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thesmokingguns · 3 years

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Thrift Store

Word Count 1916

Fluff

You rolled your eyes watching the man walk into the thrift shop you owned. The bell had rung drawing your attention to the tall man with teased hair and leather from head to toe.

This was the type of person you were used to seeing duck into the shop on The Strip looking to score some piece of cool clothing for their stage outfit. All of them loved chatting you up about what night their band was going to play and how you should totally check them out because they were going to make it. The only place they were going to make it was to third base with some bottle blonde.

You flipped your magazine, eyes looking up to the man who was dragging the metals hangers to the side looking through the leather jackets. Typical of him to be in that section. He didn’t look like the type to steal so you didn’t really pay that much attention to him until he was right in front of you a few minutes later.

“Excuse me.” You dragged your eyes up looking at him. He was holding up a black jacket you had found at a yard sale last weekend, “This doesn’t have a price on it. Could you tell me how much it is?” The jacket would look good on him and it would definitely fit better than the one he was wearing that didn’t even cover his wrists.

“Ten dollars and the jacket you’re wearing.” You replied to him. You could redo his jacket and sell it for triple the price. He seemed surprised but was tugging off his jacket and sliding the new one on already.

You were right, it did fit him perfectly. It took away the little boy playing dress up and made him look like a man. He looked in the mirror and you watched this small smile, confidence slipping into his face. That’s when you really took him in and appreciated the way he was built. He had a strong jawline and these olive eyes that were the kind that got girls into trouble.

“Listen, I know you’re cutting me a huge deal. Can I buy you a drink tonight? My band is playing at the Whisky at midnight. You can meet me before or if you want to stick around after I’m sure there will be a party at our apartment.” There it was. The line where he invited you out because he needed more chicks in the audience.

“I’m really busy tonight. I’m sorry.” You actually felt sorry when you lied. But there was no way you, you were going to get sucked into going to see some shitty club band when you could stay in bed and not be annoyed with people. You held out your hand taking the crumpled bills he handed you.

“That was a shitty line, wasn’t it?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched the leather stretch over his bicep. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t like one of the thin chicken boys who came in. He had muscles and was filled out.

“Look, I’m sure your band is great but I’m not going to go see them because you bought a jacket from me.” He nodded understandingly, “But you do look good in the jacket so at least you have that.” You teased him, loving how he smiled from the corner of his mouth, he had to be older than you by a few years and there was this mystery about him that had you wanting to ask more questions but instead you took the jacket he had been wearing, throwing it on your bag for home and went back to flipping through your magazine.

He was still standing in front of the register as if he hadn’t quite worked out that you weren’t going to go out with him. A sigh escaped your lips as you looked back up at him.

“It’s past lunch time but maybe we can grab a beer and a burger now?” Your eyebrow shot up at his offer. A beer and a burger was much better than seeing a shitty band play. You looked around the shop, it was 1:30pm on a Friday. Soon the place would be mobbed with kids from the Valley looking for new clothes to wear for their weekend nights in Hollywood. This was one of your busy days and you knew that you couldn’t leave.

“I can’t leave. It’s busy here Friday afternoon but if you wear that jacket tonight I’m sure that you’ll find a great girl for beer and burgers on Saturday afternoon.” You smiled. He seemed confused about why you kept turning down your advances.

“Well, if you won’t go out with me can I at least have your name?” You heard the bell ring and looked past him to the two young teens walking in.

“It’s Y/N. Now you need to get out of here because I have customers.” You moved around the counter slightly grazing against him as you moved down the aisles to check on the kids who seemed like they wouldn’t have a problem stuffing things into their bags. You watched the man walk out of the shop, smiling at the whole encounter.

The night was steady. People crammed into the small store and it turned out to be a great day for business. You locked the safe at the end of the night and jumped out of your skin when you heard a knock on the glass door. Your eyes narrowed seeing a man shifting outside and you grabbed the baseball bat next to the register.

It was dark outside but you could hear people laughing as they passed outside, which just heightened your senses as you got closer. It suddenly dawned on you that it was the guy from earlier. He noticed you finally at the door and held up his hands. One hand was holding a six pack and the other a brown paper bag with grease stains on the bottom.

“It doesn’t seem busy now.” he yelled through the door. The way he was standing there made you shake your head, turning the lock as you opened up and let him inside the shop. His eyes took in the bat you were holding as you locked up the door, “Are you in a late night baseball league?” You roll your eyes, locking the door up.

“I thought you had a show.” He tosses you a beer and you’re taking him in wondering what angle this man is trying to come at you from.

“We play at midnight. I have an hour to have burgers and beers with you, Y/N.” The crinkle of the bag makes you watch his movements, “There’s this little hole in the wall joint that makes the best burgers around the corner from here.” The stranger is handing you a wrapped red and white checkered burger.

“I don’t know your name and you expect me to just have dinner with you.” The suspicious nature you have makes it hard to tell if this guy is usually this spontaneous or if he wants something from you. Knowing how the men in this area are, you're sure that he is going to try and get something.

“I’m Nikki Sixx.” The name makes your eyes roll. Another boy with a fake stage name and dreams of being a rock and roll superstar but he brought beer and burgers so you can’t just kick him out.

It’s a quick hour and after the initial eye rolling over his name and the slight boredom when he talks about his band you find yourself listening to him talk. Actually listening and caring about what he says. The way he describes his dreams isn’t with the youthful nativity you have come across from your time in Hollywood. No, Nikki has a plan to achieve his dream and it includes a lot of hard work. He isn’t afraid to work for his dreams because he knows that is how he will get them.

He’s easy to talk to and you find yourself laughing so hard you’re covering your mouth at the stories he tells you. From the way his band does maniac things to funny stories of schemes he’s done to survive. You don’t know why it’s so easy to laugh with him. But what you like the most about him is how he asks questions about you that would get lost with other people. He doesn’t make the hour you have together all about his rockstar dreams but he turns the conversation to what your goals are. His eyes are thoughtful, watching you as you speak about fashion design and how the store is a stepping stone for you. He even gets you to show him some of the things you altered and designed. The usual embarrassment you might feel void because of how comfortable he makes you feel.

Eyes keep darting to the clock and you know he’s stayed past the hour he had told you he had before his show. Until finally he’s pushed his time back as far as he could and he’s getting up to leave, knowing that he’s going to have to run from the store right onto stage..

“I’m glad that you let me in tonight. I had a great time getting to know you, Y/N. The band doesn't play tomorrow night so if you’re around Sunday I’d like to tag along to your yard sales you were talking about.” He’s saying it because he wants to spend time with you and the fact he’s willing to hang out on a Sunday afternoon to see something you like has you softening to his charms. He is a lot different from the usual clientele of the store with a self centered nature and a rock n roll attitude without the fame.

“Well, you know where I work. My apartment’s above here. If you’re serious, meet me at 11am Sunday and we can go explore together.” Nikki nods at your words and you wish he’d invite you to the show again but even in the short time you’ve talked to him you know he won’t. He doesn’t want to be rejected twice for something that he cares about. But he has shown such a sincere interest in your passions and you find that you want to see him play. “Do you mind if I walk to the Whisky with you to see the show? I heard there’s a pretty good band playing tonight.” His eyes flash up and it’s nice to see you’ve surprised him by changing your mind. He doesn’t seem like the type that is surprised too often

As you’re walking, chattering nonstop with the stranger you met in the shop this morning your mind wanders to the leather jacket he’s wearing. That jacket was made for him to wear. As soon as you saw him holding it you knew that he was going to go home with it. If he hadn’t come looking for that jacket your day would have been a lot different. Now you were with the bassist of a band going to the Whisky to see another band try to make it off the Strip and into the stars. But the usual apathetic feeling you had about these bands were gone and you were thinking that this person would really make it. And you were rooting for him.

#Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx #The Dirt imagine #The Dirt headcanon #Dougas Booth imagine #Douglas Booth headcanon #Douglas Booth Fanfic #Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx headcanon #nikki sixx x you #Nikki Sixx YOu

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

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You’re gonna go far, kid [Punk! England x reader]

Synopsis: Ever since coming to England to study, you haven’t had the time to do what made you come in the first place--tourism! The only friend you have is an exchange student from Russia, Ivan, so why not kill two birds with one stone? He schedules a little playdate with Arthur, a local, so he can show you around the hottest spots in London. You two immediately hit it off. Ivan is quick to notice his interest in you, so he starts teasing the poor man and making things hard for him. Camden is the last destination, and there’s no saying when he’ll ever see you again. Will he be able to get over himself and ask you out before the night ends? Note: Attractions are italicized and have a link to a picture. Wordcount: 4,641 The reader is referred to as she/her.

This was the day you had been dreading, and yet, looking forward to. The first part was easy to explain. Picking up your hot latte, you set it down after a quick sip. You didn’t even have time to enjoy it. Not when you were typing away at your keyboard like a speed demon. You promised your friend you would finish your assignment before today’s meet-up, but your procrastination habits were a bitch. Nevertheless, you were eager to uphold your side of the deal, even if it meant stressing your hair out to get it done.

So long as he didn’t show up before you were done, right?

After burning your tongue for the second time that morning, you let out a small groan at the sting you felt but gasped at what you saw outside the window. It was a sound made from genuine terror--rather than the quiet streets of London at seven AM, you spotted a man pressing his face right up to the glass. And he was staring at you, menacingly.

Anybody would’ve been creeped out by the sight, but you knew the guy. “Aha--Ivan! Hey! Morning?” You began rather awkwardly.

He waved in response, and his glower melted away in exchange for a childlike smile. “Dobroye utro, (F/N)! I hope that’s not your assignment you’re doing.” He hummed, placing two hands on the glass to peer at your screen from outside. Oh shit. Glancing briefly at said screen, you turned it away before clicking the upload button.

“Of course not.” You grinned, shutting your laptop immediately after. “I was just... Surfing the net. Checking Instagram. You know?”

“Is that so? I’m gonna check.” He made his way inside. And in no time, he was looming over your shoulder to start browsing through your internet history. You, on the other hand, were sweating balls.

“You’re so funny, (F/N). Who checks Instagram on their computer?”

It seemed like only yesterday he was the oblivious exchange student from Russia who had no concept of social media. He had been a country bumpkin through and through, but a few semesters after befriending you, your influence rubbed off on him. Even you had no idea what went through your head when decided to talk to him, the intimidating new kid who spoke broken English, but there was no turning back now. He was attached to you by the hip and picked up on your habits faster than you could deal.

He only became more of a menace when he discovered Twitter.

A displeased expression contorted at his expression when he saw that there was no evidence of you ‘surfing the net’. Google Docs couldn’t possibly count, after all. “... Hm... Apparently, not you. Why didn’t you finish this yesterday, sunflower? Remember our promise?”

You sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I passed out last night. But hey, I technically finished it before you came, didn’t I?”

He craned his head from side to side in thought. “Maybe. But if you hadn’t, you know what that means.” Ivan coiled his arms around your neck and a sickeningly sweet smile curled up at his lips.

“You will come with me to Moscow for Christmas!”

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. Going to Russia was bad enough. But during Winter? You were never good with the cold. If you could barely handle London, Moscow was out of the question. “Oh God, please no.” He nodded giddily. “I’m never going to Russia. Maybe I’d consider it during Summer, but--anyway, that’s not the point here! I didn’t break any promises so I won’t be turning into a popsicle this year. Got that?”

He pouted. “Aw...”

“You damn sadist.”

“Hehe.”

“I wonder how you even became friends with him. Arthur, was it? Poor dude.” You mumbled, but he didn’t look all too offended.

He tapped his chin and hummed. “Now that you mention it.” Then, he let out a short laugh. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say it was a happy little accident.”

“Unfortunate.”

“But don’t worry! I don’t plan on bothering you as much as him today.” Ivan clarified, earning a slow nod from you. Phew. The clock was inching closer to eight and you weren’t much of a morning person, so hearing that was like music to your ears. “That’s why I wanted you to finish your work yesterday. I want him to be the only one making mistakes! It’s interesting to see him mess up and get embarrassed.”

You had to wonder if he was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for fun because he was clapping. “... Ivan, you really are a sadist.”

The two of you stayed in that café for another hour or so, ordering some breakfast during your stay. Once the table was cleared and the bill was paid, you and he caught a bus to the London eye. You could marvel at the iconic ferris wheel for a few minutes as you walked up to the London aquarium next to it, your first stop. The building was huge to start with, and it didn’t look like they’d be storing fish in there considering how fancy it was. But wasn’t everything in England fancy?

“He should be waiting in the front. Look for a short grouchy man with a bad taste in fashion.” You shot him a weird look, beckoning him to elaborate.

“... And blonde hair.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll try my best.” Glancing around the sea of people filled with tourists, couples, and families, you skimmed the crowd for someone who fitted the description--but to no avail. It was only when they walked up to you both did you find the guy. He had short and choppy blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face, and under his fringe was a pair of lime green eyes staring on with a neutral expression. And did Ivan say he had bad taste?

You couldn’t agree. Yes, his charcoal pants were ripped and he had a bandana tied around his neck with a Union Jack on it. But he still had a kind of style you liked. Under his black leather jacket was a gray shirt, and combined with the piercings in his right ear, you couldn’t help admiring him for a second.

“Arthur! I was wondering if you were trampled because we couldn’t find you.” Ivan began, causing the said man to furrow his brows. And boy, were they thick.

“You just arrived, so don’t start now you twat.” He grumbled. Ivan never teased you for your height, even when you were a little shorter than the Brit. He always found it cute, but you figured it was only because you didn’t care. The Russian always found amusement in poking fun at others, after all. “Anywho, I’m glad I won’t be spending the whole day alone with you.”

Turning to you with a soft smile this time, he held out a hand for you to shake. “Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.”

You shook it, but not without a laugh. It hadn’t even been a minute since meeting him, and his personality seemed to clash violently with his appearance. He sounded so prim and proper, but his outfit screamed punk rock.

“(L/N). (F/N) (L/N).”

He released you from his grip. Placing his hands on his hips with an accusing stare, he felt a grin upturn his lips. “Are you copying me, (F/N)?”

“I don’t know. Do all British people introduce themselves like James Bond?”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “... Not all of them. Just a force of habit.”

“Mhm. Right, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m a student here too and I could only imagine how busy it gets for you--so thanks for coming out today!” He didn’t respond to those comments and simply nodded.

Ivan stayed quiet in the back, but he was probably reading the atmosphere like he always did when he didn’t speak.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde turned on his heel and closed his eyes. “As much as I’d like to stay out here and chat, we can do that in the aquarium. Wouldn’t wanna waste our tickets, do we?”

While the group of three wandered slowly through the establishment, Ivan lingered in the background while you walked in the front with the Brit. For the first ten minutes, you’d look at him expectantly, gesturing for him to join in the conversation. As the mutual, wasn’t he supposed to be the icebreaker? He’d shake his head every time, offering you a smile as if to say, go and make some friends. But soon, this brief spell of irritation morphed into gratitude.

“I’ve been here probably a hundred times, so don’t take it personally when I don’t seem as excited as you.” Turning to him to watch his face as he spoke--which was filtered through a bluish tinge from the Antarctic setting-- you only caught a brief glimpse of it before he turned away. Huh. Maybe it was just you not paying enough attention.

Either way, what came out of your mouth next would surely grab his.

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, this is the first time you’ve been here with me, so look alive, won’t you?” It happened to be a slip of the tongue, something bold and improvised, but luckily, he reacted fairly quickly before the regret set in.

“Oi, you better not be flirting with me already,” Arthur grumbled, feeling another smile come as he heard you chuckle. Since when was he this expressive? He pinned it on the fact that he was starting to have a little fun himself.

“Couldn’t imagine it.” Before he could add anything else, you hopped in front of the penguins and started waving your friend over with great gusto. “Ivan, c’mere. Arthur, mind taking a photo of us?” Once he joined your side, the two of you held up peace signs for the Brit to snap a photo.

“Ivan, change your pose. We can’t have both of you doing the same thing.”

The said man moved his peace sign to the back of your head so he could stick two fingers over it. “Is that better?”

“... Better.” Trailing his emerald eyes to you, he felt his cheeks heat up a touch at the sight of you grinning ear to ear. What the fuck, Arthur. Just take the damn photo. And that was exactly what he did, showing you both right after. Whatever just happened, he boiled it down to him idealizing a stranger. That was right. He had yet to get to know you, so his perception of you couldn’t be any better at this stage.

But there was one thing he couldn’t deny.

“Damn, I look really ugly in this. You two better not post this anywhere.” You settled a hand over the screen to lower it with a nervous laugh. Then, you looked away, and what was that? You looked a little flustered.

You were cute.

Hanging his head to look at the photo, he knitted his brows together. You? Ugly? He couldn’t imagine it.

“... I bet I could take an even uglier one of you.”

Spinning back to him, you folded your arms. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly, and the amusement in his voice made it blatantly obvious he was lying.

“That’s what I thought.”

Walking off at that, Ivan followed. Because he was behind him, he could brush his shoulders against his. Arthur looked up at that, but almost wished he didn’t. Ivan was smiling down at him so shrewdly, it was threatening. Then, he raised a hand to his mouth so he could laugh softly. “Huhu. You like (F/N)~”

His eyes flew open and blood rushed up to his face. “What the hell gave you that impression? I literally just met them!” As adamant as he sounded, he knew deep inside he liked you, but only platonically. Your personality was refreshing, and talking to you was as easy as breathing. Even if it wasn’t platonic attraction, he was endlessly frustrated the other figured it out earlier than he could.

Whatever it was, he was certainly more sociable than usual, even to the point of being a tease. And not to mention the rosy cheeks. Maybe he should’ve just kept his trap shut--otherwise, his huge outburst let Ivan milk the obvious. Fuck. He even started to giggle like a schoolchild.

Giving him a rough shove, he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “I bloody hate your arse, you know that?” He hissed, his face now redder than a tomato. God, why he did have to be born so pale? Every slight change to his complexion was jarring, and it was embarrassing.

“Don’t hate me because I’m right,” Ivan hummed, joining his side as your back came into view. “Once you realize, it’ll be too late. I’m not letting you have (F/N). I will always be (F/N)’s number one.” Lighting up at that, he skipped off to you in the front. “Wait for me, sunflower! Don’t leave me alone with Arthur!”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. How annoying. If he was going to continue being a little tyke, then he figured he’d up his game as well. He didn’t know what that exactly entailed yet, but he’d do it. Ivan didn’t even sound like he wanted anything more than friendship, so what was with that? Pointing a finger at him as he walked off with you, his face scrunched up.

“What did you even call me out for then, you idiot? I’m supposed to be guiding you both!” Picking up his pace at that, he slotted himself between you and him. Flashing you a brief smile, he gave Ivan another push without breaking eye contact. “It’s a tight fit for three, so he’ll stay in the back.”

“Hey, no fair!”

By the time the whole aquarium was toured, you and Arthur were laughing to yourselves while leaving through the exit.

But the joyful atmosphere was short-lived.

The Ferris wheel just outside was the next stop, and the Brit offered to splurge a little to have a carriage without strangers. That way, you could run around as much as you wanted, even if that meant leaving the two men to sit in their lonesome. While Ivan was sitting on the bench in the centre out of his own volition, the same couldn’t be said for him.

Sitting back to back to the other, he pressed his legs firmly together and leaned over in a hunch. Then, he dug his hands through his hair, all while keeping his round eyes fixated on the ground. His heart couldn’t stop pounding, and his head was spinning like a carousel. What was he thinking, taking you here? That was right. This was an iconic destination you couldn’t miss, that was why. He was initially planning on staying back there on the ground, but you were so excited, he couldn’t help but hop on with you.

Fuck. Maybe Ivan was right about him. But he wouldn’t let him know it. Speaking of the guy, he didn’t know if he was sitting there by choice, or just rubbing it in. While he was incapacitated by fear so he couldn’t even stand, he was sitting there because he wanted to.

“You should’ve stayed on the ground if this was going to happen.”

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around his stomach. “... Shut up.”

“I was just saying.” Ivan murmured, looking at him over his shoulder. Poor guy. He really was down bad, wasn’t he? Down bad for you, that was. Too bad Arthur was hoping he wasn’t convinced--but it was too obvious. So all Ivan wanted was to prove his point, and later on, keep you away from him. But maybe he’d save it until after the ride was over. “... This ride is thirty minutes long. You’ll live.”

He heard the other groan. “Thirty minutes? How long has it been?”

“Mm... Ten.”

“Fuck me.”

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before you would pull away from the railing and return to the company of the two. Arthur had been praying that somehow, you’d leave him alone sitting there, pathetically, but he couldn’t expect something so cold from you. So while he hung his head, he wasn’t surprised to feel your hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” He heard you ask, but he never looked up.

“... Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

“I have. Ten, actually.” Taking a seat beside him, you leaned down to peer at his face, which was a few shades paler than normal. He didn’t even have the energy to respond, and kept his eyes fixed to the ground. Concern immediately contorted at your features, especially when he looked so shaken. “Arthur, you look a little sick. What’s wrong? Can you talk?”

He shook his head slowly before managing a weak smile at you. “Sorry, love.” It didn’t even faze him he just called you that. He was far too uncomfortable to feel the embarrassment from a nickname he should’ve saved until a little later.

“I’m not... Too good with heights. Never have been... I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” His voice was slow and faint, and you were beginning to suspect he was having a panic attack. “... Sorry if I seem a little lame.”

“No, of course not.” You frowned. “Things like this happen. Just breathe with me, okay? You can do it. Just count to ten.”

Arthur took a deep inhale. “... Okay.”

Around ten minutes later of these exchanges, he calmed down some, especially when you kept on reminding him that the carriage was finally descending. Once the ride was over, you had to help him up and walk him out. Now that he had his two feet planted firmly on the ground, it didn’t take long for him to recover. Even then, you remained rather cautious and stuck with him on your journey to Soho. By the time everyone took their seats in Circolo Popolare, a beautiful Italian restaurant Arthur so kindly booked, you were still looking out for him.

Leaning over to rest your head on the table, you glanced up at his face with a soft smile. “... You okay now?”

A light blush dusted his cheeks and he nodded. You didn’t need to be this observant with him considering he was well now, but he loved your attentiveness. It wasn’t something he was used to. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Thank you. Now quit worrying about me, alright?” Rubbing the nape of his neck at that, you couldn’t help lingering on his body language for a moment.

It didn’t matter what he dressed like, or what his personality was. He could be endearing when it came to it, and a total softie too. And the thought made you smile even wider. If he thought you were cute, then you thought he was adorable. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” You slowly turned to Ivan, the action making Arthur tense up a little.

Reaching out to your hand, he took it. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The feeling of his warm fingers around yours made your heart skip a beat. Did he just? Your thoughts manifested into your look of shock, and you darted your eyes over his neutral expression to try and decipher it. Before you could come up with anything, there was a phone in your face, followed by a flash.

“Wha--?”

He turned the screen to you to reveal a photo of you, and in your opinion, it was the least flattering picture anybody had ever taken of you. “I said I’d take an uglier photo of you, didn’t I?” Arthur grinned, the words acting like a cold splash of water to bring you back to reality.

“... You sneaky little shit.” You growled. “Delete that right now!”

“How about no?”

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Arthur.”

“I think you already have, love. You’re smiling right now.”

You stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds. Then, out of nowhere, you reached out to snatch his phone right out of his hands. Tapping furiously on the screen to get rid of it, you heard his chair scrape back violently as he tried to retrieve it. “Why, you--”

But it was too late. Gone forever. Lost in the abyss of cyberspace. And so, he immediately channelled his frustration by jabbing his fingers into your sides. “If I can’t have that photo of you, at least let me do this!” You burst into a fit of laughter so loud, nearby patrons turned their heads. Only then did he pull away, leaving you to recover through breathless wheezing.

“Fuck you, Arthur.” You whispered, but it was on an affectionate note more than anything. As you glowered at him from your seat, you never noticed Ivan doing the same thing, but he was glaring at the Brit for an entirely different reason. Arthur had to be the most self-aware person out there, and to make a scene in a restaurant like this? He really fell for you, didn’t he?

When he realized Ivan’s scorching gaze burning into him, he froze.

Not just out of how intimidated he was, but the epiphany that he was right all along. Why else was he acting so out of character? The only explanation was this--in the short time of being with you, he may or may not have developed a little crush. But that was no problem, right?

All he needed to do was to ask you out.

But that would prove a task easier said than done, especially when Ivan decided to attach himself to you by the hip after that stunt. That cunning bastard knew what he was doing. After a little window shopping around Bond street and Mayfair, he stuck to you like a tattoo, and kept it up until night fell. While the group walked around Camden, Ivan kept you by his side with a firm grip on your hand.

When you asked why he was suddenly so clingy, he simply justified it with, “It’s dangerous for small people like you to wander around at night!”

But Arthur called bullshit. Especially when the other went ahead and smirked at him right after saying it. Maybe he liked you too, but was refusing to admit it. How hypocritical. If not, then he probably didn’t want you making friends when you were the only friend he had. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to back down so easily. Camden may be the last destination for the night, and perhaps, the last time he’d see you again for God knows how long, but it was his trump card.

If this didn’t sweep you off your feet enough to get you to pull away from Ivan, nothing would.

As a town famous for its thriving nightlife and punk culture, it encompassed everything he was passionate about, and he’d give anything to show it to you. So he included a visit to the bar here on the agenda today, one that hosted live music. While you and Ivan got comfortable in your seats, Arthur never made a move to sit down.

It was already dim inside, so you never noticed him leave. The next time you saw him, it was a few minutes later when he was on stage with a few other musicians. Leaning forward with surprise, you watched him strap on a bright red electric guitar. Walking up to the microphone, he adjusted that. No way.

You were still trying to process him being a professional performer, but a lead singer as well?

The second he strummed the strings to start a guitar riff, he opened his mouth to start singing.

Play this while you read

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Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time

And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach

His fingers never stopped moving as he belted out note after note. His voice was so different to how he talked, you had to do a double take. He sounded a little more rasp, a little more punk. To say you were impressed was an understatement.

Now dance, fucker, dance, man, he never had a chance

And no one even knew it was really only you

While he jammed out on stage, he was electric. The energy in the bar exploded, and he had everyone singing along. You could almost see the confidence in him shoot up from the excitable crowd, because he was smirking.

Nice work, you did.

You’re gonna go far, kid!

Turning his head to you as he sung that line, you raised a hand to your mouth. Whether he did that on purpose or not was a mystery. But no words could describe how attractive it was. Hell, it even made you mind blank for a few moments. This was Arthur? He was like an entirely different person! Needless to say, you were completely star struck.

You couldn’t even make out what Ivan was telling you when the music was blaring in your ears. But you didn’t care. Arthur had you caught in a trance with his voice and guitar all until the end. When the song finally ended, the band bowed graciously and threw up hand signs as the audience erupted in applause and cheers.

When he stepped off the stage, you didn’t hesitate to run up to him. There, you practically pounced on him for a tight embrace. “Oh my god, you were amazing! I didn’t know you could play so well! And sing, too! Why didn’t you tell me!?” You exasperated, pulling away to be met with his dazzling smile. It was the first time you’ve seen him so energetic, as if performing sparked a fire inside him that burned with youthful intensity.

“I was dying to show you all day. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I had to save the best til’ last, didn’t I?” He grinned, feeling his heart swell up with warmth as he watched you light up.

“Well, good on you! I loved it!” Squeezing him again, you felt his chest shake under his laughs. When you pulled away, you reached up to cup his face. But it felt so natural in the spur of the moment, even he didn’t seem to care.

“Thanks again for today, Arthur. I really appreciate you taking us out today. You completely blew me away.”

The way how you phrased it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. That was right. He still had to ask you out. And with Ivan watching on from afar, this was his chance. The thought reddened his cheeks, but while you had his face in your hands, he couldn’t feel more comfortable. “Is that so? If that’s the case, how about I take you out again?” His expression grew serious. “A proper date, I mean.”

It was your turn to blush, but you managed a quick answer.

“No need to look so serious, love. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.”

He chuckled and leaned in to peck your lips. “Stealing my vocabulary now, are we?”

“Stealing kisses now, are we?”

“Touché.”

Now a third wheel of the group, he breathed out a soft sigh and rested his cheek on his hand. “I guess my job here is done.” It didn’t really look like it, but he had been trying to play the wingman all along. Arthur was always one to go a little crazy when he wanted something, and only more so when he was desperate. So all he gave him was a little push in the right direction.

Maybe he would thank him later, but for now, he’d leave you two be.

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #aph #aph england #england x reader #aph england x reader #arthur kirkland #request #oneshot #hetalia x reader #Axis Powers Hetalia #Axis powers ヘタリア #alfredosauce50 #hetalia fanfic #ivan braginsky #aph russia #aph russia x reader #reader insert #x reader

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moss-loves-the-bad-kids · 3 years

Text

For a person who has only witnessed death firsthand a couple of times, I sure do think about it a lot. Therefore, I’ve been considering things like graves and memorials as they relate to characters and stories! Specifically, Alistair Ash.

Cw for general talk of death, and also mentions of episode 6 events.

(Also I know it doesn’t make sense because he comes back in pirol but in this writing Alistair is a ghost here in the material plane)

• • •

The first time Alistair tried to visit his grave, he wasn’t expecting much.

What he got was nothing. Not a note, not a stone, not some graffiti of his name scratched into the boards. Not even a pebble to mark what had happened here.

Of course he wouldn’t have received a memorial. He was a lowly street urchin with no friends or family to speak of on a pirate island, not people typically known for their selfless acts. Not people who build grand memorials to strangers. Even so, he had hoped for more than this. More than a time-darkened blood spot on the piss-stained boards at Crow’s Keep.

He just sat there, crying for hours. A lonely, wailing ghost. He did not return for a year.

• • •

The second time Alistair tried to visit his grave, he already knew what to expect.

He sat on the ground in the crisp night air. Running his fingertips over the stained spots, he kept a tight leash on his mind. No sense allowing it to wander back to that night.

“Why are ye here?”

Alistair whipped his head around, turning to face the spectral figure seated on a barrel behind him. He was a Tabaxi pirate, quite tall, with an intricate and delicately woven headscarf obscuring all but his eyes. Alistair recognized him as another from the Cult of Old Bill.

“What… what do you mean?”

The pirate, Shotgun, crossed his legs and leaned back against the manor house. “I mean what I said, lad. Why are ye here?” His voice was soft and rough, years of shouting orders at an unruly crew peeking out from behind the soft tone one uses when speaking to a child. It was soothing.

Alistair shook his head, earrings jingling quietly. “I- I dunno what you’re sayin’, why wouldn’t I be here?”

Shotgun stretched his arms above his head, eyes shut tightly as his body shimmered and thinned, threatening to come apart at any second. The sword. Shotgun was torn apart by the sword. Alistair shuddered.

“Because yer grave is not present anymore.”

A chill went down Alistair’s spine. “I- huh? ‘Anymore’? I don’t… I didn’t think…”

“Ye did not have a proper grave here, aye. Even so, this is not yer place anymore. I can feel as much.”

“Then… where am I s’posed to be?”

Shotgun sat forward, uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes looked gentle, gazing down at someone harmed so young.

“I cannot answer where ye should be, but I trust that ye could, should ye try.”

Alistair thought about it, closing his eyes and trying to feel a pull. Any direction would do, just something to bring him away. An icy cold seeped into his core as he searched, feeling his temporary form shiver with the effort. He reached out, past the decks of Crow’s Keep, down into the city, and further across the ocean. He turned to Fallinel, the Nightmare King’s Forest, Frosthiem… when he reached Solace, he felt it. A gentle tug in his chest.

He opened his eyes to say as such to Shotgun, but he was gone. Alistair glanced around quickly, then closed his eyes and reached back to that tug.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a wide hallway.

The walls were pale and adorned with elegant wallpaper, reaching 12 feet high. Intricate nautical sconces lead down the hall, casting gold lamplight across the plaster walls and mahogany floorboards. Beautiful arched doorways carved of dark wood set in the walls, no doubt leading to more glamorous rooms. The casual decadence rivaled that of the Gold Gardens. Alistair turned to take it in, and as he did so, something behind him drew his eye.

There, set within the plaster, was a round little alcove. There weren’t any on the opposite wall, but here, the recess held a small shelf, a scattering of candles, and a dish overflowing with gold coins.

Atop the shelf was a small framed sketch of his face.

Little rings and trinkets crafted of gold wire surrounded it.

A strip of red cedar below it bore gilded letters, forming his name.

Alistair Ash.

Before he could think, before he could process the reality of the shelf in front of him, he heard voices from around a corner.

Turning to look just as footsteps rounded the bend, Alistair Ash came face to face with Fabian Seacaster.

He was walking next to Riz, hands in his pockets and a smile across his face. Alistair didn’t catch all of what they were talking about, but it sounded comfortable, casual. No talk of adventures or clues. Fabian looked at Riz, looked at the hall ahead of them… looked at Alistair.

Alistair froze.

Without missing a beat, Fabian rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a coin, and said, “Catch.” He flipped it into the air at Alistair, who reached out a palm, dumbfounded.

The coin sailed through him and into the dish at his back.

As Fabian and Riz kept walking, Alistair turned again. He looked at the pile of coins filling the dish, overflowing into the alcove. That was… practiced. Fabian had done that before. Maybe a hundred times.

A door opened behind him but Alistair didn’t turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the portrait sketch of himself. It wasn’t quite there, but it was him. Signed in the bottom corner by Kristen Applebees. Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest shook. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t steady him. A sob choked in his throat.

The two voices faded as the door shut, and Alistair was once again alone. But he wasn’t alone, was he? They had made a memorial to him. Without even knowing him, they set up a shelf in his memory.

It was everything he could have hoped for.

#sometimes I think about things #I know I’m not the greatest writer but I’ve been thinking about him a lot and I don’t know how else to get it out #fantasy high #alistair ash #death tw #death cw #my wriring #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #no proofreading we die like Gilear

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marvelettesassemble · 4 years

Text

Choices (Fred x F Reader)

Summary: You arrived with Charlie at the battle of Hogwarts just to witness Fred being crushed by the wall. You helped him while Charlie is searching for your sister Nymphodora Tonks, just to tell you that she didn’t make it. So it was your choice: staying in Britain and helping raise your sisters kid or going back to Romania to follow your dream.

Warnings: Battle of Hogwarts, death (but Fred lives)

Word Count: ~ 4.100

A/N: This was supposed to be something completly different, but I kind of like the ending. And somehow this is the first time that I’m anxious to post something since I started writing again. So I hope you enjoy!

It had taken a while for you to arrive at Hogwarts. You had to take a detour, but you had finally managed it. You were travelling with Charlie Weasley – a friend you had made at the Dragon reservoir in Romania. When you got the message that the battle was starting NOW and your sister would participate you quickly walked to Charlie. You had talked about it before, but you hadn’t realized that you would have to leave so soon.

„Charlie, is that your family?“ you asked when you saw three people who had the same hair colour as him.

„Yeah, the twins and Percy,“ he said with relieve in his voice and started to make his way over.

You followed him and before you could reach them a curse hit the wall behind them. Charlie and you sent both a stupor in the direction of the attacker.

„Fred,“ you heard the brother with glasses scream. He was busy shoving the brick pieces away.

„Can you do something?“ Charlie asked you when you arrived and you kneeled next to the person on the floor, who seemed to be Fred. The pulse was there – barely, but it was there.

„I can’t promise anything. He’s no dragon. And I need to do it now, we can’t move him. I need protection,“ you said.

„Please try,“ another voice said and belonged to someone who looked exactly like the person in front of you.

„Okay, I put both of our lives into your hands.“

„Do you know where Mum and Dad are? Ginny? Ron? Bill?“ Charlie asked, but didn’t get the answer he hoped for. „I’ll search for them. I’ll look out for Tonks too,“ he squeezed your shoulders saying his thanks and telling you silently he’d look out for your sister just like you did for his brother.

„Can you help me to remove the last stones?“ you asked and Percy helped you while George stood guard and then you zooned out. You had managed to come up with a new technique for dragons who had problems with breathing when they came into the world. In the reservoir you tried to protect the species who were a dying breed. So you tried to do everything that there would be more of them and you had to get creative.

You had managed to get into the system of the dragons, feeling for the organs and trying to form them to make living for the dragons easier. So it was no lie when you told Charlie that were worried because his brother was no dragon. His body was different, but you hoped it wouldn’t matter. You sat down next to Fred, put your hands on his chest and let your mind wander.

You started with his lungs, which were the first target as the bricks had fallen down his torso. When you managed to form them again you moved to the airways. It was difficult and strength-draining. You couldn’t rush in fear that his body wouldn’t mend or wouldn’t accept the sudden change.

„We can move him now, but I’m not done. I’d rather one of you would levitate him and I’d do the protecting, my stunning spells are rather powerful.“ They agreed and told you that you’d move to the great hall. It has been some time since you’ve been in Hogwarts so George led the way.

It did take a while for you to arrive but you figured it would still be better healing one twin there than in an open hallway where you were an easy target.

„Have you seen my sister? Tonks?“ You asked when you arrived at the Great Hall.

„Haven’t seen her or Remus for awhile,“ George said. You nodded and looked to the right, where a young boy was laying motionless on the floor. He was really young and your stomach turned. You quickly looked away, you needed to focus on Fred. When Percy laid him down on the floor as you asked him to, you took your seat next to him again and turned everything else out.

It took long. Charlie was a really good friend of you. You met in Hogwarts and when you heard how much he loved it in Romania you decided you wanted to go there too. And so you started a friendship there and you didn’t want to tell him, that you tried but failed to heal his brother or that he’d suffer because you hadn’t given it all.

Suddenly you felt something flicker under your hands. Surprised you took your hands back afraid you’d done some damage. But then you realised that Fred had opened his eyes.

„How are you feeling?“ someone asked him. You quickly looked around you and noticed a lot of red heads around you.

„Like I’ve been hit by a wall,“ a dry voice replied and after a second in silence the first one began to chuckle.

„Do you have trouble breathing?“ you asked and felt relieve when he said he didn’t. You quickly learned that the battle was already over and that you’ve won.

„Where is Tonks?“ you asked and stood up, but the healing took a lot of your strength and your legs were stiff from sitting so long. Strong arms steadied you, arms which bore a lot of scars and burns just like yours. „Charlie, where is my sister?“ you asked again.

„I’m so sorry,“ he said. When you had thought about the battle you hadn’t thought one second that your sister wouldn’t make it. Not once! Because your sister was a fighter and a damn good auror.

„Her husband?“ you asked and he shook his head.

„Your family?“ was your next question.

„They’re all okay. Harry and Hermione also,“ his familiar voice answered.

„Okay, that’s great,“ you said with a monotonous voice. You were really glad but you felt kind of numb, because all you could think about was that your nephew didn’t have his parents anymore. How could you tell your parents, that your sister wasn’t there anymore? You asked if you could see them and Charlie pointed to the place where two people lay holding hands.

You didn’t recognise your sister immediately. When you thought about her there was always a great energy surrounding her, her hair a bubbly colour and a smile on her face. The person in front of you didn’t look like that at all. And so it took a while before you broke down and took her hand into yours.

„You were her sister, right?“ someone asked behind you. You nodded.

„You’re Harry,“ you said when you looked at him. „You’re the godfather of Teddy.“ It was his turn to nod. He sat down next to you without saying anything. You suddenly felt the need to hug him. When you told him that you wanted to, he let you and put his hands behind your back.

And suddenly you felt so tired you couldn’t even form a word. Exhaustion took over your body and you didn’t notice the panic you caused Harry when you fell limp in your arm.

You woke up when you felt someone poking your side. You slowly opened your eyes. „Charlie?“ you asked when you just saw some red hair.

„No, its George.“ You opened and closed your eyes until everything focused. „I’m really sorry, but Fred has trouble with breathing. Can you take a look at him?“

You nodded, feeling a headache and your eyes felt swollen. „Where am I?“ you asked when you took in your surroundings.

„You’re at the burrow, our home. You passed out, so we took you home with us. Most of us camped in the living room, but we gave you Charlie and Bills old room. Can you come downstairs with me, please?"

"Sure, I’m sorry. I’m not a morning person, I need my time after waking up.“

„Technically its still night,“ he said sheepishly.

„Lead the way,“ you said when you finally stood in the room. You followed George steps after steps until you reached a room crowded with people. Mattresses were all over the floor and people were sitting by each other.

They made room for you so you could sit down next to Fred. „Charlie, can you get me some water?“ you asked when you noticed him near you. You introduced yourself to Fred and asked him where it hurt.

„It’s not really hurting it’s just difficult to breathe. I would have let you sleep, but the all keep fussing around me.“ He admitted.

„Okay, I’m going to put my hands on your chest and then I want you to breath slowly in and out, so I can take a look what’s wrong. If there is something wrong or when you feel pain I need you to grab my hand or arm, I won’t hear anything, okay?“

„If this was just an excuse to touch me..“, he started and you chuckled. You thanked Charlie for the water when he handed you a glass and get back to work.

You closed your eyes and concentrated on the body in front of you. You quickly found what caused the trouble. A dent in the air way made it difficult for him and you formed it back the way it used to be.

„Is everything okay so far?“ you asked when you didn’t notice anything else.

„Yes, thank you,“ Fred smiled at you.

„I need to go to Mum and Dad,“ you said then, but Charlies hand stopped you.

„You need to eat something first, you’re exhausted. You won’t make it. We already messaged your parents. Come eat something and I’ll bring you there.“

And so it came that you sat in the Weasley kitchen with Harry next to you, Ginny on his other side and Charlie next to you with Mrs. Weasley in front of you. You supposed the food was good, but you didn’t really taste anything. You were anxious to get home to your parents and Teddy. So you left pretty quickly and you promised to see Harry the next day with Teddy.

You had decided to stay in Britain and to give up your job in Romania. It broke your heart a bit to leave that behind, but it would have broken your heart more when you would have left your family and Teddy.

Your Mum wasn’t the youngest anymore, more a grandma than a mother and you weren’t ready to take care of a baby on your own. This wasn’t what you had imagined your life. And Harry needed to get his life together first and start to think about what he’d want.

Currently Teddy stayed with you in your apartment and you were at a loss. When Tonks had written to you that she was expecting, you thought it was kind of funny to send a little plush wolf. What you didn’t expect was that Teddy would become obsessed with it. And now you had lost it and the baby wouldn’t stop crying. You rocked him in your arm while searching for the plushie.

A loud noise was heard behind you and you turned around to see Fred in your apartment. The baby in your arms was still crying and you must have looked helpless as Fred walked directly towards you and took the baby out of your arms. Immediately the crying stopped.

“How did you do that?” you asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the habit.” he shrugged.

“Do you have kids?”

He laughed. “No, but many siblings.” He cooed at the baby and when you looked past him you saw the wolf right before your couch. You quickly grabbed it and pushed it into Teddys hands who giggled happily. “You missed our meeting, so I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m sorry. We fell asleep and then he was crying and crying and he threw up and I’m still full of vomit I realise now.” You picked at your shirt. “Could you maybe watch him for me? I’ll be quick with a shower?”

He laughed and told you that it would be fine and you could take your time. You really enjoyed your shower, but you went still quickly to your room to change. You walked back to the living room and smiled when you saw Fred who was playing with Teddy. You grabbed the bag you had already packed.

“Okay, we can go, but I’m afraid we have to use the floo powder. I learned the hard way that Teddy doesn’t like to apparate.”

When you arrived at the burrow Mrs. Weasley welcomed you. “We were afraid something had happened, dear,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but Teddy was fussing and throwing up.” She patted your arm in understanding.

“We still have some time before we’ll eat. You want to check up on Fred first?” she offered. She took Teddy in her arms and you walked with Fred to his old room.

“So, any complains?” you asked and went to work. You didn’t really need to blend everything out it was just formal for you to check him over.

“Just one,” he admitted. “With my heart.”

“What?” you asked shocked and moved your hands towards the place where his heart laid.

“Yeah, it’s beating awfully fast whenever you’re near me,” he smirked at you.

“Fred Weasley, I can’t believe you. I was really worried I messed something up.” You crossed your arms and left the room.

“Everything okay?” George asked when he saw you storming into the kitchen.

“Your brother is an insufferable flirt who doesn’t seem to understand when he needs to be serious.”

“That means at least he’s himself,” George smiled at you. You walked over to Harry who had Teddy in his arms.

“I have to show you something,” you smiled at the younger boy who you’d spend much time with as he wanted to see Teddy often. You grabbed the little picture book out of your bag. “Hey Teddy, you see the elephant?” You asked and pointed at the picture of the grey animal. “He has a cute little trunk, hasn’t he?” His little hands grabbed at the book and when his finger touched the picture and followed the outline of the trunk his nose started to form and he soon had a little trunk himself.

Harry and George laughed and Teddy was glad someone was laughing and let out little hooting noises which made the other ones laugh louder. Although this wasn’t what you had wanted in life you weren’t sad. Although you couldn’t take care of the dragons anymore you were taking care of another human being and you had help from a lot of wonderful people.

Charlie sends you letters with pictures of the dragons, telling you how they were doing and in return you sent him pictures of Teddy. And Charlie was surprised that in almost every photo was a Weasley or Harry.

You were invited to the reopening of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes and your mum insisted that Teddy stayed with her and you made yourself a nice day. While others couldn’t wait for the shop to open up again you were curious what it looked like as you’ve never visited it.

You had to admit that you were surprised how many people were in front and obvious in the shop. So you decided you’d wait a little bit before you’d visit the twins. After eating ice cream you finally entered the shop and lost your voice for a moment. There was so much going on that you couldn’t decided where to look first.

“Hey do you know how much the Puking Pastilles are?” A young guy asked you and hold up one in his hands. Just behind him there was the price written so you answered him and he walked happily away.

“Already helping, love?” a voice you had heard quiet often asked. “Come, I want to show you something.” He grabbed your arm before you could do anything against it. “They are brand new, I hope you like them.”

He stopped in front of a cage and you had to look twice to make sure your eye wasn’t playing tricks on you. “Are these dragons?” Your voice was getting higher near the end of the sentence.

“Yes, it took a while. Here, hold one,” he opened the cage and quickly grabbed one of the three little dragons and placed it into your hand.

“Is this an Antipodean Opaleye?” you starred fascinated at the miniature dragon in your hand.

“They are your favourite, right?” Fred asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed. And then you realized that you had a dragon in your hand. “Why am I holding a dragon, Fred? They need special care,” you wanted to say more, but he interrupted you.

“Calm down, these aren’t real dragons. They just look like them. Imagine them as puppets who move around. They don’t need food or anything. We invented them and I promise you there were no dragons harmed.”

You calmed down a bit and watched as the dragon started to walk on your arm. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours.”

You wanted to protest, but then George appeared at your side. “Just take it, we want you to have it. You don’t want to waste Fred’s work, right? He lost a few nights sleep over this.”

“At least let me pay for it,” you said and took the dragon in your hand again.

“No way, see it as some payback for giving me back my brother. I couldn’t even imagine how I should have done all the work without him.” George said and gave you a half hug before he disappeared to help some customers.

“You’re already doing so much. All the meals at the burrow and the meals Molly gives me for home, you looking after Teddy.”

“We want to, just accept it,” Fred hugged you shortly.

“I’m going to take a look around. But I’m going to pay for whatever I want to take with me.” you smiled at him.

“Call if you need help,” Fred winked and disappeared also.

-x-

Teddys first words were spoken on his first birthday. You were celebrating with your parents and the Weasleys at the burrow as it provided the most space. He was currently in Harrys lap who told you all about his training as an auror. You almost felt like old times when your sister told you she started her training.

Teddy wanted attention, but Harry didn’t notice it at first. “Mum!” Silence filled the room. And then Teddy began to cry. “Mum,” he cried again. You were shocked and not quite sure, if he meant you or your mother Andromeda. When Teddy cried harder and put his hands toward you and you still didn’t move – because you were not his mother, his mother was your sister, who was dead and how were you supposed to tell this little kid this? – Fred put his hand on your shoulder.

“He wants you, love,” his suddenly soft voice was in your ear.

“I’m not his mother,” you said slowly and quietly.

“How is he supposed to know that? You’re by his side almost all the time,” you mum said. And Harry was standing in front of you holding the crying baby so you could take him if you’d reach out.

When you finally did and Teddy was secured in your arms, he slowly stopped crying. He put his hands up to your face and pulled at your lip while he giggled and the word ‘Mum’ left his mouth multiple times. Tears gathered in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. Freds hand was still on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles onto your skin. Harry was looking at you, as were the rest.

“We’ll explain that he has two mothers in time.” Your mom offered and then you started crying. You pressed the little body into you and started crying. Teddy started crying again and your mother took him from you.

“I’m so mad at Tonks. Why did she walk into the battle and left us with this mess. How are we supposed to tell this little innocent human that his mother isn’t with us anymore? How are we going to explain this mess? That he thinks his aunt is his mother? That his godfather is barely legal himself? That I’m a horrible person because I’m mad at my dead sister because I had to leave my dream behind? I don’t know what to do with myself. I never wanted this, but I wouldn’t treat him for the world. He’s everything to me and I’d protect him always.”

“Don’t you think Tonks and Lupin would be glad that you’re taking such good care of him that he thinks of you as his mother? We’ll figure something out. Maybe you can help out in the shop for a few hours if that’s what you want,” Fred offered.

“No one is angry at you. We’re all adapting and it’s obvious that Teddy needs you. I think you need him too,” Harry offered you his arms.

“What are you doing Friday night?” Fred asked on one of his many visits.

“The usual?” you said while you put away the dishes from dinner while Fred wiped the table clean.

“Lets go out. I know for a fact that you used to visit the pub in Romania frequently,” he said. “We can ask the others or it could be just the two of us, whatever you prefer,” he said almost sheepishly.

“Thats because there was nothing to do there BUT to go to the pub. We were in the middle of nowhere. And if I didn’t know you better, I would say you were too afraid to ask me out on a date,” you laughed not really thinking what you had said out loud.

“What if I was?” he asked and stopped with the cloth in his hand.

“Yeah, right,” you were still smiling until you turned around and looked at his face and were surprised to see that he wasn’t joking. “Are you serious? Fred, I know you did all the things because I kind of saved your life, but I want you to know that you owe me nothing. I’m glad and I appreciate everything you and your family have done for me, but you don’t need to.”

You already felt like a burden.

“We do this because we want to. I’m here all the time because I like to spend time with you. I want to take you out on a date. I guess you kind of touched my heart in more than one way when you put me back together,” he said and looked you in the eyes.

“I’m older than you,” you said.

“So?” he asked.

“I don’t come alone, I kind of have a kid,” you went on.

“Does it seem like this bothers me? I like him and he likes me, I come from a big family.”

“I don’t want more kids.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Would you just go on a date with me? We don’t have to plan a future now. Just go on a date with me. Maybe it’ll be great and if not we can go back to just how it has been. We’ve got nothing to lose,” he said and grabbed your hand.

“Okay, but I have to find someone who will look after Teddy,” you said.

“Oh don’t worry. George already said he’d take him,” Fred smiled brightly at you.

“Got it all planned, huh?” you asked.

“Sure, I have for a while now, love,” he smiled brightly at you.

The date went well, and after that first one there came a second and a third. It wasn’t easy with a little kid around, but Fred made it easier and of course the rest of the family. It wasn’t always fancy what you did, most of the time you fell asleep on the couch because you were exhausted. Fred was around so often, that most of his clothes were at your place than at his own flat. So, George asked him one day why he didn’t pack all of his stuff so he could use the extra room.

Teddy grew up with so much love. You’d tell him stories about you and your sister growing up, Harry would tell stories about his dad and you made sure that he knew where he came from.

It took a while for you to find something else you wanted to do besides dragons. And your heart grew heavy when you looked over at the little dragon Fred had gifted you, who was sitting on your night table. George had confided in you, that Fred had just come with the idea of it to impress you. When your eyes shifted, they found a picture of Teddy in a dragon costume, which Charlie had gifted him, and you knew that you had made the right decision when you turned around and cuddled more with Fred.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley ff #weasley x reader #amwriting #marvelettesassemble #i love the ending tbh #am I allowed to say this about my own story?

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luna-redamancy · 4 years

Text

Obsession pt.2 {Thranduil x F! Reader}

Word Count: 2692

Warnings: Smut

Note: This chapter is 18+, please do not read if you are a minor. This is simply a bonus part to the previous chapter.

Part One

Monthly council meetings were always a bore. Discussing politics to pull a curtain over everyone's eyes about their true intentions. They were there to try and gain Thranduil’s favor, to get him to give them funds for useless ‘projects’ in the woodlands, and to get drunk without paying a bill for their wine consumption.

Thranduil’s thumb drew comforting circles on the back of your hand as you two sat at the head of the table, vexation clear on your features as you squeezed his hand in response, giving him a gentle smile.

“I think we should break for lunch then return to finish the details.” You announced once a representative from the southern section of the kingdom finished his address to the council.

“I agree.” Thranduil nodded, everyone standing up to exit to the dining hall.

“My, King Thranduil…” Merlara, an advisor to the elven kingdoms of the west, called out to Thranduil, a coy smile on her face. “Merlara,” Thranduil nodded his head out of respect to her, your eyes flickering in between them. Tossing her hair to the side, Merlara leaned forward slightly as she began to discuss trade. Rolling your eyes, you swallowed a scoff that threatened to emerge. ‘She’s flirting with him…’ you thought, a frown forming on your features. You and Thranduil hadn’t had time to complete the courting ritual, so to everyone in the room, you were just arm candy. Nothing serious.

“Would I be so bold as to invite you to a night of craft--” You cut her off before she could finish.

“Last time I checked, it was frowned upon to try to come in between a courted couple.” The bite in your tone was unmistakable, purposefully locking an arm around his middle and resting your head on his shoulder. “He’s mine.” Your eyes narrowed with possessiveness as Thranduil quirked a brow, enjoying this side of you.

“Well, as far as I can tell, you two haven’t finished courting so he’s free game.” Merlara bit back, not liking you getting in her way of becoming Queen of Mirkwood.

“As far as I can tell, your blood would look really nice on this stone floor after I trounce your face in.” You growled, moving to stand in front of Thranduil.

Thranduil’s stomach flipped pleasantly at the thought of you so ferociously defending your love for him, tugging you back by the waist to give you a kiss on your neck. “Merlara, if you couldn’t already tell, you will never have my affection as much as my beloved.”

“Damn straight.” You huffed, tilting your head to let him keep kissing your neck.

“I can’t wait to get you in private and ravish you,” Thranduil whispered huskily in your ear as she stalked away, trying to maintain some form of dignity. You felt your stomach clench as your arousal flared, your tongue flicking out to lick your bottom lip. Trying to maintain some ounce of control to not say screw it all and go back to your bedding chambers.

Gulping you pulled away slightly, your movement making you hyper aware of Thranduils… Situation. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you drowned in his smell, his being, before mumbling “I can’t wait until you mark me up to show that even without a moonstone I’m yours. And that you are mine.” You whispered back before pulling away completely, leaving Thranduil to hold in a whine as you sauntered over to the dining table to eat with the visiting council members.

‘Mine’ Kept swirling in Thranduil’s mind, his thoughts always drifting over to your display of protectiveness over him, your eagerness to defend your relationship. His chest fluttered with an unknown feeling, something deeper than love that he hadn’t felt about another before. ‘He’s mine’ He could hear your voice in his head. Thranduil stifled a groan by coughing into his fist, feeling his pants tighten, before he too joined the council members for their meal.

Merlara watched with narrow eyes, a tight smile on her face as she watched Thranduil take a seat next to you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I can’t believe an elf of such a high standing would sink so low to be with a human,” Merlara gossiped to the ellon next to her, smirking coyly when their laughter filled her ears.

Looking up from your plate, you smiled softly. “I can’t believe such an elleth with a horrid personality would be allowed to join a council.” You responded, keeping your sweet smile, eyes shining with joy as her smirk dropped to a frown again.

The members looked between each other, confusion and nervousness clear on their faces as you interacted with Merlara. “I also can’t believe someone could be so desperate to get to the top they’d try to sleep with any king they could find.” You bit into your cherry tomato, a smile still on your face as you felt Thranduil hold your hand, non-verbally telling you he supported you.

“King Thranduil?!” Merlara gasped out, rising from her seat.

“Yes?”

“How dare you let such scum treat me in such a vile manner, me, a member of your council, one of your longest and closest allies?!”

Rolling your eyes, you kept your seat. “As far as we are aware, you are the true scum here, Merlara. And if you don’t like Thranduil and I courting each other so badly, then you can take your filthy---”

“I think you can all send your final project inquiries and requests through letter, our meeting for today is adjourned.” Thranduil spoke before you could get too riled up, feeling his own trousers now uncomfortably tight from your display.

“King Thranduil?!”

“If you will all forgive me, me and my beloved have urgent matters to attend to.”

And with that, the two of you exited the dining hall, hurrying toward your shared bedding chamber with excitement bubbling in your skin. Thranduil threw open the door, swinging you inside before slamming it shut, the lock clicking in place before he pushed you against the wall. His lips sealed against yours, moving with a fierce passion. Your hands snaked into his hair, tugging at his scalp as your teeth began to clash, tongues snaking together as your pulse began to race beneath your skin.

Thranduil gripped at your butt, his hands kneading the flesh as he groaned into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core as he lifted you to grind his arousal against you. “Thranduil,” You exhaled, tilting your head against the wall as your eyes stared upwards, half lidded with lust. Thranduil began nipping at the skin of your neck, enjoying watching your skin bloom with flowers of red and purple, displaying his claim of you.

“Mine,” He growled in your ear, licking the shell of it before resuming his attention to your neck. Using his hips to keep you up against the wall, Thranduil let his hands wander to your chest. Relishing in the feeling of you beneath his hands, Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at the fabric separating him from feeling the softness of your skin.

Bringing his forehead against yours, Thranduil maintained eye contact as he gripped the fabric and delivered a sharp tug. A ripping sound filled the air as your chest was exposed to the cold air, your nipples stiffening in response as a gasp left your lips. “I liked that dress,” You scolded half-heartedly, a laugh clear in your voice as a grin formed on your face.

“I’ll send a seamstress to make you a thousand more.” Thranduil murmured as he lifted you from against the wall, laying you against the bed before rising to discard the material. “Your dresses are beautiful, but my dear, you are so much more delectable.” Thranduil grinned at you, a grin on his lips as he took in the sight of you displayed before him. Only left in your panties, your chest heaving up and down with excitement.

Thranduil took off his crown, tossing it carelessly to the side as he stripped off his clothing, the fine fabrics being discarded to the floor like garbage. Your eyes were drawn across his figure, your teeth sinking into your lip as you admired his lean form, muscular yet toned and defined. His skin smooth and pale like cream.

Dragging your eyes down his form, you watched as his hands began to remove his trousers and drawers, his length being exposed to your hungry gaze. His cock was well endowed, both thick and long as it sprang up against his stomach. Firm with arousal, precum already dripping from it’s tip.

“I think you are a bit overdressed, my starlight,” Thranduil decided, crawling back on the bed like a tiger stalking its prey.

“Is that so?” You quirked a brow as Thranduil nodded. “Well, maybe you should even the playing field.” You grinned as Thranduil smirked.

“Oh I shall.” Thranduil hummed as he gripped your panties, dragging them down your legs before carefully pushing open your thighs. “My my…” He was almost speechless, your arousal nearly dripping off you as you laid now bare before him.

“A true goddess you are,” He mumbled, sinking to lay on his stomach as he peppered kisses on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat as you felt your skin warm with excitement. The blankets felt heavenly against your skin, almost successfully distracting you until you felt Thranduil’s tongue.

Thranduil flattened his tongue, licking a thick stripe up your slit. “Oh,” You gasped out, not expecting the sensation as he hooked his arms around your thighs. He flicked his eyes up to yours, the obsessed gaze in his eyes causing your cunt to clench around nothing as felt your arousal increase. Thranduil moved one hand away from your thigh, lacing it with yours as he maintained eye contact, his tongue moving to draw circles around your clit before flicking it.

A shuddered breath left your lips, the sound encouraging your beloved as he continued to eat you out with a growing excitement. Light licks turned into sucking, the sensation making you cry our, your hands tangling in his locks as you felt a satisfied smirk against your skin. He wanted to drag every sound he could out of you.

Thranduil relished in your sounds, your taste, the softness of your skin as he buried his face in between your legs, your tugs only encouraging him to bring you closer to the brink. Your sighs turned into elongated moans as he brought his unoccupied hand to your mound. Swirling his finger in your wetness, he carefully pushed a finger inside, enjoying feeling your hips buck in response as he slid another alongside it, thrusting them in and out with a come-hither motion.

The coil inside your gut tightened and twisted, you knew it was getting close to snapping. “T-Thranduil--” You gasped out trying to give some sort of warning. Seemingly understanding your predicament, Thranduil suckled your clit harder, his fingers moving faster, pushing your sweet inner button over and over.

“Come for me, let everyone in this castle know who you belong to..” Thranduil growled before resuming his actions, the coil in your gut tightening until finally you couldn’t hold off any longer, your orgasm crashing through you like waves hitting the rocks of a shoreline. “Thranduil!” You cried out, your grip on his hair tightening as he slowed his ministration, helping you elongate your euphoria until you began pushing his head away, your oversensitivity rising.

You melted against the blankets, your eyes slipping shut as your chest heaved up and down, your heart pounding in your ears as Thranduil crawled up your body, peppering kisses along the way until he reached your lips. “Mine,” He mumbled as he nuzzled you.

“Yours,” You agreed, opening your eyes as a smile formed on your face, “And you’re definitely mine,” You stated, recalling Merlara’s actions from before.

Thranduil felt his cock twitch at your words, he too recalled the interaction you two had before.

“Definitely yours,” He agreed as he sprinkled kisses down your neck again, moving to your chest. Licking and nipping at your breasts, Thranduil settled himself in between your legs, his erection settling against your mound as he worshipped your chest.

Finally he flicked his gaze back to yours, “May I?” He questioned, wanting to ensure you were okay with continuing. Nodding you spread your legs even wider, moaning at the feel of his length brushing over your clit. “Please,” You whined as he began to grind against you. Thranduil granted your wish, sinking inside of you inch by inch, your pussy stretching wide to adjust to his girth, a moan slipping past your lips as he began to thrust wildly, not giving you a moment to adjust to him.

The sounds of skin smacking filled your ears, soon drowned out by the sounds of your moans and groans, Thranduil’s grunts mingling with them. Thranduil’s obsession swirled through his vision, the display of you so wantonly accepting him drove him to something more animalistic, his obsession taking over him. His hands grabbed at your waist while he pulled out of you just enough to flip you onto your stomach and slide back in. Thranduil’s cock sank deeper into you than before, causing you to cry out as he began thrusting deep and fast, his hand grabbing your hair and tugging.

“Say it.” Thranduil demanded.

Confusion covered your face for a brief moment before a small smirk formed on your lips. “Mine.” You spoke, grinning lustfully at the feeling of his cock twitch in response. “You are mine, Thranduil, I won’t let anybody take you away from me.” You declared before your voice dissolved into cries of pleasure as he growled, pounding into you harder than before causing your thighs to shake as you felt another orgasm threatening to roll through you. Sensing this, Thranduil snaked a hand underneath you, rubbing figure-eights around your sensitive nub to push you over the edge. “Thran...Thranduil!” You gasped out as he suckled bruises onto your neck, effectively marking you where the public could see, his fingers moving faster against your swollen clit, determined to make you reach your peak once more before he finished.

His actions worked, your body trembling as your orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clenched around his length, a groan passing his lips as your tightness sent him over the edge. A moan passed your lips as you felt him release inside you, your toes curling as he released you, pressing kisses to your shoulder blade.

Thranduil let out a low moan as he pulled out of you, reaching for a cloth to clean you up as you laid on your stomach. Breathing heavily, you sighed in content as you snuggled the pillow. Tossing the soiled cloth to the side, Thranduil carefully watched you, coming off of his crazed high.

“(Name)?” Thranduil spoke soft, not wanting to wake you if you slipped into a slumber. “Hmm?” You hummed back, turning to lay on your side to face him. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” He questioned, worry on his features as you lifted the blankets out from underneath you, slipping into the crisp sheets. He had never gotten so out of control with you before, afraid of your reaction, he waited until you answered him before crawling in next to you.

Laughing, you wiped your hand over your face before looking back at him, “Are you serious?” You questioned, noticing his worried expression. “Deadly.”

Your expression softened at his concern, “Thranduil, you didn’t hurt me.” You confirmed, knowing the lovebites across your skin could possibly indicate otherwise. “In fact, I quite enjoyed our… fornication,” You grinned as he slowly accepted your answer, a smile of his own forming as he crawled in bed next to you.

His arms slipped around your waist, tugging you to his chest, his hand cradling your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” You mumbled, sleepiness filling your voice as you snuggled closer to him.

“And I love you, my starlight.” Thranduil muttered, watching as you drifted to sleep.

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thewildwaffle · 4 years

Text

The Prisoner

Garn had not been overly enthused when he found out he was scheduled for yet another shift. As much as it annoyed him, he had his suspicions that it would not be his last. He sighed as he loaded up in the transport. That’s what he was in for he supposed. After all, when you’re working for the Trinn-Harrup Syndicate, one of the galaxy’s biggest, most notorious criminal organizations, you just have to work until the jobs get done. It paid the bills though. Hopefully he’d be able to afford to get out of this gleng-hole soon.

Pickup was during the night cycle, which was, on their current planet Karbrin, especially dark. Garn, as well as four more guards and a driver, arrived on location and waited for the drop-off. The prisoner they were to escort to the Syndicate’s Headquarters must be a high-profile enemy, or so Garn thought. It wasn’t his position to be in the know. It was his position to make sure prisoners of the Trinn-Harrup Syndicate were intimidated and unable to try anything stupid while they were being transported.

A beam of light lit up the abandoned lot where they were waiting. Garn shielded his eyes with one of his massive forearms.

“Dang Nebbilins, not only are they late, but they apparently feel the need to alert anyone within a quadrant of our whereabouts!” Garn heard the guard to his left murmur. He agreed. Dealing with Nebbilins was never an enjoyable ordeal. Their poor hearing and eyesight (especially at night) made any interactions with them incredibly noisy and conspicuous affairs. Not to mention that their quill-covered, opaque, multi-limbed bodies were hideous to most other creatures in the galaxy. Nevertheless, they were good at what they did, and what they did was catch and incapacitate prey. Especially when that prey had a bounty on its head.

The first two Nebbilins crept out of the ship, checking to make sure the coast was clear. They spotted the Syndicate guards, still somewhat blinded by the many floodlights from the newcomer’s ship. One of the Nebbilin scouts reared back its head and let out a series of loud squawking cries. Soon more Nebbilins trotted out of the ship, one half-carrying, half-dragging a bound figure. Nebbilin slime has a compound that paralyzes many species, which led them to be such good bounty-hunters. Certain quills can inject the slime into their prey’s bloodstream, if the slime that oozes from their skin doesn’t get to them first that is. Though their catch tonight looked like the slime had taken a toll on them, they seemed to still be in control of quite a few of their motor functions.

Impressive, thought Garn, This must be a particularly powerful prisoner. That would explain the high security tonight. The Nebbilins brought the prisoner to the Syndicate guards where Garn recognized the creature. It’s a human! I’ve only heard stories about them!

And what stories they were! Garn struggled to keep his calm. He had to look the part as an intimidating guard, but honestly, he wanted to get closer, get a better look. He wanted to know if any of the amazing stories about humans were true. Could they really survive being struck by lightning? Were their ancestors really hunter-gatherers that could pursue prey for days until it gave in to exhaustion? Could their punches really shatter Kartian bones?

He kept his questions to himself, however, as the other guards (who seemed substantially less curious about their prisoner) exchanged the bounty for the human and gruffly returned to the transport shuttle, prisoner in tow. Garn followed quietly, making sure to keep the human in view from behind the hulking masses of the fellow guards.

The transport ship was a bit cramped with all the guards and the human. Garn figured this was likely because the close quarters would increase the intimidation factor for any creature unfortunate enough to find themselves the enemies of the Syndicate. One guard sat up front with the driver, two in the seat closest the door, and one on either side of the prisoner in the back. There was no chance of anything fighting its way out, in case any notion of doing so were even still possible to any unfortunate enough to be in such a position.

Garn, to his silent delight, had been assigned as one of the guards to sit next to the human. The other guard, Arun sat on the other side of the bench and didn’t speak, as was protocol, but neither did he object when after a few moments, Garn quietly began pestering the human prisoner with questions.

“I’m not supposed to speak to you, but I’ve never met a human before. My name is Garn, what’s yours?”

“Porter. My name’s Porter Stone.”

That was an odd name to Garn, but who was he to judge alien names. “Have you ever been struck by lightning?”

Porterstone looked at him curiously. “Uhh… no.”

“Do you know any other humans who have ever been struck by lightning?”

The human stared at him in the darkness. After a moment, his mouth stretched across his face and he made a short breathy noise that must have been some sort of laugh. “No. Not personally.”

“But there are humans who have been struck by lightning? And they lived?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Garn straightened back up as one of the guards at the door turned back to check on them. He waited for a while before leaning back over to speak to the human again, “Porterstone, I’ve never met a human before. I have so many questions. I wish we had met in better circumstances so we could ask them.”

“You and me both,” Porterstone chuckled.

Garn straightened up and sat silently for a bit. He reprimanded himself mentally. He meets a human and the first thing he asks is the lightning question? Really? His mind raced as he tried to pick another question, a better question. Who knew when he’d meet another human after all.

“Do you know to… uh… how to snap? I mean, snap your fingers?” Garn did his best to imitate the motion with his own large fingers. He’d heard humans could make an insanely wide range of noises, with their mouths, with their bodies, etc. They were supposedly one of the greatest mimics of the galaxy. Garn could think of so many situations of where that skill would be so useful, or even dangerous.

The human next to him just stared, an amused look of perplexion clear on his face. Finally he smiled and shook his head, his white teeth exposed and catching what little light there was around them.

“You know, of all the criminals or lawmen alike that have questioned me, you’ve definitely got the most unique style.”

“He’s just too curious for his own flargin’ good,” Arun grumbled from the other side of the bench. “It’s gonna get him killed in the end if he keeps it up.” Garn caught the sidelong glance he was shot and took it for the warning that it was.

They were silent again for a while as Garn grumpily stewed in his life to this point. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, away from the Syndicate, start his own life, have his own adventures. Instead, he was stuck doing the grunt and dirty work of the Trinn and Harrup crime lords. It was not pleasant work and often he would wake from night terrors after having to relive something he saw or had been ordered to do. He hated it. He hated all of it, but he had to stay. It was the only way he was ever going to ever be able to afford to leave. He’d get out of here. Very few ever did, but he was going to make it. He had to.

Garn was pulled out of his dreaming when he felt a gentle nudge to his arm. He looked down at Porterstone who had a sideways conspiratory grin on his face. He moved his tied up arms to draw Garn’s attention, the fingers on one hand held together oddly. With a quick move, his fingers made a soft snap sound.

“Oh, dang, hold on, that wasn’t a very good snap at all.” He readjusted his fingers and did it again, this time making a clear loud snapping sound. He chuckled at Garn’s awed reaction and snapped his fingers again in rapid succession.

“You both need to quiet down,” grumbled Arun. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, human. We’ll be arriving soon, and you’ll find there will be nothing to laugh about there.”

That stopped the talking for a while, but Garn felt more and more questions bubbling up inside him again. He had so much he wanted to say to Porter. After a few minutes of silence, he dared to risk whispering again.

“I’ve only heard stories about humans. Most of them seem too amazing to be true, but here you are, still able to move and speak after coming into contact with Nebbilin toxin. Are the rest of the stories true?”

Porterstone smiled broadly in the dim cabin light, but said nothing. Garn straightened up again as another guard checked on them, announcing that they were just about to arrive at the Syndicate headquarters before returning to their seat. The silence seemed heavier than usual to Garn. He had worked for the Trinn-Harrup for over three solar cycles now, and he had never felt such pity for a prisoner. He dreaded the idea of what would happen to this human. He looked sideways at Porterstone. The human’s smile had faded slightly, replaced now with a relaxed, almost smug expression. Garn did a double-take. How was the human so calm? Maybe he didn’t understand the full extent and breadth of what was going to happen once they reached the Syndicate?

“Garn, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you remind me of a stuffed toy I had as a kid.” Garn turned his head sharply at Porterstone’s voice. His mind had been wandering off to the future that lay in store for this near-flippant creature at his side. When Garn didn’t respond, Porter went on, “It was one my aunt had won for me at a county fair when I was very young. It was a strange toy, we never really figured out what animal it was supposed to look like, but I loved that thing… named it fluffy, creative name, I know. I carried it wherever I went. I kept that thing for years, it’s probably still sitting somewhere in my parent’s attic for all I know.” Porter paused and sighed quietly with a smile. “Well anyway, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I guess you just look like a friend to me.”

Garn felt a mix of feelings. It seemed an odd thing to say, especially coming from a bound and tied prisoner he was guarding. He was supposed to be intimidating and scary, after all! No prisoner had ever dared speak to him like this. As a matter of fact, no prisoner had ever dared speak to him at all, beyond maybe scared whimpering. A part of Garn felt indignant at the human’s words, and yet, a small part of him felt thrilled beyond measure. And yet, a larger part of him felt overwhelmingly thrilled and surprised. He’d heard that humans could pack bond with anyone or anything given the right circumstances. Here and now seemed like the complete opposite of “right circumstances,” and yet, he couldn’t shake his feeling of joy at being considered a human’s friend. Which only made the human’s fate seem even more tragic and personal to Garn.

It certainly was a double edged sword in so many ways.

The transport ship lurched to a stop. The doors were opened by waiting Syndicate guards outside. The guards by the door jumped out, weapons at the ready as Arun and Garn escorted Porter out. Almost as soon as Porter’s feet hit the ground, the guards made the mistake of momentarily letting go of his bonds. He swept the legs out from under two of the surrounding guards. Quick to react, the remaining guards reached to grab him again, but Porterstone smack one’s hand away and looped their bound hands around the guards neck and pulled down. As the guard bent down with the human’s strong pull, their face was met with Porterstone’s rapidly rising knee. There was a disturbingly loud crunch sound as something or several somethings broke and the guard went down hard.

The human crouched down and backed up hard into a guard behind him, knocking them back before he swung his elbow hard into the side of their head. Another guard down.

The guards he had first knocked down were back up and grabbed him. After a brief struggle, they too dropped to the ground. Garn, who had still been getting out of the shuttle couldn’t see what had happened, but as he stepped out, he could see Nebbilin injection pins in the necks and arms.

Garn stared, flabbergasted at the human. He hadn’t just been exposed to the toxin, he’d been injected with it? And was still conscious? Had he pulled those out of his own skin? Those were supposed to take a medic to be removed safely! What was he thinking?!

Porterstone whipped around instinctively to square up with Garn. Garn didn’t move. Eventually Porterstone relaxed his defensive stance ever so slightly. Behind him, Garn could see more guards coming from the headquarter’s entrance. They might not have properly seen what was going on because their formation seemed formal and in no real rush just yet. That wouldn’t last long though. If Porterstone was going to get away, he had to go.

“The shuttle’s keycard should still be up front with the driver. You can still get away.”

Porterstone frowned and tensed as if he might still attack. “Why?” The guards coming up from behind must have realized something was up now, as a chorus of yells rose up for someone to call an alarm and several other voices shouting about the prisoner escaping.

The human glanced back and took a few steps toward the driver’s side of the shuttle. “Why are you helping me? You’re one of them.”

“I hate it here. I don’t want them to hurt you.” Garn’s voice seemed so quiet that he wasn’t sure if Porterstone could hear him.

He must have though because as soon as he pulled open the shuttle’s door and threw the driver out and onto the ground, he yelled back, “Get in!”

“What?”

“You’re different. I’m never wrong about my first impressions.” Porterstone struggled with trying to start the shuttle back up. Garn ran around to the door. “If you hate it here now, you’ll really hate it if they think you helped me escape, so get in.” Still the shuttle’s engines remained quiet.

Garn looked back. The guards were almost on them. A realization hit him that the only reason they hadn’t started firing at them was because they thought Garn was still trying to stop the prisoner. As soon as they realized he wasn’t on their side anymore, that would no longer be the case.

Garn turned back to Porterstone, still struggling to even get the shuttle started back up. “Move!” He shoved the human away from the controls and jumped into the seat. “I know how to drive this thing!” The side of the shuttle rocked as the other guards began opening fire. Well, they must have figured it out.

The instant the engine roared to life, Garn shoved it into gear and tore out of there. The shuttle leapt into the air before it leveled out in it’s forward momentum. Garn swerved behind a carved stone to avoid the blaster fire as he aimed the shuttle back toward the headquarters outer field entrance and gunned it.

“Pedal to the metal dude, we make it past that, we’re clear.” Porterstone stared ahead toward the security gate, which was starting to close. Garn growled. He had the shuttle’s throttle open as wide as he could, but it was going to be close. This was really happening. This was really happening! How the frewan did this happen so fast? The gates were almost shut by the time the shuttle reached them. With a loud crash, the shuttle’s motion wrenched the gate open just enough for them to rip their way through, the outer armor screaming in protest as it was gouged and ripped against the door. With a lurch, the shuttle pulled itself free and they shot out into the darkness of the night.

“Woohoo!” Porterstone howled. He slapped his still-bound hands against Garn’s shoulder, “That was amazing flying my man! Amazing! We did it!”

We did it. Garn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or what he was seeing. Or what he was doing. He. He was out. Oh flarg. This was happening. He was out. That’s what he’d wanted for so long, but he felt a pit in his stomach. He was out, but he was now a fugitive of the Trinn-Harrup Syndicate. He was as good as dead.

The celebrating human must have caught on to his growing terror of his realization.

“Hey, guy, don’t worry, we’re out. You don’t… you… uh… what’s your name? I need to know what to call you.”

Garn felt so tense that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to speak, but he finally managed to say his name. Or more like whisper it. “Garn. My name’s Garn. Oh stars I’m going to die. What have I done?”

“Garn. Garn look at me. Wait, no, keep watching where you’re going. Just listen to me. You can’t go back now. You know what will happen even better than I do if you go back.” Garn tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Porterstone continued. “What’s done is done. You’re free, do you hear me? You hated that place and you’re free.”

“They’ll come for me. They’ll come for you. We’re still going to die.”

Garn could see the human in his peripheral as he sat still next to him. He sighed. “Garn?” Garn shot him a quick glance before looking back out the front of the shuttle, dodging trees and obstacles, trying to dodge and weave and stay hidden in case they were being followed. “Garn, if you want, I could use someone like you on my team. Stick with me and you’ll never have to worry about the Syndicate again.”

“They caught you before, they can do it again. You only got away because of me.”

“Exactly, and now I have you. Plus, those bounty-hunters only got me on a fluke. See if I ever enter another “art show” that rat snitch hosts again,” He muttered.

A few moments of quiet and Garn could feel the fear tension ebb out of his muscles slowly. He took a few deep breaths. Once his heart felt like it was beating at an almost normal-ish rate again, he finally spoke. “Where am I going now?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, just a bit further. I’ve got a plan.”

Garn nodded silently. After a moment, he realized something the human had said. “Wait, you said you have me?” He felt a stir of hopefulness at what that could mean.

Porterstone looked over at him again. “Oh, yeah, I mean, if you want to, that is. I could use you on my team. I think you’ll fit in, and well, there’s safety in numbers after all. You can do whatever you want though.”

Garn took another breath and nearly started laughing. Or maybe crying. He wasn’t sure, but he did manage to nod and smile. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” He could. He wanted to.

As he drove on, Porterstone would occasionally give an instruction or direction. Garn would follow silently, silently wondering and thinking of more questions he had for his new human friend, as well as marveling at the new life before him. He was free. And he had already made a powerful friend. Whatever else was ahead of him, he was happy to face it.

Part 2

#found an old story and finished it #very little editing #just going to post it #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #space #aliens #writeblr #original writing

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

For a Smile

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert Word count: 5400

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, OC x reader (brief)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Reader, OFC, OC

Summary: You see him run past every morning. So you smile, because he looks like a nice person. How could he not be when he smiles back and the world stops for a while to pay respect to such beauty?

And sometimes… sometimes this incredibly handsome man smiles first.

Warnings: mentions and hints of (psychically) abusive relaionship, suggestive themes, swearing, all the fluff in the world

A/N: I used to pass this guy near a café playing music every morning when I went to school and at some point, our eyes kinda met and we smiled at each other; then we did that every day. I kid you not, he’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. It’s not a Hollywood-star smile, no – it’s a guy-next-door smile, heart-warming, with his eyes simply shining. He’s like a kid on Christmas Day… I could ramble on. Anyway, just so you knew what brought this on.

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A smile costs less than electricity, and gives more light. (Scottish proverb)

Warm honey, sandstone and apricot orange melting into indigo, cerulean blue and stone-grey sky. Merigold playing with salmon and rose pink, teasing each other and making space to the warmer shades of orange.

You watched the beautiful colours of sunrise as you shifted your legs for a bit, causing the simple plank hanging on two tattered ropes sway, a smile tugging on your lips.

It was a little childish really, or it may appear so to anyone who would be passing by; but given what an early riser you were, just so you could watch this breath-taking game of colours, the little miracle of nature, no person could question you as you were dangling your feet off the old swing.

On your way to work, if the time allowed it, you would always make a stop on your favourite spot; a no-name park in upstate New York you were walking through every day, rather calm and drunks-free at the early hour.

Once upon a time, someone had placed a simple swing on one of the trees farther from the path. You sent a silent thank you every time you parked your behind there. You weren’t a monster; if a kid wanted to sit here, you would have gladly (...reluctantly) made space for them, but they seemed to always be more mesmerized by the playground with the actual swings, the chutes, the monkey bars and the sandpit. You couldn’t say you complained though, having the old-fashioned swing for yourself.

It was childish, perhaps; though your mother had once chosen that you should be going into accounting and so you had. Numbers and bills were things even adults hated, but that was what being old enough meant. You didn’t mind it too often, plunging into them for living, but… you needed to compensate, so you felt entitled.

Plus, the motion of the swing was soothing, as if magically transporting you back to your childhood indeed, with less worries, more ease and pure mind.

Yeah, sitting on the swing was your favouri-

Rapid staccato of feet hitting the ground in the distance, no doubt scaring off the birds chiming their morning songs, reached your ears and you had to admit you wouldn’t be completely honest with yourself if you said this was the favourite moment of your day only because of the aforementioned reasons.

There was one more.

It had strong long sweatpants-clad legs, broad shoulders in a sports t-shirt with seams crying for help, blond hair and-

Your heart melted along with your brain as your lips curled up in a genuine smile you sent in return.

-and the most beautiful smile in the whole universe.

You never spoke. Didn’t say hello. You never even nodded in mutual acknowledgement.

You just… smiled at each other.

And that was your favourite moment of the day crafted to perfection. A breath-taking sunrise, almost eclipsed by a mesmerizing display of the row of perfect white teeth framed by plush coral red lips and the twinkle in beautiful inviting eyes of a stranger.

You knew his name despite never exchanging a single word. Everyone knew his name. But Captain Rogers – Steven Grant Rogers – was a name that held no meaning. He didn’t know yours and probably never would; so strangers was who you were. A couple of strangers exchanging a smile every morning and lightening up (hopefully) each other’s day.

It always felt nice when you glanced at someone on the street, then just… somehow smiled and they smiled back, didn’t it? So what if you were an adult woman dealing with numbers for Stark Industries sitting on a swing and he was a deservedly treasured national icon?

It made no difference.

Just two people sharing a tiny piece of their day for a smile.

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“You’re insane,” your colleague stated dryly as she walked into the office at seven thirty, already finding you with an empty coffee cup, your fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Huh?” you raised your eyes from the screen on autopilot, not really paying attention.

You still noticed Harry rolling her eyes; it was just that distinctive.

“I said that you’re insane, you crazy-ass lark. My brain isn’t even awake yet. To be fair, I’m ninety percent sure I met Captain Handsome in the hall along with our boss, so it’s hard to tell if I’m dreaming or not, having a vision like that.”

“Captain Handsome?” you frowned, your mind racing, desperately trying to remember who was Harriet’s newest crush. ‘Captain Handsome’ could be literally anyone.

“Our resident Star-Spangled Man, you dummy. You’re low on caffeine. Or sleep. That’s what you get, getting up in such an ungodly hour…” she hummed, crossing her arms on her chest as she looked at you sceptically, a drop of disappointment in her eyes.

Oh. Oh! That made sense; if the man was with Tony Stark, the range of options narrowed significantly, especially since your friend had called him a captain. Except it didn’t make any sense at all.

“What was he doing here? I mean… since when is he wandering in our department? It’s all across the compound here from the training area.”

“Well, look who’s actually awake and bright-minded…” It was your turn to roll your eyes at your friend. “My point exactly. No clue, but lemme tell you – seeing that ass? Definitely made my day,” she threw over her shoulder as she stalked to the coffee machine and you couldn’t but chuckle at her bluntness.

Your stranger had an amazing smile, that was true. But your gaze did slide elsewhere on occasion too; which was why you would never try to disprove Harry’s claim.

“We might have the Ironman for a boss, but, girl… I’d like to know what Rogers’ ass is made of then,” she added and you burst into another fit of giggles, your face feeling hot all of sudden when your mind unhelpfully supplied with ‘vibranium’.

What would it feel like?

Yeah, you definitely needed to go back to your numbers before your impure thoughts got the best of you.

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The first time you two met outside the park, you were in a bar.

You hadn’t seen him for almost a month, assuming he went on a long-drawn mission; one that had ended well, clearly, since he was out drinking. Just eyeing his companions and instantly noting his body language, you could tell he was suffering. Like, not literally suffering, but it was very much obvious he was not feeling comfortable.

His eyes were drifting all over the place, as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes laughed loudly, patting his shoulders while a hint or red dusted his cheeks, and then they fell on you.

His face was screaming ‘save me!’; yet, his smile was still as warm and kind as ever, an impossible spark within his irises, visible even from the distance. That twinkle was always the biggest mystery to you, because logically, no person could have eyes so bright, but here he was, proving your claim wrong.

Your lips spread in a smile automatically and encouraged by your second drink, you considered adding a small silly wave.

Before you could execute the decision, the result of your two last braincells arguing whether it would be more silly or sweet, an arm sneaked around your shoulders and your smile widened on instinct at the sensation. You turned your head to Cade and met his lips halfway to yours.

You had been dating for almost a month now and this inconspicuous guy from logistic of a giant company that was surprisingly not Stark Industries was a dream coming true. He was showering you with so much attention you weren’t sure he was real. Late-night conversations via phonecalls or texts, good morning, good night, kisses that lasted long enough for you to forget that you in fact needed oxygen, touches that set you on fire. He was easy to fall in love with.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout that got you smilin’ so wide, babe?” he whispered to your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth.

Gosh, you wanted him. The first sex hadn’t been so great, Cade chasing his own release, but hey, first times were always hard in a new relationship. The more were you excited about your second time and you were confident the second time would happen tonight.

“Nah, just smiling at strangers. You know that feeling, so nice, when you just toss a smile and they smile back?” your eyes found his, only to see him frown.

“I like it better when you smile for me, babe. What did some stranger do for you to deserve that?” he hummed discontentedly, pouting adorably as his hand slid lower to squeeze your hip possessively. It sent a spark through your body, a lightning striking right into your core.

“Just teasing you, Cade. I was thinking about how I lucked out,” you batted your eyelashes and a slow delicious smirk played with the corner of his mouth all of sudden, intensifying the heat inside of you.

“Wanna get out of here, pretty thing? Lemme show you how lucky you are?” he whispered, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip, pulling it down a fraction. “Or maybe… show me how much you think you lucked out, huh? How much you appreciate being mine?”

God, yes.

Judging by the glint in his eyes and the hungry kiss that lasted too short – but too long for such a public place – he didn’t need a verbal confirmation. He swung by the bar to pay for your drink and practically dragged you out of the rather crowded space. Your head was spinning a bit and you couldn’t tell whether it was excitement or alcohol. Either way, you really, really liked it.

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“You know that Cade was a dick right?” Harry noted nonchalantly while she handed you a cup of coffee and assessed (correctly) that you were sulking again, thinking back to that one particular night when you had noticed the first sign – or you would have if you hadn’t been such a goddamn idiotic goose of a woman, drunk on top of that.

You sighed and sipped your punishingly bitter dose of caffeine.

You were positively brooding and you didn’t care if it affected anyone else. The world apparently hated you and you couldn’t quite blame it.

Not even your precious strangers-exchanging-smile moments felt the same anymore. First, your stranger had started smiling less brightly after your encounter at the bar and then, even if it had changed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, because you were too wrapped in your own misery. Even the curve of his lips looked sad, which was a stupid thing to say, because he had no way of knowing about either Cade turning out to be an abuser-in-making or about you breaking things off with him and cracking your fragile heart in the process, while yelling at yourself mentally every morning and still longing for Cade’s arms around you since it always felt oh, oh so good to be held…

You recognized the signs early, but not soon enough. You let it escalate into him trying to control when you went out and with whom, him lashing out when you wouldn’t respond to his text in longer than five-minutes time, letting him yell at you when you missed his call… he loved you, after all, he just missed you and was afraid you were with someone else, and oh babe, come here, you can make it up to me…

Your sister had gone through something similar, for god’s sake. You should have noticed sooner. You should have known better. But no, you had allowed your body, your twat to be precise, to rule your brain and that had been stupid.

Cade had tried to get in touch several times after your break-up, even waiting in front of your apartment until you would go out once; you might have threatened him with a restraining order after that particular day and he had stopped quickly after that, only two of three attempts with a new e-mail address and number to get pass you blocking his previous ones.

Still. It made you miserable. And perhaps a bit self-hateful.

You deserved every bitter drop of Harry’s horrible coffee and more.

“I was being blind and stupid,” you opposed and returned to your figures, deciding your exchange was over. Figures were clear enough; they were easy to read and didn’t make your brain drunk on endorphins and other very specific hormones allowing you to act like a teenage girl, excited at her first boyfriend groping her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

A huff sounded above your head and suddenly your swivel chair was being yanked back and turned around, a pair of strict chocolate eyes boring into your soul with startling clarity. Harry’s fingers were wrapped around the armrests as she was leaning into your space.

You backed into your chair instinctively. She looked menacing.

“He was a charming bastard from what I heard and his type always knows how to manipulate people, letting them see what he wants them to see. It’s not your fault. You’re one badass of a woman, smart as hell for noticing before it escalated. You’re my hero. Mine and every other person’s who has ever been in or even heard of an abusive relationship. You can do better than him. It’s a funny coincidence they spelled his name wrong anyway.”

You blinked away your sudden tears, immensely grateful for her words that somehow wormed their way inside your very core (you blamed the intense stare that reminded of your mother’s when she was giving you the kind of talk that was too serious for you to handle) and yet you tilted your head in confusion, not understanding the meaning of her last statement.

“Huh? His… his name?” you stuttered, baffled.

Harry positioned your chair back to its place with a grin and went back to her own business.

“Clearly, they added an ‘E’ at the end. What a stupid typo…” she threw over her shoulder cheekily and when you caught up, understanding her point, you released the first honest laughter in what felt like a year.

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Your life had been set off to better course after that short conversation. You felt like you were healing every day, finding yourself lighter. Happier. Freer of the baggage Cade had tried to left you with. The sensation was indescribable and it radiated from you; some days more noticeably than others.

You found yourself indulging the blond stranger’s smiles once more, finally seeing the spark in his eyes again, the genuine curve of his lips warming your heart and starting off your day in the best way imaginable.

Naturally, life had a reliable means of showing you it could suck.

Right when you thought that you were fine, it delivered another blow; your favourite place in the world… ceased to exist.

Someone put the swing in the park down.

They just… erased it from existence.

Maybe they considered it dangerous. Maybe they were being dicks. Maybe they thought it was old and ugly. It didn’t quite matter.

You could weep, mourning your intimate inanimate friend.

You didn’t cry. But it was a damn close call as you shuffled towards the playground and eyed it sceptically. You knew it wouldn’t be the same and not just because the swings were in a plain sight, but they also looked too fancy, to actually child-like and— they weren’t your swing. Your sanctuary. Your private space. Your secret place you never told anyone about, not Cade or your previous boyfriends, not your family, not Harry or other friends, not to anyone.

You watched the sun rise on the horizon, ridiculously heavy feeling in your chest, ignorant to the rest of the world.

God, you hated Mondays. You already knew this week was about to be a disaster.

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“There’s a swing outside in the green area.”

“Huh?” you hummed distractedly, too deep into figures to register more than the sound of your friend’s voice. What was her name again? What was yours? What day was today? What was the time? Had you already had lunch? Had the lunch-time already passed…?

A chuckle followed by a to-be offended tone responded to your intelligent way of communicating.

“I’m starting to think ‘Huh’ is my name with how often you call me that,” Harry (aha!) remarked with a hint of sass, but repeated herself, because she knew she shouldn’t take it personal that you didn’t quite payed her any attention. You were a person who would get sucked into their own world, too focused on one task to acknowledge anything else. “A swing. In our compound park. It’s kinda cute, hidden from a plain sight though, a simple wooden thing.”

You slowly raised your eyes to hers, your pupils widening with surprise. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, your heartbeat no doubt shaking your whole frame.

Harry was telling you that there was… a swing. In the compound area. Hidden from everyone’s prying eyes, at least partly.

Why?

How?

You could only come up with one ridiculous theory which involved you, but that idea alone was laughable. Why would anyone do that for you? More importantly, how did anyone know-

“You think it’s an invitation for children? Like, is ‘bring your kids to work’ day happening any time soon? ‘cause, not to be rude and greedy, but one swing doesn’t seem like— hey!” Harry called after you, but you could barely hear her as you jumped to your feet, your heels be damned, and strode through the halls with zero regards to anyone in your way.

Not that there was a soul; people actually worked around here, too busy to wander the halls.

The thing was, that one theory about the swing didn’t just involve you. It involved one more person, but that person was a stranger to you and had no reason to even… acknowledge you. Besides the obvious part of your day that no longer existed – not in the way it used to. But the thought was simply laughable.

A different part of your brain raised a figurative sceptical eyebrow, argumenting that you had no better explanation for the phenomenon.

Because… you loved Harry. She knew about your traditional early morning watching the sunrise, but not about the swing. The swing was always a secret, no one knew, except… except one particular guy who always passed you on his morning run and exchanged a smile with you and just happened to work at the very same compound you did and technically had the power to pull the strings to make this happen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you gasped for fresh air when you finally made it out of the building, your eyes searching for a calm spot, a tree in whose shades you could possibly find a prove of Harry not pulling your leg.

Your heart positively stopped when your eyes fell on the simple plank hanging on two ropes, indeed offering a safe space for anyone who decided to sit there in search for serenity.

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, your feet moving of their own will despite semi-high heels digging into the ground an inch with each step, bringing you closer to that little, yet breath-taking miracle. A chuckle escaped your lips when your trembling fingers brushed the grey ropes, more of your senses acknowledging that this was in fact happening.

Your hand followed the line of the rope, sliding to the plank, only to notice a rough sensation on your fingertips in the corner. A carving, you realized.

Tears of surprise actually welled up when you recognized they were initials. Your initials.

How-- how was that possible?

‘Sit down, you dummy!’ your consciousness cried out exasperatedly. ‘It’s clearly for you!’

“But why?” you asked it under your breath incredulously, thousands of questions ruminating, no answers on the horizon.

Regardless, you reluctantly lowered yourself, shocked when your feet dangled above the ground in precisely the same way they used to-- they used to in the park. It was even installed in the same height.

Reverently, you gave the swing a test-drive, just tiny motions of your feet to try it out.

It was perfect.

Your gaze fell on a sign on the tree trunk, small, subtle and harmonizing with the place without a fault.

Sanctuary of the kind ones. Do not disturb, it read.

You giggled breathlessly, lightheaded and with no care in the world.

That naturally changed when you spotted your very much expectant colleague in the distance, her arms crossed on her chest, figuratively tapping her foot and screaming questions without saying a single word.

The thing is, you thought, I have no idea how to answer.

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Perhaps it was naïve, a child-like trust and excitement, but the next day, you went to your new spot expecting to enjoy the sunrise there and not to be disturbed indeed.

You weren’t.

What you couldn’t quite prepare yourself for was the single daisy lying on the wood, starling you to no end. Hesitating all of sudden, you searched your surroundings, wondering if you interrupted someone else’s plan. Perhaps someone had the same initials as you and whoever made this happen had a different person in mind, doing it for them and the swing was just a funny coincidence.

But then in the middle of your mussing – on the swing, because, screw it, you might as well enjoy this since no one had kicked you out yet – a familiar figure ran past, gracing you with a beautiful smile, once again without a word and with a shy gaze falling to the ground after you met their eyes. With that, it… actually started to settle.

He had done this for you. For some incredible inexplicable reason… your smiling ‘stranger’ offered you a kindness of unseen measures.

And as if it wasn’t enough, you would find a different flower on the wood every day for the whole week. They weren’t even fancy flowers, which made it absolutely magical. Daisy. Tulip. Lilly. No red roses, only cute blossoms, matching the simplicity of the swing.

Harry was nearing the verge of insanity due to your goofy smiles and flowers in your hands; but you remained tight-lipped like an international spy during an interrogation, too afraid that if you said it out loud, sharing that ridiculous impression you were getting these days with anyone, your bubble would burst.

And surely enough, as if you jinxed it mentally, the next Wednesday, no flower waited for you.

It was ridiculous how your mood died instantly. It could have had hundreds of explanations including the one that he went for a mission, because he was Captain Freaking America, in case your stupid heart forgot, but nope, you would still feel the corners of your lips turn down.

You watched the shades of orange bleeding into blue and grey, lost in thought and with unsettling longing in your heart.

You suspected his steps sounded purposely loud when they came from behind you, where you wouldn’t expect them. You didn’t need to see the familiar Nikes on his feet to know it was him; you doubted anyone else would approach you, let alone at such early hour.

Yet you would lie saying your heart didn’t skip a beat when he stopped in his slow tracks by your side, steady feet next to your dangling ones, and you had his identity confirmed.

Your throat went dry and stiff, your voice dying before it could form.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered reverently, not disturbing the peace of the indeed lovely scenery in front of you.

You didn’t dare to look away from the sunrise as your voice came out unfairly scratchy, a stark contrast to his deep and smooth one that felt like a caress on your skin.

“It is.”

Silence fell on your pair again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The birds sung their morning songs, waking up the world and you didn’t think words were needed. Except you owed him something, and you wanted to say it.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from the painting by the most amazing artist, the nature itself, you casted a glance at him.

You didn’t realize you had never seen him still; duh, you did know that, but what didn’t quite click in your brain was that you would be able to see him in all his glory, soft smile and an absent gaze framed by long eyelashes, shadows casted all over his face and body, playing games which gave him a surprisingly ethereal aura for a man of his built.

Your stomach tied itself into a knot at the sight and the ‘thank you’ got once again stuck in your throat when his eyes turned to you as well, you breath stolen from your lungs, your lips parting uselessly and curling into a smile on instinct when his did.

Despite seeing the too startling sparkle up close, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the deep blue with a hint of green of his irises. It was just too captivating, locking you in a sweet cage you didn’t feel trapped in, but free and suddenly able to breathe in again.

“Thank you,” slipped from your lips unwittingly, shocking to your own ears.

The very same hint of scarlet you remembered from the infamous bar encounter dusted his cheeks, his smile softening as he turned a bashful gaze away, now fixated on the ground.

“Just wanted to see you smile again. Best part of my day,” he admitted, peeking at you from the insanely long and thick eyelashes and you could melt on spot, dizzying vertigo overcoming you at the sweet words. Good thing you were sitting.

You had no idea how to respond, your heartbeat thumping in your temples, your face feeling too hot and chest pleasantly warm at such admission. Your teeth went to chew on your lip and you abruptly stopped yourself. Bad, bad habit.

“Was… was that the only thing? Because the swing would be more than enough, let alone with my initials, and the flowers-“

“Maybe-“ he softly interrupted your lame attempt at flirting which had turned into a babble, but with same nerves coursing his voice unless your senses were playing tricks on you. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that he might be as nervous as you were-- the strangest thing in the world, wouldn’t it be? “Maybe I could tell you… over a coffee?”

A daffodil entered your field of vision, happy, bright and yet somehow shy in his big hand and you didn’t think twice before accepting it, your fingers brushing his skin in the process only half-accidentally. Passing you the flower, he offered you a hand so he could assist you in standing up.

Ah, as if he knew your knees felt wobbly and uncooperating with the overwhelming turn of events.

You didn’t hesitate to accept that either. You had a hunch that the manners of a forties’ man would be offended if you didn’t anyway.

“Thank you. Again.”

The twinkle in his eyes shone brighter at your words, his smile widening.

“My pleasure.”

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“If I trip over something, I’ll bully you into carrying me everywhere for the next month,” you threatened in a joking manner as your boyfriend of one year led you through his apartment with his huge palm sprawled over your eyes, while his other gently rested on your lower back, making sure you maintained some balance.

“I wouldn’t complain about that. Are you serious? Because I just might let you trip then…” he teased back and you could hear the grin in his voice, mesmerized by the happy note in it. You would roll your eyes at him fondly, but he wouldn’t see it, so there was no point.

“Don’t you dare…”

“Okay, let’s stop now,” he whispered in your ear, his hand shifting to your hip to squeeze lightly, causing you to shiver. You and Steve had taken your time when it came to physical aspect of your relationship (past certain bases anyway), so a touch like that still sent a delicious electrifying feeling through your whole body.

As if you weren’t excited enough ever since the moment he had told you he had had a surprise for you.

Chewing on your lower lip, you followed his gentle instruction and stopped in your tracks.

“Should I be afraid?” you asked for the fourth time in the past five minutes.

“Terrified,” he confirmed in a joking manner. “You ready?”

Not waiting for your answer, he uncovered your eyes and with a deep inhale, you snapped them open.

Only for your breath to hitch at the sight in front of you.

“Oh my god... it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, a surprised chuckle escaping past your lips.

In the corner of the living room, soft marigold pillows laid in a circular hammock chair coloured in the indigo of an early sunrise, practically begging for you to jump in and nestle there with a book and relax.

Instantly reminded of how you met Steve in the first place, you couldn’t but spun on your heels and threw your arms around him, strong arms eagerly welcoming you as his chest shook with hushed chuckle.

“Glad you like it,” he murmured, hiding his face in your hair, raising you from the floor effortlessly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Happy anniversary, Steve. This truly is amazing. I love it!”

“But not more than me?”

It was your turn to chuckle as you retreated, placing a kiss on his nose and earning a pout that simply had to be kissed away.

“No, Steve, not even this amazing hammock compares to you. I’ll show you exactly how much I love you in a sec, I just have to test it out,” you promised.

He released you with no protest and watched with a fond smile as you climbed in with a child-like excitement, the corners of his eyes twinkling. He slowly made his way to you as the hammock swung gently with your weight and you sent him a delighted grin as he sat on his heels in front of you, his hands landing on the edges so he had the control over the movements.

“What’s the verdict?” he pried softly and you opened your mouth to respond with enough enthusiasm to power the state of New York for a year; but he continued. ”Is it comfy enough for you to… make you consider- that maybe-- you could… stay here more often?”

Your breath hitched, your throat swelling when you got a pretty good idea of what he was asking from his serious gaze. Yet, you needed to make sure, butterflies in your stomach flipping their wings wildly as you leaned forward, invisible magnets pulling you towards him.

“And by ‘more often’ you mean-“

“All the time,” he whispered, his eyes roaming your face nervously, trying to spy a reaction, read the answer in your expression alone.

You chuckled incredulously, ecstatic at such proposition, and placed your palms to both sides of Steve’s face, grateful for his grip on the hammock and trusting him not to let you faceplant on him with how hazardous the kiss you gave him was.

Your eyelids fluttered close, but you felt his smile as his lips engaged in a tender dance with yours, one of his hands sneaking to the side of your neck to pull you closer, tilting your head as his tongue teased your lips to part.

How could you deny him anything even when you felt like you were about to fall face-down any second? He would be under you when you landed anyway. What more could you wish for-

“I love you,” he breathed to your mouth as he broke the kiss for one damned second that felt like eternity; one second in which you forgot to suck more air in even when given the opportunity. Who needed oxygen anyway? You could breathe Steve in and live blissfully, it was what you were trying to do for the past minute and it was glorious- “That’s a yes, right?”

A chuckle escaped you as you dodged another kiss, his lips landing in your hair instead, the hammock swaying hazardously. Mm, seemed like your supersoldier was too distracted to watch your balance.

“Yes. The hammock totally convinced me,” you teased him lightly, an idea striking you when you said those words. Climbing down as he was still sitting in front of you on his heels, you lowered yourself on him, nestling in his lap and leaning to his ear and sharing your not necessarily filthy thought in a breathless whisper. “But I think I still like sitting right here much better.”

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S.R. masterlist

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart

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Thank you for reading :-*

P.S. - Keep smiling; at the people you love whenever you can, at strangers and at the person you see in the mirror :))

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #reader insert #fluff #one-shot #steve rogers oneshot #captain america oneshot #avengers #captain america #for a smile #anika ann

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astraeal · 3 years

Text

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here.

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. “Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.” He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. ��Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

#commissions #stardew valley commission #stardew valley #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv leah #elliot/leah #aciddial #thank you for commissioning me!! this was a lot of fun

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berensroadhouse · 3 years

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(ao3 link)

Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

“I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

“Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

“Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

“No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

“It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Want to get married?”

“If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

“I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

“When we already live next to the beach?”

“A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

“Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

“Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

“Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

“Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

“Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

“But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

“Cold spots?”

The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

“Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

“Cas!”

Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

“He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

“Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

“No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

“Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

“Dean!”

“And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

“What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

“Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

“It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

“You don’t know that.”

“I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

“You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

“I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

“But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

“That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

“Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

“Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

“I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

“What about us?”

Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

“Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

“No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

“That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

“Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

“Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

“It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

“The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

“Cas –“

“So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

“Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

“Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

“You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

“Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

“Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

“Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

“I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

Berens’s is in good hands.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fanfic #destiel wedding #destiel honeymoon #berens's roadhouse

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sweeethinny · 4 years

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Reputation - Delicate (Chapter 4)

I know it took me a while to make this one, and just yesterday I deleted three times and started from scratch. But I finally liked what I wrote. Clearly, not canonical, since, there were no death eaters at that wedding or the kiss Ginny gives Harry in her room. The death eaters, I took it off because, Harry deserved one last day of peace, and the kiss, I just delayed it

Thanks to the people who enjoy this story, I still find it very strange to think that people who read what I write (not being my best friend, who reads absolutely everything). :)

Thank for @allthatwooloowho who helped me, honey, thank you <3

AO3

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

Her dress made her so beautiful, so ... radiant, like a masterpiece in the Louvre. The dress rolled with Ginny's movements as she walked around the tent, the fabric rolling back and forth.

In the golden light, the fabric glowed like flaming gold, rare and wondrous to behold. Her hair was braided at the top of her head, but the rest of the locks fell majestically on her back and shoulders, and Harry could almost feel their softness on his fingers.

He wanted to be able to get up, go to her and make a complicated bow to make her laugh, before taking her out to dance, putting his hands around her waist, feeling the fabric on his fingers and rolling it around the tent as if she was the most important person at the party, not Fleur or Bill.

He wanted to be able to tell everyone that they were together, too.

He wanted to know how to dance.

''Barny?'' The melodious voice called out to him, sitting across from him at the table and tossing her hair behind the shoulders, before raising an eyebrow and biting a smile. So beautiful it hurt.

"Ginny, how are you?" Harry smiled, happy to see her up close, and to smell that characteristic scent of flowers. There were rings on her thin fingers, and her nails were painted white with gold and violet sparkles. Everything made her so…gorgeous. It was unfair that Ginny was beautiful like that.

''I haven't seen you in a few years ... so, have you been to the lake? Dad did a great job of gardening in those parts’’. Of course he had gone there. In fact, he had seen it closely for the past two summers, and really, it was quite serene with all the flowers, cut grass and nearby stone path.

''I didn't see,'' he joked, ignoring when George or Bill looked twice at their interaction.

"Oh! I'll have to show you then.'' She stood up, smoothing her dress before looking at it again, those eyes that looked like they had been dipped in chocolate, looking radiant and excited by the escape. ''Come with me?'' Ginny offered an arm, and Harry couldn't help but laugh; it was hard not to say no to her, even when there were all those other thoughts lurking around him. War, his mission, Voldemort, Dumbledore's true story ... Ginny always gave him peace.

We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

''Do you want a drink before we go?'' He offered as they passed a plate that levitated with glasses full of glimmering liquid.

''Sure, why not?'' Ginny approached, and in her high heels, she could easily reach his ear to whisper. ''Don't tell my mum. She won't be pleased.'' Harry nodded, taking two before heading out of the tent, knowing that only the Weasley brothers were looking at him.

He would deal with them later.

The night was lovely, with bearable weather and stars dotting the sky. A wind swayed the trees and Ginny's dress slightly, but nothing that required a cape or warm clothing. Which Harry liked, because the redhead's legs beside him were too beautiful to be hidden by pants.

'’You look beautiful,'' he commented, sipping the drink. He didn't know exactly what it was, only that it was bubbly, with a hint of sweetness and a refreshing aftertaste.

''Thank you. Fleur has good taste.'' The two continued walking in companionable silence, without many intrusive thoughts, just enjoying what seemed to be the last night of peace. ''I didn't give you a birthday present.'' They finally arrived at the lake. The moon shone in the reflection of the clear water, the night glittering on the surface, making Ginny's skin glow even more gloriously, her eyes shining just like her dress. It was breathtaking.

"No need. I'm happy just being a part of things.'' The music was just an unknown, almost imperceptible noise, and Harry liked that silence.

''You look good, too, by the way.''

Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you Oh damn, never seen that color blue

''Even though it's kind of weird to be talking to you in that way'' He laughed, nodding awkwardly and blushing, hating that his skin was so clear that body and showed too much of his blush

''It'll be over soon ... we have more ... fifteen minutes before I go back to being Harry Potter'' His voice sounded like he said it wasn't that important, but Ginny didn't favor it, as her chin and eyebrows advanced smiling corner

''I will wait fifteen minutes before I can kiss you then'' And as if it doesn't include anything here, she bent down to take off her heels and sit on the grass, sinking her feet into the water ''Come on, I don't want to be alone'' He followed, rising like pants to the knee and taking off shoes and like stockings, sitting next to you and feeling the skin cool when you sank it, sighing with regretful temperature change

"Hm .. about the kiss .. I .."

''..I'm not going to kiss someone who looks like my brothers'' Harry laughed, biting his lip and looking back at his feet, feeling some moss on his shin

''I don't think I would like to kiss you while I'm like this'' Was it sincere, looking at her ''Do you want to swim?'' Where had this idea come from?

He blamed her, as well as that strange drink and all this feeling that it was the last time.

''Yes'' Ginny seemed to hesitate a little before speaking ''But you'll have to take care of me later, you know, making my hair dry and everything back in place, because Fleur and my mom will die if they see me dripping water and all blurry''

''At your service''

Then they started to undress, and Harry had already swam a few times with Ginny, but seeing her in a swimsuit was quite different from seeing her in her underwear, and his mind seemed to find the pieces highly entertaining, creating very specific scenarios that made him thank that he would soon dive into icy water

Just think of the fun things we could do 'Cause I like you

The minutes passed quickly, between laughter and meaningless conversation, plunges into the placid, icy water, and lovely silences. Until they were floating, Ginny's body unlike Harry's and their heads meeting, foreheads on each other's jaws and uneven breaths

''You're back to normal'' she pointed out, and Harry had barely noticed that he was showing his own body again, blaming Ginny's body for it. As if reading her thoughts, the redhead licked her lips, sinking her body into the water again and pulling his face to hers, kissing him so hard that Harry almost drowned, half lost when his feet scraped at the bottom of the lake, before repaying with all your fervor as well.

She held his face with a certain territoriality, sucking on his tongue and approaching their bodies, smiling when Harry grunted at the contact, not even the icy water being able to stop him.

His heart was pounding in his ears when he pressed the redhead to a rock, holding her a little higher, lining up their heads and managing to sink the touch as he wanted.

They had some kisses like that at Hogwarts, but that one looked different, as if ... as if it was loaded with lack, fear and worry, as if the world was going to end tomorrow and they just had one more chance to kiss.

Harry thought that could be true.

''Ginny'' He sighed, anxiety eating him alive, as he managed to use all his strength to get away from the redhead, looking her in the eye, and almost moaning when he saw her red lipstick smeared all over her face, wondering how he was ''I like you. Really'' Harry wanted to say that, wanted to affirm just in case ... just in case he died and she never knew.

He very much doubted that he would make it out alive

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Instead of answering, or blushing, as he imagined she would, Ginny pulled him in for a kiss again, even more in need, looking much more sentimental and sensitive than all the years Harry had been around.

''This is my gift'' She murmured against his lips ''For you to remember me'' They finally opened their eyes, winking at each other in a daze ‘'You know If you have some Veela wherever you are, doing whatever’' Ginny swallowed, and when he was older and remembered that day, Harry would remember seeing a touch of fear and jealousy running through her eyes, as if that girl, who turned his head and beginning to almost fall ill with all that whirlwind of feelings, it could be left aside by anyone else in the world.

''I will be busy enough to think about veelas,'' he assured her, hoping she understood behind his words. 'I will never be able to see anyone other than you'

''Good, that was the good side I was looking for''

The two swallowed again, and the sensation of her bare skin (in parts) on his fingers almost made him pass out, thinking how that was his life, how he could be so lucky to touch her intimately and devastatingly.

Harry could never be the same again.

And he didn't even want to.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

They kissed for much longer than Harry could remember, hands wandering and stumbling until he was the one who was pressed against the rocks, groaning when she sucked on his neck and bit his skin, looking territorial as at Hogwarts. He would never complain about that.

His hand went down her spine, feeling the delicious sensation of his fingers discovering her soft skin that is usually hidden by the shirts, before finally squeezing her ass, shielding the moan in her mouth, while dropping her head slightly back, leaving let him delight in all his flesh.

''Harry'' Ginny sighed as his fingers dug curiously to that spot hidden in the middle, which even under water was hot as hell. ''Do you have your cloak?’’ As if he had woken up, he looked at her, stopping his fingers on the fabric of her panties.

''Yes'' And as if by magic, they were dry, and hidden, walking hurriedly to The Burrow again, laughing softly every time their feet tripped or that they saw some guests seeming to enjoy the party too much.

But the laughter ceased when they went up to her room, especially when she took off the cloak and looked at him a little hungry, vaguely pointing at the door with one hand, hoping he would protect them from the world.

For just a few hours, he needed to forget everything that awaited him.

Harry finally locked the door and put on the protection and muffling spells, before having his neck wrapped around Ginny's arms and his mouth occupied with hers, calmer than at the lake, but still hungry as a hungry man

They fell on her childhood bed, moaning softly when the horizontal position made them comfortable and very close.

''I was tired of standing up'' He declared

''Me too'' Ginny laughed, on top of Harry and looking like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, with her makeup a bit smeared and her hair not too dry, as well as messy. Messed up by him.

His ego inflated when he thought he was the first boy to leave her that way, and yet, the first to be lying in her bed.

She was also the first to leave him like this.

And Harry knew it would be the last.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

Soon the clothes came off again, not to the point of being totally naked, but Gin's underwear looked much thinner now that they weren't submerged, and Harry could feel it hot on top of his erection when her hips turned, which caused a loud groan from both.

''Merlin, this is good'' She did it again, and this time, he can't control the thrust of his hips upwards, which caused much more than Ginny's subtle movements. The two looked soft after the shock on their bodies

Harry kissed her again, running his hand down her entire body, enjoying the sensation of her breasts supported by the simple light pink bra, groaning when he pressed his pelvis even closer to her. Her hands went to her back, unbuttoning the piece and freeing soon after, blushing when Harry's green eyes reached the flesh, seeming to live a dream.

''You are beautiful'' was all he managed to say, running his fingers over the hard nipples of her creamy breasts, mesmerized by the freckles that covered part of her skin, feeling their weight and how perfect they were. Harry made her move closer to finally catch one of them with his mouth, sucking as if he had been doing it for years, and almost enjoying hearing his name coming out as a cry from her lips.

Suddenly, his underwear started to get slightly damp, and for a moment, he thought he had really come without even realizing it, until he noticed that it came from Gin, the proof that he was doing everything right. And more eagerly now that he was being encouraged, he massaged the other breast, while still using his mouth there. The vague hand went down her side, half shaking with all the growing lust, until found the fabric wrapped around her hip, playing for a moment there, not quite sure what to do.

''Do it'' Ginny forced him, taking her hand and leading him to her middle, finally touching her, and heavens, she was soaked ''Please'' The request came out so needy that Harry almost moaned along with her when he removed that piece and slid his hand to cover the bare area, losing the senses when it feels so hot and slippery, using the fingers as a guide, exploring the entire area

"I'm going to need you to help me," he admitted, a little embarrassed. They never made it that far, just once he put his knee in the middle of it and Ginny rubbed it like it was the best thing in the world. But that, it was absurdly better.

Long night, with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Ginny guided him, and to her delight, Harry learned quickly, which was a blessing, because her moans and hips rotated over his erection were so wonderful it was like being in paradise.

Confident, he slid a finger inside her, moaning and tensing when he felt her crush him inside, much softer and hotter, while his palm got incredibly wet and the moans grew louder and louder. Harry turned them over, getting on top to get more control, using his thumb to touch that knot that seemed to take the redhead in another dimension, while carefully placing another finger and watching him disappear into her

He had dreamed of it a few times, imagined how it could all be, but his mind was nowhere near as detailed with that, just believing it would be too good, ignoring the rest. But it was exciting to see her, getting more and more red and noisy, riding his fingers like the was the best broom in the world, whimpering his name and scratching his skin.

It was wild.

His cock inside his underwear throbbed in pain, his balls seeming to compress each time Ginny swallowed him more, and when he increased his pace and saw her lift her back while squeezing it until it was almost impossible to take his fingers off, Harry knew they were progressing to something more

''AAAHHH'' She dug her nails into his shoulder, pulling him in for a hungry kiss, biting his bottom lip and furiously moving her hips ''H-arryyyy'' Ginny moaned as her brown eyes dilated and looked like two black holes in her face, her vagina milking him and then wetting him completely with orgasm, her clitoris swollen and looking highly sensitive at that moment.

His ego inflated to the heights.

Seamus talked a lot at times in the dorm, and commented at times about making witches come, and as he heard from a girl that they usually didn't do it easily because the guys were horrible. But Ginny didn't seem to think it was bad, and Harry almost screamed and jumped in celebration..

Daring, as fuck, he bent down until he reached the middle of it, seeing everything up close and feeling salivated at the idea of sucking it, but his confidence had a limit and he didn't think he could succeed in that too, so he contented himself with just licking it to suck all her excitement, feeling his hair tug and the screams starting again.

Harry sucked on his fingers as soon as they left her, and pulled back a little more to suck in her entrance, trying not to touch the clitoris that seemed to be too sensitive.

When he came back up, Ginny was a red mess and out of breath, very much like a hungry animal.

It was sexy

''You were supposed to win the gift'' She said after a few minutes staring at him, running a shaking hand over his cheek and smiling

''Ah, I loved this gift, make no mistake'' His cock throbbed, but Harry really didn't care much, thinking it was much sexier to see her that way because of him, than wanting to deal with his erection now. ''How did I do?'' Seamus had said that some witches lied, but that didn't seem false, even so he questioned

''Do I have to say?'' Gin laughed, flushed and looking like the most beautiful work of art in the world, and he cursed Voldemort once again for stealing it from him. Not even enjoying your girlfriend was allowed. The world has never been so unfair.

Harry didn't want to leave her, and he wasn't thinking about just having to leave her room and go back to the tent.

She seemed to realize this

''You'll be back, and then everything will be fine'' She said, looking much less radiant than before, even so smiling and caressing his skin.

Harry wanted so badly to be hers forever, because no doubt there would never be another one for him, but Ginny would still live, marry, still enjoy the many years that he had left. It was almost unfair to want to declare his love for her again, now that he was about to run away to know Merlin where, and possibly die at the hand of a psychopath

"Are you tired?" He wanted to change the subject, feeling bad for being aware of it.

Harry wanted so much to have more time with her. Maybe a lifetime.

But his life wouldn't be that long, so he would have to be content with that.

Better little than nothing, he thought irritably.

''More or less'' The two made themselves on the bed, she lying beside him, facing his direction as she ran her fingers over his chest, boldly down to his stomach, then down to his navel ...

''No'' Harry stopped her ''No'' He said again, a little breathlessly when her fingers touched him. He wouldn't be able to leave her if he knew what it felt like. ''Sleep, it was a busy day'' The music was being drowned out the windows, as well as the conversations, and inside the world seemed just theirs, with nothing to interrupt them. The boy smoothed her face, also on his side, while also playing with her hair, memorizing every bit of it.

It would never be enough.

''I didn't want you to go'' Her voice was a little shaky, but nothing that passed over her face. Her brown eyes seemed to weigh and the darkness of the chosen room made her look like a goddess, taking Harry closer and closer to paradise before throwing him up there. Not that he complained.

''Neither do I Gin, now go to sleep'' His girlfriend's (?) soft hand stood over his heart, while finally giving in to sleep, closing her eyes and breathing lightly, looking at peace, and much more fragile than he never thought it was possible.

He couldn't have her in danger, let Voldemort use her like he did Sirius, he ... he wouldn't be able to live if Ginny was killed, not even a minute. And that was why he had to go, that he would have to leave her. That perfect and happy life, the sunny days by your side, never belonged to him.

''I love you'' His dick didn't hurt anymore, sad as he got up from the bed and kissed her forehead, covering her with a plaid blanket and memorizing her face before putting on his clothes, ready to leave her forever.

It was for her sake, he think, so that she had the opportunity to live a life, to have a marriage as beautiful as Fleur's, so that she could be totally happy alongside any other man who didn't put her in constant danger.

Even though, Harry completed it alone, closing the door to her room and sliding down the stairs, he never had a chance to be that man.

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time ('Cause I like you)

#hinny #harry x ginny #hinny smut #hinnyprompt #hinnysmut #Harry Potter #ginnyPOTTER #hp and the deathly hallows #hp fanfic #hp couples #reputation #delicate

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shinebrite97 · 3 years

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Welcome Back to The Devildom - Part 2

Read part 1 here

The cell was in the Demon Lord’s castle. Yuri remembered it from the tour she and the other exchange students received during their retreat earlier in the school year. Barbatos unlocked the door, standing by and letting her enter, smiling apologetically as he locked it between them. Placing his hand up to the bar, he waited until she reciprocated.

“Don’t get this wrong, Yuri,” He said. “We are very happy to see you again...We just never imagined it would be like this.”

Yuri had a lot of time to reflect on her actions. With no knowledge of how long her case would take, and only the routine visit of a lil helper D who brought her food to keep time, She found herself keeping the hours in mind by pacing the length of her cell. Internalizing the choice she’d made, remembering each and every moment of the life she lived when she came to in the Human Realm. She’d been placed right where she’d been taken the first time. Halfway between home and work, where she’d been stopped by the handsome man asking her for directions. Her own naivete astounded her now. She had no problem offering to walk with the stranger to his destination, knowing it to be close to her job.

She felt like she’d just woken up from a long nap, feeling a bit dizzy and disoriented. The sun was too bright, and a big void in her memory made her feel like she was forgetting something huge, but with no idea what that was, she’d chosen to go back home and call in sick.

Her family didn’t know what to make of her. She’d been a missing persons case for a full year, after seven months without a trace, they accepted her death, holding a candle-light service for her and attempting to move on. It was bad enough that she was now back with no warning, but the fact she couldn’t tell them where she’d been or remember anything made things more dire.

The community hated her, thinking she’d run off with someone and things fell through so she came back home with her tail between her legs. The community hated her family, expecting them to repay all the support they’d received, and judging them when they didn’t.

No one knew how to act around her. No one recognized the version of her that returned.

And then the dreams started.

Glimpses of white hair, the smell of spicy sauce and dusty libraries and collagen face masks, the sound of someone’s laughter, the feel of cold buttons on stiff gray material, or the crushed velvet of a red shoulder cape. It never meant much to her, but she wrote down every detail she could. Trying in vain to remember something that was just out of her mind’s reach.

And then she started drawing pentagrams.

Her parents came to the conclusion that she’d been taken by a cult and brainwashed or tortured. They put her in therapy and took her to church, but none of their efforts stopped her.

It was the night her mother found her tome on demonology and threatened her with psychiatric lockdown that Yuri knew she had to leave.

She’d stolen a car, drove it to the border of town, and left it in favor of walking into the next one. Between busses and trains, she ended up in the next state, stealing money where she could to afford some room for rent close to a strip club, the easiest job a woman her age could get, and made a life for herself in three months.

In some cynical way, she was proud of herself. Once she came to terms with the truth that she had, quite literally, made it to hell and back, she did her best to make good on her promise to them. To commit enough sins to return a legend.

All she could do now was hope.

* * * * *

It was a lil D of Greed who brought her dinner after what she estimated to be three days, she smiled and asked about their day. Maintaining eye contact with the void of their face, and listening intently to the chilling rasp of their voice, a sound so inhuman that it still sent a warning through her mind, despite knowing that they were basically the same now.

“Milord has made a decision, Milady.” They said. “You will be released tonight.”

“Really?” They set the tray of food on the shelf of her cell and bowed their head.

“Enjoy…” They replied. Yuri was about to ask another question, when the Lil D snapped their spindly fingers and dissipated in a mass of murky smoke, filtering through the air vent at the top of the catacomb.

Yuri sat back against the stone wall behind her, taking a bit of the bread that went with the slice of shadow hog and the poison-marinated bat wings.

To think I used to eat hot dogs and fries for dinner.

Yuri stayed in the corner, taking the lil D at their word and basked in her last moments of solitude before she was released. She hummed, she sang, she thought, and she dozed following the rich meal. She wondered if Diavolo had dined on the same thing. She remembered how much he enjoyed Shadow hog, considering it wasn’t a very fancy cut of meat.

As her mind continued to wander, she wondered about the things that hadn’t come back. Any memories that hadn’t flooded in after the first batch.

It took her time to connect the dots. From the strange voices in her dreams, these strange, mostly featureless figures who seemed to know her, to the strange aromatics that wafted over her in the dream-world. Lavender, roses, cologne, and brimstone.

Then the names popped into her head.

While she was in church, she’d frequently hear the name Satan, and would immediately wonder if he’d read any good books recently. When she’d read the name Leviathan in a book or online, she’d immediately think of anime, and hear the bubbling throaty chuckle of someone who wasn’t used to making such a sound.

The old copy of Lord Of The Flies that she read in high school sat on her bookshelf collecting dust, and while she skimmed the back cover one evening, she suddenly felt ridiculously hungry.

And to top it all off, the incessant pecking of a crow’s beak on her window often disrupted her normal routine, but she never really minded.

All of these small things added up, and once the floodgates of memory opened, she cried. Saddened that she’d forgotten such an unforgettable year, with so many unforgettable people.

It wasn’t long after that she ran away.

In the three days she’d been in the Devildom, she’d have moments where she regretted her choices, wondering how her parents and brother were holding up now. Wondering if they understood why she did what she did. She felt sad, until she remembered the sound of her fathers voice blaming her for all their immediate problems. Rising medical and therapy bills, constant whispers from the neighbors and no more invitations to community events. No one wanted to be around Yuri the zombie, Yuri the cultist, Yuri the weirdo.

In moments like that she’d instead reflect on the good times she’d had here. Shopping after class with Asmo and Satan. Napping with Mammon or Belphie in her room after a long week. Hanging out during break periods with Solomon and his Angel housemates.

Maybe Hell won’t be so bad.

#CW: suicide mentioned #obey me! shall we date?#Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeus #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #fanfic #Obey me!OC #Part 2

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mstow · 3 years

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WF4.1.

Part One: The Day the Markets stood still…

Published at M.Stow11.Wordpress.com

1. She.

‘It is like living in a rabbit hutch’ She often said emphatically and metaphorically, and He replied with

a shrug, nothing to say in reply. It was; and it would take long enough to pay for. Four rooms. Eight-floors up,

eight flights of long turning concrete rubbish chute and stairs, and fire escape, for when the elevators did not

function anyway, which was often and took days sometimes to repair. A balcony open passageway at the front,

looking over the street below, now starting to become busy with traffic. They had lived with his parents for a

time, and then after they were married, in a small rented flat in The City, before they needed to afford

somewhere to live together, and to bring-up their two small children.

Both saved, and with some financial help from a relative (deceased) they had managed to get this

place. When the housing market was ‘buoyant’, and mortgages easy to get. The Home was bought with a loan, a promissory note, deposited and co-lateraled together with their combined lives and the home itself. They were

afloat.

Both worked to pay-off the loan, which although it was supposed to re-duce each year did not seem ever to keep up with pay and prices. The loan would anyway be paid-off many times over if they were ever to pay off the debt.

If this place was ever to become their own owned nothing to pay-back; then, if they managed to keep paying-off the loan for the ‘Shelter from the Storm’ as they called Home.

That they did not actuarily now own, and may not ever, actually own, lose-lose. To sell-back at Market Price, the difference between the paid-back buying-price and selling-price, and of which they would have lost completely to The Bank…The Mortgage Company.

TheirHome-Mortgage@rent no(t)()-insurancetheir assured-pension against dire-poverty and homelessness.

No social-recourse and be homeless, to parents and over-crowding again, or with friends similarly fixed, sofa-surfing their home, such as-it-was de-faulted, re-possessed. A two-bedroom apartment, she thought of: kitchen, lounge, shower-bathroom toilet and tiny balcony onto the world below, between them and the sky above. Each day, each month, and each successive year into the unthinkable future; two-thirds of two-lifetimes at least, two-thirds every month of what they were both paid-in wages-for-work earned.

She did the household accounts, and she knew.

The Home. The Loan. Would have been paid for several times over by the time if ever it became theirs

and The Childrens’; and perhaps even their Grandchildrens’ by the time the shared-property many-floored building was un-inhabitable, de-molished land let-again, built-on freehold not-leasehold extended for-bonus payment un-earned…re-build in the new style, in a traditional place, or otherwise breaking into farmland and ocean beyond.

But that is the nature of the human animal, is it no? To do over, and be done-over to again and again she thought: want more and more, for less and less and in the quiet mind wandering moment of pillared door, a room, a table, a bed let go and a bed sheet left behind ready to be buried with perhaps as they did in the olden- times shrouded as now by thin curtains pulled-back.

Each-Day: like a two-step forward and quick-step fox trot later backwards one-step…

Home and Away worked to pay-off the loan on the house and to pay for and cook food, with bills and

extras, clothes, and nights-out occasionally.

Maybe once a month, or not at all.

Then He had been laid-off work at The Bakery.

Three-day-week and three day’s wages.

The Home mortgage was re-negotiated and they continued struggling to pay-off the loan and other

loans, credited and directly debited debt from what they both earned together.

There was never an issue of who would earn more, and be the main breadwinner, they both earned

more or less the same low wages as most the people who worked and they would do the most caring, of each other, and the children: the unpaid responsibilities shared around the home, and in the world of work.

Shopping and holidays and other friends and family out there. All indebted, or in credit day2day.

Week to week, month to next month, years, minute-by-minute.

They were equal, without even having to think about it or confront societies and others’ false

expectations of gender and families. They were equal in debt and credit, and supported each other’s frail and fragile egos with a natural equanimity respectful and loving…

Each contributing their best and differently, in-differently to make the whole, whole.

It’s not all doom and gloom She did often think, and he tried not to think on it. The homily homely

claustrophobia only had to be relieved by going out. To the cinema, to a bar or restaurant. But that was not very often de-finitely now there were children as well.

Sel-dom. did extras make their mark, clothes bought carefully a piece at a time, re-placement rather

than extravagance. The cupboards filled with groceries and emptied by the time the next weeks shopping is

needed and the next week’s earnings…already spent.

She was awake, first this morning, and she got up from the bed on which he still lay awake but not yet awake enough to leave its’ nigh-time warmth. She went through to the next room. The bedroom led across the narrow-passage to the living room, which led directly to the tiny gallery kitchen and balcony on one side and door to the front room, on the other side balcony corridor and more doors along.

Except it wasn’t the front-room, exactly; only, unlike the ‘front-room’ of her childhood playing on the

street and door directly to the rugged ragged matted smell of cooking from the stone wall white-washed country kitchen.

Upstairs two bed-rooms and on the gallery landing for the children and a closet room to flush away with a basin of water from the kitchen sink-tap and toilet-well into the slurry sump, where you could hear it ‘slurry’ all the way down, filtered to spray on fields all around; and then back downstairs to replace the water from the kitchen-tap and outside clean-well.

Pumped-up from the well, refilling the fired china clay bowl for washing and zinc-metal bucket, ready

for the next use.

Log grabbing toughened steel plasma-cutters hydraulic-ram chassis panel welded together. Expertly Put-together giant wheels axle brake.

Pumping-oil to cool the engines’ turbo diesel s-carbed grapple telescopic arms the claw car-crusher

mattress-shredder then the skid-board tracking carbon-fibre e-road automobiles solar panels settled wind farming blades and wave-machines generating heat&power and swimming in clean-air&water:

> Low-No: installation& maintenance-cost yr/yr.

Apparently, free.

At her first childhood home, bed-time children first, then the adults. Rats nested runs, beetles and

cockroaches were kept away by the domesticated cats and dogs that shared the yard and house with horses at the local stables for the carts and filed machinery; to ride, at week-end day-off, and many Holy Days.

Each week, several times into the market town for food supplies, and the children’s treats.

Their whole world a Living Market Place, of Work Trust and Play.

Now, great enclosed parked superstores and supermarkets and factory outlet warehouse. Where goods

are now transported she thought of: to&fro and by foot and horses’ hoofs carried and motor vehicle, train and massive tanker and container-ship electric like cutting through the air or the hydrogen&helium of outer-space a one-metre flight through nothingness baited

> One-click:Low-No-cost subscription no-way out…

< N/nnn…paid-up…again&again.

From the docks and airport, at the city harbour hub humming away, remote yet directing everyday life, everywhere.

Exorbitant-Political

Business-Trips

Media: Holiday Passengers, and Freight Cargo.

The affordable flight, to get-away from-it-all: a change; a charge necessary move, once in a while, and

not at-all.

Every year; but, to visit family here and there and elsewhere, or else you’d go stir-crazy.

Do a night-time flit, flip! leave the rent, the mortgage, un-paid.

Only, to otherwise keep on fighting for the bargains: cheap-est with-in budget, to get through to the

Next-day and the day-after-that.

When debts and fines could not be paid, the debt collector.

Bailiffs, The-Auctioneer: selling- off of the personal possessions; sometimes, on the Global Markets;

and then sold-out: the personal; and, T.V. public…

The laptop computer on-sleep and awakened, opened, placed on the table, booted-up and She blogged

instantaneously her-thoughts:

#We all need a roof over our heads…and to: put Food on the Table! without any other word or contextual continuity that did not remain obvious to this early morning.

Everyone, and anyone in the same and similar circumstances getting the same hastily tapped-out

messages excluding, those without tablet, home or food; and those with patently far too-much.

Those who had an Administration to do that for them and her-thought continued in the context of the

mindful moment and that which we all have to pay extortionately for over and again even when the food is eaten and the crap washed away there remains a nasty stain, a nasty taste.

Original wages sweated over day upon day, and loans ever in negative equity to who?

Them!

Income-Tax&Corporation-Tax paid/un-paid through government-deal(s):

Extortionate debt-interest credit-profit and volatile prices, losses on last-accounts records ever higher BINGO! and pay…ex-terminating…prices collapsed…looking up, and down again now, not in dejection, but circumspection against ever apparent possible failure, with desperate optimism, toward un-realistic perfectionism.

Only mechanized buffer-traffic building-up as soon as into a busy rush-hour congestion be-low… Cars and buses, bicycles, motorbike and motorized delivery truck from here, only another view.

From

two-sides; and every side… the bedrooms along the passage corridor, the sleeping children slept, earlier peekedinto soundless in beautiful dream or dreamless seemingly startling worrying death-checked for breathing.

Crossing from night into daytime TV remotely automatically turned on, confirmation, that

life goes on…

The living-room she entered bore all the chatter and the silence of one who listens.

Still and safe, cosy and secure. The other rooms took over the emotions and needs: sleep and food, love and arguments. The central room, the central chamber, looked on and awaited eventual, almost inevitable, but never certain re-conciliation, and rest. Indulged-in social-(e) vents, noisy chatter and quiet evenings indoors. The furniture was adequate and filled the room. Table, chairs, television, a drawer and shelved cabinet standing against a wall, displaying various special icons; plastic flowers family photographs in frames, a portrait of a film star, or a print of a famous oil painting.

Ornaments, statuettes, figures of worship and of novelty. The furniture, the infrastructure, from the

livelihoods and eventually the roof over our heads…’in over our heads’ heard as if originally spoken.

There were unopened envelopes and cajoling leaflet advertisement:

Kill your debts! Die debts!

she thought of letters and bills for payment, propped up behind a ticking clock. There was a picture postcard from someone-else’s holiday forming a picturesque frontage to hide the stack of demands for reply and payment which lay beyond.

She-drewback the curtains and looked out of the window across the balcony, with its unflowering

plants growing in flower-pots. There was a real still rising mistinessoutside from the early morning warming; and she gazed over an area where many lived, and it seemed to her, this morning, where they too just only lived

-out their lives: day to day, week to week, minute-to-minute…

They too thought to-themselves as she looked-out onto the dawn of a gradually opening new day that

the world must have always been this way.

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walker-lister · 4 years

Text

Rising Tides Roadtrip!

For the last few days I’ve been in Cornwall, having a quick holiday, and I took the time to visit some of the places that inspired and that are featured in my story ‘Rising Tides’ (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663862/chapters/59597203). I love Cornwall, it’s a childhood favourite for me, which is why I began writing the story, and it has really come full circle as not only did I enjoy being back in places which stirred nostalgia but also reminded me of the story which is my baby by this point ahaha! So, I thought I’d share some photos for anyone who is interested!

Trebarwith Strand

Trebarwith Strand was the main inspiration for the story for me when I first came up with the idea- it’s an amazing spot, small and secluded in a valley which leads down to the beach. The beach itself is very much like what I picture in my head for Kennock Cove beach- the first day I visited it was really sunny which was lucky!

The other days…. Not so much!!

“Jo is, strangely, no longer heading out into the sea, but instead wading through the shallows towards the outlay of rocks Yaz had sat upon the other day, talking to Bill. The sea is rougher where the current meets the earth, and anyone, no matter their swimming ability, would be advised against swimming in such a rough.”

The cottages leading down to the beach were also an inspiration- in particular this one on the end is very much how I picture the bookshop and Jo’s flat above- although it is missing the tardis blue shop frontage!

Kennock Cove is more built up than Trebarwith, but this row of cottages gives you an idea of what I had pictured in my mind in terms of the ‘look’ of the place!

The Dell

‘Finally, Jo stops them when the stream levels out for a little while, and there is a lush patch of grass next to the pooling water, which eventually spills over the earth as a small waterfall... “I come here when it all feels too much, when I need to get away, get some space.” Jo explains. She shifts from one foot to the other. “I thought you might find it beneficial, too, for when everything you’re going through becomes too much.”’

Just outside of Trebarwith, a small turning just as you turn onto the road leading down into the valley towards the beach, there is a small dell within the valley with a small stream. This stuck with me from childhood memory for its peacefulness so I included it in the story- in the story, the dell is a little more inset within woodland than in reality, where it is directly connected to the car park, but the lush grass and the small river running through is very much the same.

Tintagel Castle

Tintagel is another personal favourite of mine, I love the legends of King Arthur, and obviously this site has a lot of prominence in terms of King Arthur, and so I had to include it in the story!

‘Jo throws herself into the role of being Yaz’s tour guide, pointing out specific points of interest as they weave through the ruins. At one point another visitor begins to listen in to what Jo is saying, and before they know it Jo has a small crowd surrounding her, latching onto her every word. Yaz steps back and watches as the woman, with cheeks flushed red a little, slips back into her element, talking to the crowd of people easily. Yaz is more than happy to sit back and watch her do what she does best.’

It is also where Jo reveals a truth to Yaz….

‘They wander further along the cliff line, and come to a rest at the side of a set of ruins which are more submerged into the ground than those of the castle, the remnants of small houses, apparently, covered in mossy grass, stones half buried under mud and dirt. Yaz plonks herself down on the grass next to Jo, and the two sit in a comfortable silence for a bit as they take a rest.’

King Arthur’s tomb

Jo and Yaz visit Tintagel on their first roadtrip together, and they also visit King Arthur’s Stone/Tomb, so I had to go there, too!

‘“….. This whole area has connections to Arthur. Some people think Camelford is named for Camelot, and that Slaughter Bridge refers to Arthur being slain in battle by Mordred.” Jo says, and then brings Yaz to a stop by a small river, the water lying low and exposing the pebbles and stones, slick with moisture. In front of them rests a large slab dappled with moss, engraved with writing, but Yaz cannot make out the words.

“This is King Arthur’s Tomb. Well, that’s what it’s called, anyway. Apparently, it’s been kicking around since 540 AD.” Jo says.’

I had never visited before, and was under the impression you could get close to the stone as Jo and Yaz do, but it’s actually down by the river and you are up on a small platform above looking down, but it was still an impressive site!

Sunset

‘The woman is still, and, from what Yaz can see from her lofty view, she has her arms crossed, watching the sunset unwaveringly. Yaz herself is so caught up in watching the woman that she misses the moment the sun dips below the horizon, and is only alerted to the night’s entrance when the woman seems to disappear into the shadows which welcome the evening into night.’

Finally, the sunset is an important aspect of my story, and so I did my best to try and witness it for myself! The first night I had a dinner reservation at the time, but managed to take a snap of it about an hour before which is still quite impressive!

Unfortunately, the other two nights it was too cloudy (classic Cornwall) so I couldn’t see it- but hopefully somewhen in the future I will!

That’s all I’ve got for now- there’s a couple of other things but I’m holding those back they’ll actually spoil the story so far! But thank you, if you’ve sat through this post lol and I hope you enjoyed 😀

#Thirteenth Doctor #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfic #Yasmin Khan #thasmin #rising tides

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

Coffee with Cream

Chapter 2: Dream of You

full masterlist

series masterlist

Pairings: Frank Castle x reader x Mad Sweeney

Word count: 2,693

Warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol, street fight, men being men.

Summary: Two men, one diner and little old you. Working at a diner had never been your dream job but, fate had a funny way of bringing two contrasted men into your life.

a/n: hey guys! as you all know my obsession over frank castle and pablo schreiber had been exploding these past couple of months. and so, me and @nellblazer decided to write a good old threesome fic involving these two bulky men. hope you like it. enjoy!

You laid in your bed that night with a romance novel that you hadn't had the chance to pick up and finish in awhile due to the weariness of working double shifts. It's the same old pattern for the last few years; you'd get up early for your morning shift at the diner, rushed back home to take a little break, and possibly enjoy your catnaps before your second alarm rings for your night shift.

And then when the night was ending, you'd take another bus to get yourself home, take a shower and eat your takeout or heat up your frozen pizza, and went to bed. For years, life was merely a repetitive cycle of humdrum. You barely had time for yourself due to your relentless endeavour to stay afloat.

Living in Brooklyn when you come from a middle-class family means that you really had to fight tooth and nail to pay the bills and fill your fridge. You were raised to be an independent and hardworking person by your parents and that's why it wasn't much of a challenge for you to work double shifts at a diner when you could've taken one. You taught yourself to push through your boundaries in life, and you were aware that sometimes it's not always convenient but at least you were proud of your own effort.

That also means you didn't have time to swipe right and left on Tinder and find yourself a date. It was nearly impossible to find a decent guy in Brooklyn, let alone trusting a dating app that could possibly be utilized by creeps or murderers to find their next victim. Although your co-workers had suggested it many times to you, you refused to present yourself to the angels of death just simply you were desperate to get laid.

But tonight was different from the others. It was comical, really, how one, well, two, actually people could walk into your life, okay that was dramatic, walk into a diner and elevated the sour mood that you had grown used to in recent years, and made a difference. A good one.

You couldn't remember the last time you had a genuine smile on your face. You also couldn't remember when was the last time you felt butterflies in your stomach. And here you are, lying in bed, replaying the scenes that took place earlier. In the daylight when the bustle was in full swing and in the nighttime when the city was placid.

You barely knew anything about them and you had only met them in less than 24 hours, but, you could still remember the way Frank Castle made you feel when his brown eyes stared intensely into yours as he shook your hand. The quiet yet magnetic force that he exuded only compelled you to learn more about him. In the brief conversation that you had earlier, you knew that he was a wanderer of a man.

He'd been hoping from one place to another, but he was thinking of staying in Brooklyn for a while and you were hoping that nothing changes his mind about that. You were really hoping that you'd see him again real soon.

And then, your thoughts drifted to the second man that you encountered with earlier. His auburn hair burned the lights in the room, causing a small fire that you didn't light up. But his amorous words had left you starstruck in a way that you didn't know was possible. You weren't one to stumble on a brazenly flirtatious man but something about him was too tempting to be overlooked. And the fact that he had this eccentric thing for coins made you wonder... What else has he got up in his sleeve?

Sweeney hadn't been able to get you off his mind all night.

The grumpy server who'd taken over had definitely not been a patch on your sunny optimism or brimming curiosity. He couldn't remember the last time a girl was so interested in his stories. Usually he got brushed off as a leering drunk or just a plain old letch but you'd entertained him, asked questions and given him a form of fresh cream to boot, all for him. A form of worship as it was.

You hadn't realised it of course, nobody ever believes in gods these days unless they're the Big Three or the Norse pantheon. Little old Sweeney with his Celtic cohort was hardly going to register on anyone's radar. I mean, fuck, nobody could even say his actual name right, let alone believe he was a god.

Even so, he felt refreshed, more refreshed than he'd been in years and when he got absolutely blasted on whiskey, the feeling was not the same as it was. The crippling existentialism was gone to be replaced by joyfulness and he sang most of the way home, thoroughly amusing everyone on his way back with his rude songs. He even danced with an old lady like they used to do in the twenties which he thought had made her night as she blushed furiously and began saying it'd been a while since she'd danced with a young man in the street.

Sweeney was having the time of his life, precisely up until he got in the alleyway and his loud singing got him into trouble.

There was a group of thugs hanging around in the middle, trying to sort something out but Sweeney didn't care to venture too close to find out what precisely.

“-Well I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that thing in your thing where my own thing should be!�� he belts out, stumbling slightly in their direction and he sees the flash of irritation on their faces.

The next thing he knew he was getting dog piled on. Bodies seemed to leap on him from every corner and all he could think about was protecting his coin at all costs so he sent it in the Hoard, the magical hiding place for his treasure and once he'd taken a few harsh licks to the gut, he tried to pull himself together to fight back.

Drunken brawling was his speciality after all.

He wasn't expecting it when a couple of the gang members were yanked off of him. He took the opportunity to jump back to his feet, delivering a haymaker to the nearest lad who's cheek splintered under his weighted punch. The kid dropped to the floor like a stone, howling about his face.

The next man behind him, he twisted and grabbed around the middle, running them backwards to the edge of a dumpster before letting go and watching his head clang noisily off the metal as they fell backwards.

Oh it had been a good long while since he'd had a fight. He missed the adrenalin, he missed the cracking of bones and the taste of blood. It spoke to his soul that was millennia old when the world was war, ale and feasting.

Sweeney finally looked up to see that another man was fighting with him, a shorter man, stockier and well built, a nose that'd been broken at least once and the buzzcut styling of an ex-military man. The newcomer shifted his position and Sweeney saw a painted skull on his chest. His first thought was that Baron Samedi was expanding his worshipper's network but it didn't make sense for the Baron to recruit a soldier when he preferred his company to be a little more love and less war.

Who the fucking hell was this guy?

“You okay?” the man asks gruffly as he sees Sweeney staring at him. “Get out. Run.”

“I ain't fuckin' runnin',” Sweeney wrinkles his face in offence. “Do I look like a pansy to you?”

“You look fuckin' drunk is what ya look,” Skull Man counters, elbowing an attacker in the mouth. “I'll handle it. Run home.”

“Callin' me a coward?” Sweeney squares up. “I don't run, boy-o.”

“Really?” Skull Man raises an eyebrow. “Ain't the time for pride, Big Red. Fight or don't fight then. I don't care. Just stay outta my way with that one.”

He points to the man who Sweeney had knocked out on the dumpster. His eyelids were fluttering as he started to regain consciousness.

“What's it worth to ya?” Sweeney shrugs.

“Are you fuckin' kidding me?!” Skull Man storms over, coming up until he was chest to chest. “I save your ass and this is what I get?”

“Didn't ask to be saved, lad.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, right back.”

Just at the point where Sweeney is curling his fingers into a fist, ready to give a good old right hook, he's hit hard in the head from behind and goes down onto his forearms, scuffing them with pebbles and dirt. He scrambles unsteadily to his feet, feeling a little trickle of blood oozing down the path of his hair and sees Skull Man beating the living shit out of the dumpster guy before finishing him off with his bare hands.

Sweeney, meanwhile, jumps back into the fist fight, taking down every other gang member who'd dared to get back up. They make a break for it, running desperately down into the other alleyways and out of sight.

“You'd better run!” Sweeney bellows after them. “You'd all be fucked if I still had my spear. I WAS A FUCKING KING ONCE, YOU CUNTS!”

“I've heard some drunk talk in my time but you...” Skull Man shakes his head. “You're crazy, huh?”

“I'm a god, mate,” Sweeney holds out his arms proudly, swaying on the spot.

“Sure ya are.”

“And what the fuck are you, murderer?”

“Nobody you need to know about. You ain't seen me. I don't exist. I'm just taking out the trash of this city.”

“Oh aye? Are ya? And what did he do?”

“Shot up a playground.”

“Oh...” Sweeney tails off, looking at the dead man on the floor. “Well....good then. Good work. Bastard deserved it.”

He holds out his hand and Skull Man shakes it warily. Sweeney got the sense the guy didn't interact with people much because the handshake was stilted, unsure.

“Got a name?” Sweeney asks. “Or are ya hellbent on being mysterious?”

“It's Frank,” the guy replies after a pause. “But I was-

“-Never here, I got that,” Sweeney snorts. “I'm Sweeney.”

“Sweeney the God. A'ight, go on home then. I got clean up to do.”

“Nice fightin', by the way,” Sweeney calls over his shoulder. “See ya around, Frank.”

“I fuckin' hope not,” comes the quiet response.

Sweeney didn't care though. He was too elated to care. Good booze, a good fight and the promise of going back to that sweet little diner where you were.

He'd have to come in earlier just to spend more time around you. He wanted to know everything about you and more than anything, he wanted to see your smile again.

A god he may be but your smile was absolutely magical.

He sang the whole rest of the way home, already looking forward to tomorrow.

#mad sweeney fanfic #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney x y/n #mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney fic #mad sweeney series #frank castle x reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle imagine #frank castle series #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fic #mad sweeney #frank castle #american gods #the punisher #pablo schreiber #jon bernthal

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cesvaults · 3 years

Text

The last conversation with Rakepick

Disclaimer: This is my first time posting something written by me here and I'm a bit unsure, but here it goes. This is a little recreation of the conversation that Madam Rackepick and MC have in chapter 29 of Year 5 so there will be spoilers for Year 5, so be careful! If you choose to read, MC in this case is Drusilla Woese who has been created by me. If I'm up for it, this could be a series of stories telling the end of Year 5 as I imagined it, though I'm sticking pretty close to canon. I might explore the Woese bloodline and the power that only they possess... But that's in other chapters! If you decide to read it, thank you very much for taking the time and enjoy! <3

Word Count: 2036 ~

Drusilla pushed the door with difficulty. She had always found the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom to be absurdly heavy. Dark, thick wood, with intricate patterns and huge rings. Rowan had once mentioned that the runes that adorned its sides were probably related to the protection of the room.

"We don't learn things so difficult and worthy of such protection, Rowan..." Drusilla had said, sceptical still in her first year, that there were so many dangers haunting them in that castle.

"What about that curse that says Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers only last a year?" her friend had scolded. Rowan had always been tenacious, curious. She never gave up, even on the most banal of matters that they discussed between the two of them on a day to day basis "Do you know who it was?"

"Who was what?"

"Oh, Drusilla... Are you even listening to me?"

The girl laughed.

"Yes Rowan, sorry. It's just that you've told me this story a thousand times before."

"And? The story of how You-Know-Who came to this school - to the same place we are now!" she added, excitement visible on her face as they both walked quickly through the corridors on their way to their Charms class. They barely knew how to conjure Lumos properly, it all seemed so simple in that distant First Year... "Are you really going to tell me you don't find this interesting?"

"I think I'm having too many stories about curses in my life at the moment."

And they had only just begun, she thought now. She could almost see both girls, just turned eleven, walking away down the corridor. Back then, the Cursed Vaults were like a distant and exciting game to both. But now it was real, very real.

The classroom was in darkness, the silhouettes of the desks were barely distinguishable. There was a new moon in the sky, so there was no light coming in from outside either.

- Professor? -she called, still from the doorway.

She caught a brief sliver of golden light coming from the office. She groped her way to the stone staircase at the end of the room and climbed its narrow steps in fear of stumbling in the dark, while fumes of vanilla and incense wafted into her nose.

He had never been in that office before. He guessed that Rakepick had been the one to decorate it with all those Egyptian scrolls and amulets hanging here and there. Otherwise, the room looked rather like other Hogwarts offices: grey stone walls, wooden floor, a small stove in one corner, and a table covered in papers. Of course, there were also various objects that Drusilla assumed were cursed, or perhaps related to a curse?

Did everything related to this subject have to be cursed? She scolded herself as she passed by a pyramid suspended in the air above its pedestal. Though she admitted that talking to herself in her mind was a clear symptom of how nervous she was.

Madam Rakepick was rummaging through various things, bent over her boot.

- Are you leaving, Professor?

The woman didn't seem surprised, she must have heard her coming. She rummaged around some more and then, as if letting out a sigh of resignation, she deigned to turn to her pupil. She advanced to the desk, depositing a small brass box on it, and turned to Drusilla.

- You mean this? Yes, I'm probably going to have to go, Woese. I'm not packing, though.

The desk was the only thing separating them.Drusilla couldn't remember the last time the two of them had been alone together, perhaps when she had taken the Marauder's Map from him? When she had found her dismembered, wandering the corridors of Hogwarts? She had too many questions before she left, but she preferred to start the conversation on the right foot.

- Listen... If this is about all the times this week that I've questioned you...

Rakepick held up her hand for her to stop.

Drusilla couldn't remember the last time the two of them had been alone together, perhaps when she had taken the Marauder's Map from him? When she had found her dismembered, wandering the corridors of Hogwarts? She had too many questions before she left, but she preferred to start the conversation on the right foot.

- Listen... If this is about all the times this week that I've questioned you...

Rakepick held up his hand for him to stop.

- No, that's not why I called you. It's all right.

- So... you wanted to talk to me about something?

Silence fell. The woman seemed to be sorting through her thoughts, as she scrutinised the girl stealthily. Drusilla had never felt safe at her side. And now, after seeing that icy stare up close, even less so.

- Yes. About your brother.

- Oh... Finally? -she dared to say, in a tone that was meant to sound sarcastic, but it had taken her by surprise more than she had expected.

- Finnally? We're going into the Vault tonight, Woese. Have you thought about what you'll say to him if he's there?

Drusilla had thought about it, maybe too many times actually. Would she run to hug him? Would she cry? Would she scold him? How would he react to seeing her so old? It had been a hard few years that had gone on forever. If Jacob had been trapped all that time, how would he have survived? Was there something in the Vaults she didn't know? Of course there was, and she couldn't wait to find out.

- Do you think he'll be there?

Rakepick looked surprised.

- I thought he told you he was trapped in the Last Vault, didn't he?

Silence again.

- Yes, he did.

- And?

- Is there something you're not telling me, professor?

The two looked at each other for what seemed like ages. The faint wisp of smoke rising from the incense resting on a shelf seemed to fill the room with the smell of scorched orchid.

- I know a lot of things you don't, Drusilla. -It was the first time he had called her by name. She leaned her weight on her left leg as she always did, crossing her arms and adopting her usual dominant stance. Badeea had once remarked to her that he had seen her limp slightly on her right side, and perhaps she did that to rest her leg. However, that night the teacher looked tired- But the only thing that should be important now is that I know that tonight there will be a decisive battle at the Vault, it won't be easy to get in.

She noticed deep dark circles under her eyes, though the haughty expression lingered above her exhaustion. Drusilla was tired too. Extremely tired, but the thirst for answers drove her forward with barely a rest for her mind. For the umpteenth time that year, she wished everything was normal.

- And if I were to die...

She almost felt a jar of cold water wake her up. The bluish smoke of the incense had had her mesmerised since she arrived but now all her attention was on the woman in front of her.

- Are you going to die?

- It's a possibility, Woese. I have a feeling this is going to be difficult. It's not going to be like the rest of the Vaults, there's something big waiting for us.

She started to panic. She felt like shaking her. Why was she always going on about half-truths? She always seemed to provide her with 50% of the information she needed to go on. In fact, everyone seemed to do it but now she didn't want to let her mind drift.

- Wait. So is it also a possibility that I die... or Bill or Charlie or Merula...?

- No.

- No? So you're saying...

- I'll die for the sake of protecting you.

Drusilla, who was about to protest, snapped her mouth.

- What, you didn't expect that?

Actually, she didn't. At all.

- You didn't strike me as the sort of person who would die for her students.

Frowning, Rakepick massaged his forehead impatiently. She seemed... Disappointed? Upset with the situation? She was the one who had decided to return to Hogwarts, she had looked for the situation they were in, but in the end... Rakepick didn't seem at all happy with the outcome.

In a burst of bravery, Drusilla dared to use her legeremancy to try and get into the woman's mind, if only one last time. Of course, she ran up against the wall that was Patricia Rakepick's mind. A mental block that even clouded her senses and even penetrated her own thoughts.She didn't know what Rakepick was thinking, but she did know that the role of the benevolent and caring heroine teacher didn't suit her at all.

- In all this time, Woese? I have failed to win you over... -she began cautiously, aware of what the girl was trying to do. She sounded sad.

- No obviously not, -she replied more fiercely than she had intended- if you had told me about my brother, about how you knew him.If you'd told me about the Marauder's Map from the beginning, or if you'd given me a clue instead of what? Waiting for us all to end up trapped in portraits?

If you'd told me about the Marauder's Map from the beginning, or if you'd given me a clue instead of what? Waiting for us all to end up trapped in portraits?

She remembered the horror and anxiety she had experienced the day she found Beatrice Haywood trapped in the portrait that had held her for all those months. It had been in September, but the feeling of angst had been with her ever since and was struggling to take hold of her now.

- To today -Rakepick finally replied.

- To the Vault?

- Partly yes, partly no. To this day, the thirteenth of June.

Drusilla seemed to gasp, prisoner of the ignorance in which she was becoming more and more immersed. After what seemed like a moment's reflection, the cursebreaker crossed the distance between them.

- The portal will open in 30 minutes," she glanced at the elegant watch on her wrist. At last she had returned to her characteristic frivolous tone- but first I wanted to give you this -she turned to the desk and opened the little brass box that had been sitting expectantly throughout their conversation.

Inside Drusilla could see a small dagger as she approached. Surprised, she didn't dare touch it.

- Can I have a weapon? -she asked, puzzled.

- If you want to put it that way, yes. -She looked amused at her shock- Consider it a parting gift, Woese. Go on, take it.

The hilt was made of lacquered wood, adorned with a bit of brass that looked like it had been plated in gold. On the end of it, it was engraved with snake motifs that looked somewhat familiar.

- It is the Uraeus," Rakepick looked at it with a mixture of anticipation and curious amusement, "in Ancient Egypt it was a symbol of royalty and divine authority," he paused dramatically, as if creating even more anticipation, "it is also closely related to the concept of future life and immortality.

- I don't know what to say...-Drusilla held it in her hands, holding it too gently- I thought... I thought Merula was her favourite.

That was all she managed to say. The professor laughed, releasing some of the tension in the atmosphere.

- Snyde is a loyal pupil. Yes, I admit I feel a special devotion to her but... she's not ready. -she was choosing her words carefully- You on the other hand... your mental fortitude and tenacity are incredible, Woese. When I am gone, please take care of her.

The woman held out a sheath for her to keep the dagger in, and Drusilla did so as carefully as she could.

- Even if you don't know how to use it, always keep it close. You never know when you might need a more... "traditional" weapon.

Drusilla watched as Rakepick quietly began to dress.Belt buckles tightly fastened, leather gloves properly sheathed, cloak neatly rolled up... It was like some sort of ritual. Before walking out the office door, she paused one last time to pick up the portrait of the Vault that had been resting on a lectern.

- Trust me one last more time, Woese -she said, her icy pupils almost painfully piercing her this time-, I'll tell you all about it when I get back.

Sickleworth followed her, leaving the girl all alone, the dagger sheath still clutched tightly in her hand. She had the impression that, if what Madam Rakepick had said was true, everything was going to change that night.

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm year 5 #madam rakepick #merula snyde #patricia rakepick #rowan khanna #jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery jacob #jacob's sister #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #drusilla woese #I hope this is good enough

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