leads you over to his wagon, assigning you to cut up vegetables. The entire time, you can’t shake off the feeling that something’s wrong. You can’t stop thinking about how cozy Micah made it all sound, like it was going to be the easiest thing in the world.

A few hours have gone by. You sit at the table with Hosea, playing a round of dominoes, losing the third round spectacularly.

“You need to get your head in the game,” Hosea says, shuffling the tokens.

“Sorry, Hosea. Just worried is all.”

“I know what you mean. I don’t like it either. Traps are easy to spring, but this one feels wrong.”

“These O’Driscolls. What’s the deal with them anyways?”

“Ah, that’s a long and ugly story. Dutch and Colm used to have an understanding, of sorts. They never got along, per say, but they deliberately stayed out of each other’s way when it came to scores.”

Hosea places down the double sixes token. You place down one of yours.

“Well, Colm’s idiot brother showed up to a train robbery we was pulling some 15 or so years ago. Started getting snarky with us, trying to weasel a share, so Dutch shot him. Few months later, we found Dutch’s girl Annabelle dead in an old cabin. It was obvious Colm did it, he’d left enough messages around her body. Ever since then, they’ve been fighting over scores and trying to get the other killed or arrested.”

You sit in silence for a moment, wondering what went through Dutch’s mind. You place your last token down. “Domino,” you say with little excitement.

Hours have gone by since Arthur left with Micah and Dutch. The feeling of unease in your stomach has only grown stronger. You’ve been mixing your chores with a steady amount of pacing near the horses, waiting. You pass them now and Grimshaw marches over to you.

“Miss Y/L/N!” She hollers. “I have had it! Go help the girls!”

You quickly dodge her grasp and scurry over to Karen, sitting on a crate.

“Ah, don’t worry,” Karen says. “They’ll be back soon.”

You just smile at her and pick up a part of the awning Karen’s sewing, helping her. You glance up every few minutes, waiting for the men to come bounding in.

After nearly an hour, you hear the sound of horses coming towards the camp. You abandon the awning and jog over to meet them. You spot Micah and his horse. He doesn’t even so much as look at you. Then Dutch appears, looking distraught. He sees you and his face falls. He stops and dismounts the Count.

“Arthur?” you say expectantly. “Where is he?”

Dutch pauses before placing a hand on your shoulder. He swallows heavily.

“I… I’m real sorry, Y/N. Arthur’s dead.”

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #Van Der Linde Gang #I'm awkward #second chances #fanfiction #R* Games #rockstar games

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cats-obsessions · 4 years

Text

Mark Your Love in Ink Part 2

A Geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Chapters: 2 of 5?

Notes: I decided to split this up into 5 parts, but on ao3, I posted parts 2-4 in one chapter. So, if you want to read ahead, read on ao3

It turns out, Geralt can run from ‘fate’ but not Jaskier. Somehow, Jaskier worms his way into his life. Forcefully. And deeply. What he expects to be shared milkshakes and parted ways turns into Jaskier following him to the warehouse, determined to set his eyes on some monsters- lucky for them, the ‘monsters’ weren’t werewolves or noonwraiths like he had expected. Nope, they were elves. Angry elves that captured Geralt and Jaskier, bashed the starving artist’s guitar and kicked them both in the gut. Geralt was able to reason with them, and Jaskier was given a lute for his troubles, but he didn’t get any money for his troubles.

As the sun began to rise over the city, bright lights reflecting off of the buildings, they parted ways. The younger man smiled at Geralt with sunshine in his eyes and said “I’d offer you my number, but I suppose you already have it,” which was true- even if it weren’t on his body, Geralt’s had it memorized for years. He was surprised, though, when the musician added “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” with a genuine warmth that told Geralt he wasn’t lying. He was sure that misadventure would have driven the boy away, but he didn’t seem deterred. If anything, he seemed more interested.

Geralt practically passed out once he got home, eager to sleep rather than focus on the situation. He was more alarmed to find the familiar number texting him once he awoke. How did he even get his number?

It didn’t seem to matter much. The next thing Geralt knows, he’s getting roped into going for coffee or drinks, then just hanging out doing things he’d never bothered spending time on before, like playing video games. Then, Jaskier starts showing up at his apartment whenever he wants. Geralt tried to argue, but Roach, his cat, loves Jaskier almost as much as she loves Geralt, which is odd considering she scratches up most strangers.

Every step of the way, he tries and tries to push back against this odd little human that seems set on getting close to him, and every battle he picks, he finds himself losing. When Jaskier starts following him to jobs, he knows he’s gone too far to turn back.

That he was not fond of, but Jaskier is the most persistent thing he’s ever met- like a weed. At first it was just local jobs, things he knew Jaskier could watch without getting in the way, but then he started following him on longer jobs. And, well it’s kind of nice to have someone to camp with, especially when he can convince the musician to stay at the camp while he hunts. He even proves to be useful once or twice. Six months later, Geralt finds himself with an intrusive friend with blurred lines and a lack of respect for personal space.

But it’s not bad, surprisingly.

Geralt finds himself smiling more. Jaskier is tactile and unafraid to show emotion in a way that’s almost frightening after so many years of being a loner. And Geralt, he puts up with it- at least that’s what he says. In reality, he does his best to keep his emotions from spilling out of ‘friends’ and toward something more.

Because he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny.

A soulmate bond is a social concept made up to explain magical connections that only go skin deep.

That’s all it is.

So, he doesn’t fall for Jaskier as if he could prove how fake Destiny is by refusing to feel.

Geralt hums some song that’s been stuck in his head for days- certainly not because the dumb musician had been playing it last time they saw each other. He’s cooking dinner one late evening when he hears his apartment door handle jiggle followed by several knocks. Does he really expect it to be unlocked for him all the time?

As soon as he unlocks the door, it’s being opened by the musician on the other side. He’s a little flushed and his hair is messy as he complains “If you gave me a key, this would be easier.”

“If I gave you a key, you’d never leave me alone.” Geralt rolls his eyes. “Did you bike here in the middle of the night?” he asks, noticing the helmet in one of his hands, a duffle bag in the other, and his lute thrown over his shoulder “and what’s all this?”

“My stuff- for our trip.” Jaskier answers as if it were obvious. He throws his bag down, slips off his shoes, and begins to make himself at home. Geralt watches as Jaskier moves to the living room, stopping to pet Roach on his way. The brown tabby shoves her head into Jaskier’s palm, meowing happily to greet him. Geralt does his best not to smile at the sight.

Their trip. Geralt had tried to convince him to sit this one out to no avail. It will be a week-long trip at the least- granted he can even find the beast. He got reports of a possible griffon terrorizing an isolated town a few days north of them. They’ll have to drive part way, then hike through the forests and camp there for however long it will take to find and defeat it. But Jaskier hasn’t seen a griffon yet, and he’s enamored with them- that’s probably Geralt’s fault, though.

“We don’t leave for two more days, Jaskier.” Geralt reminds him.

“It’s better to be prepared early, isn’t it?”

Geralt lets it go, turning back to his cooking. Jaskier can entertain himself if he’s so set on showing up unannounced. Though, Geralt throws an extra pork cutlet on the pan; the gods know the boy doesn’t eat enough real food.

He can hear the musician talking to Roach in the background. He’s almost surprised Jaskier hasn’t pestered him about his day yet. But, he doesn’t refrain from taking advantage of the momentary silence. With the meat on the pan, crackling and popping while it cooks, there’s nothing to do but wait. So, he pulls out his phone and scrolls mindlessly through the local news. He doesn’t care much for politics, but occasionally things will pop up that point to creatures, monsters, and jobs.

‘Local YouTuber Dies in Attempt to Catch Kikimora’

A dark figure can be seen in the background of what he assumes is a screen shot from the recording. “It’s an Ekimmara, you morons.” Geralt scoffs under his breath. Typical. Mankind has been chasing after monsters since the dawn of time. The widespread use of cameras only made things worse. He scrolls down further, and another headline pops out to him.

‘Local Dive Bar Found to be Drug Front: Shoot Out Between Owners Leaves Renters Evicted’

Also not terribly surprising; humans are always doing these kinds of things. Over his near century of a life, he’s seen more deaths from greed than monsters could ever cause. But, wait… he looks closer, picking up the details of the image provided. Isn’t that-

“Jaskier, what the fuck?” he barks, turning to face the man now sprawled out on his couch.

“What did I do?” he asks innocently, though the cringe he’s trying to hide tells the witcher he knows exactly what he did.

“You didn’t think to start with ‘Penellie’s had a shoot-out.’!?”

“Ah,” Jaskier starts uncomfortably. “Right- well, you know, it didn’t seem like the most important thing.” he looks down to fidget with his nails- a telltale nervous habit.

Geralt bites back his urge to press for more information “Are you okay?” He asks, finding himself out of his comfort zone.

“Of course! I’ve seen a lot worse.” Jaskier shrugs.

“Wait, were you there when it happened?”

“No, no, dear witcher. I was in my apartment. Apparently,” He starts with renewed energy, “the whole building has drugs in the walls! Those possums that were always making racket- Probably thugs shoving drug packets into our shared walls. I guess Penellie and James had a disagreement about how to split the funds. It wasn’t so much as a shoot out as shooting each other in the close confines of their office.” Jaskier makes a gun shape with his hand as he says it, pretending to shoot at Geralt. “Guess renting from your boss isn’t that good of an idea, huh?”

“Who woulda thunk.” Geralt murmurs flatly, remember the exact words ‘don’t rent from your boss’ coming out of his mouth when Jaskier moved to that dump six months ago. Of course, Jaskier was working as a bartender, and Geralt expected him to get fired and evicted in one go rather than an unknowing renter of drug lords. “They didn’t make you ID the bodies or anything, did they?” he pushes. He’s not sure why it matters to him.

“Oh, come on now. It’s very nice of you to think you have to protect my innocence, but like I said- I’ve seen worse. Specifically, I’ve seen you do much worse. You know, most people have never seen the intestines of anything much less helped dig a liver out of a cave troll or pull teeth from a foglet while brain matter is splattered around them. You’re quite lucky I’m so well adjusted.” Jaskier rambles, accentuating his words with wild gestures of his hands. Geralt ignores it, though.

“You’ve never seen me kill a human.”

“Well, you haven’t recently, right?” he says nonchalantly like he wouldn’t be bothered if the answer were yes.

Geralt shakes his head “Not supposed to, though I’m tempted often,” he grumbles, shooting Jaskier a glare. The musician sees the fondness behind it though and chuckles a little. Somehow, he seems to know Geralt’s only so exasperated because he cares- against his best efforts not to, of course.

Geralt finishes up in the kitchen and pops the caps off two beers, handing one to Jaskier along with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks! You don’t have to, though,” Jaskier smiles, a little blush tinging his cheeks. Geralt pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Had extra,” he murmurs, shoving Jaskier’s feet off the couch so he can sit and eat as well. After a few bites of food and a long drink of beer, he finally asks “What now?”

“Well, the place across the street will probably have a drop in price,” Jaskier smirks.

“Seriously? Should live somewhere safer.”

“I would, but you know I can’t afford that… I suppose I could get a roommate” Jaskier says, biting his lip as he stares at Geralt.

The witcher grunts. He knows exactly what Jaskier is asking even without the words leaving his mouth.

“Come on, Geralt! It’d be fun!” He pesters “You live in a dump, too. Roach deserves better than this! Don’t you, Roachy?” he coos, the cat mewls at him as though she’s agreeing. Traitor. “We could afford something a bit nicer together. And I promise I won’t get in your way more than usual. No jam sessions late at night or early in the morning. I’ll even cook sometimes. Please… Unless, you want me to find some stranger from Craigslist to live with me… But hm, isn’t that how the Craigslist killer found his victims?”

Geralt grimaces. “No- he killed a masseuse he hired through craigslist.” Is Jaskier even old enough to remember when that happened?

“Ah, I thought he asked them on dates,” Jaskier muses.

“No, you’re thinking of the Grindr- no, the Tinder killer.”

“Ah, so Grindr is a safe app to find roommates with then?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as if it were an innocent question; he bites his fork as if he were thinking- fucker even flutters his long eyelashes. Geralt does his very best not to stare at his over obvious flirting. He knows exactly what Jaskier is doing, yet that doesn’t seem to prevent it from working.

Geralt groans, pinching the bridge of his nose “Mac n’ cheese doesn’t count as cooking. No unannounced guests, and do not touch my swords when I’m gone.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t make me regret this, Pancratz.”

“Yes! You won’t- I promise.” Jaskier beams.

A silence falls over them while they eat before Jaskier pipes up again “Wanna watch the Monster from Brokilon? it’s the one with the Leshen!”

“Witchers don’t even know that much about Leshens; I can only assume what kinds of inaccuracies are in this movie.”

Jaskier smirks, “You can lecture me about it afterwards.”

It has become somewhat of a past time for Jaskier to find various old and horrible horror movies to force Geralt to watch. At first, he was simply curious if there was any truth in them, but once he found Geralt ranting about their atrocious and uneducated portrayals of even the simplest beasts, he seemed determined to put the witcher through more.

For some reason Geralt puts up with it. Jaskier usually ends up talking over it half the time anyways, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy having someone to share his monster facts with. There’s something that lights up in the musician’s eyes whenever they talk about creatures and adventures; he doesn’t shy away from it like other humans.

So, he hums contentedly as Jaskier sets up the movie. When it starts, Geralt rests his arm on the back of the couch as he always does. It’s not his fault if somewhere in the night, Jaskier scoots closer and closer until he’s pressed up against the witcher. He’s just like that. And if he falls asleep, his head drooping to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, the witcher only lets him because Jaskier’s had a rough day.

#geraskier #geralion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #soulmates au #tattoo au #oh gosh I hope the read more button works #fic #geraskier fic #fic rec #fluff #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my stuff #roommates

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