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zep-writings · 2 years

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Multiverse Madness

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Summary: Arlo has taken the time to deal with Tony’s death and her way leads her back to a man she deeply cares for.

Warnings: Loss, grief, bad words, fear and anger.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Arlo Stark.

Notes: I do not own any of the characters present in this story, except for Arlo Stark, an original character. This is pure fiction.

Here it is! Part two is up, let me know what you guys think!

Multiverse Madness Masterlist || Main Masterlist.

Chapter thirteen

November 2023.

It had been a few months since 2013 Thanos came through the Quantum tunnel and now things were pretty quiet. A few weeks after Tony’s funeral, when the area where the Avengers compound used to stand had been cleaned up, Steve and Arlo had gone separate ways for a little while.

Arlo had decided to settle in at the Stark’s Lake house with Pepper and Morgan for a bit, enjoying some much-needed family time. She spent most of her day hanging out either with her mum, having normal conversations which, weirdly enough often ended up on the “Steve subject” and cooking or with Morgan playing board games, teaching her some French and going for walks. She really enjoyed having them both so close, even didn’t go a day without dearly missing her dad.

However, next to family time, Arlo always kept at least an hour free everyday to do some research on Dylan. She still hadn’t had any news about him, she still didn’t know if he was alive or not and now that her life was quieter and her mind could think freely about it without being pulled to something else, she wanted to focus on it. She used her dad’s AI table set in the library area of the house and asked Friday to help her get any signs of him. But so far, nothing and she was worried.

It was nine p.m that night and Arlo was sat in front of the AI table, trying to find anything she could, looking into files, newspapers, anything Friday pulled up but looking for him without knowing anything was like looking for a needle in a hay stack.

“Still nothing huh?” Pepper asked, putting down a cup of tea next to Arlo.

“No…” Arlo shook her head and sighed.

“Don’t give up. Finding someone from another Earth is probably harder for Friday.” Pepper dropped a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“I know, Steve says the same thing, it’s just…” She paused and glanced at her mom. “I’m worried, that’s all. I should’ve started looking for him earlier.”

“You were busy fighting aliens Arlo, you can’t do everything at the same time, you know. I’m sure if you end up finding him, he’ll understand.”

Arlo nodded, turning back her attention to the screen. She kept on scanning through articles before her phone started to ring and Steve’s name appeared on the device. A smile settled on her face, and she picked up the phone, sliding to answer as her mom walked to the living room.

“Hey soldier.”

“Hi beautiful. Am I bothering you?” Arlo could hear Steve’s smile in his voice.

“No, I was looking for Dylan, trying to find something.”

“Any luck?” The soldier asked even if he excepted the answer.

“No, nothing. I’m starting to believe he didn’t land here.”

“I’ll help you find him.” Steve promised.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Arlo stood up, picked up a blanket in which she snuggled in and walked over to the deck of the house, dropping in a chair. November had brought cold weather, but she still loved to be outside. She felt closer to Tony.

“I know, but I promised to help you, and I want to.” Steve explained.

“Thanks… How’s everything going for you?” Arlo questioned, as Steve’s voice eased her worries a little.

“I’m done with my mission, and officially on vacation. I’m actually driving back to the compound right now.”

“That’s great. I’m glad you can finally enjoy some time off; you definitely deserve it.” Arlo smiled. “How’s the reconstruction going?”

“Pretty well, the compound won’t be done for at least a few months, but the house by the lake is pretty much finished. Buck has apparently already settled in. I think you’ll like it.” Steve replied, letting out a small yawn that made Arlo giggle.

“Tired, Captain?”

“A little. Can’t wait for a good night of sleep.” Steve paused. “You’re still coming on Friday, right?”

“Yup.” Arlo answered.

For a moment, neither of them talked. Arlo could hear the sound of Steve’s car in the background and she kind of wished she was with him right now. “I can’t wait to see you…” She admitted shyly, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Me too, beautiful.” Steve replied, a smile noticeable in his voice as Arlo couldn’t help but let her own smile spread a little wider at the nickname. “Alright, I have to go, I’m almost at the compound, but I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“’Course. Get some sleep, I’ll see you soon soldier.” Arlo simply said before Steve hang up.

After Tony’s funeral Arlo had been struggling. The simple idea of leaving Morgan and Pepper behind didn’t sit well with her and losing her dad all over again had taken a big toll. Steve, knowing her as good as he did, had noticed how much she struggled and had pushed her to stay behind with her mom and her sister and to take some time off. Because Steve being Steve he always thought of the people he cared about before himself. Arlo had hesitated for a while before finally agreeing with the soldier. She knew she was going to miss Steve, especially after everything they had been through together, but she stayed back.

Even though Arlo and Steve hadn’t seen each other in almost four months, their relationship hadn’t changed. They face timed and called almost everyday when Steve wasn’t on a mission and truth be told they deeply missed each other. Arlo couldn’t wait to see her soldier, and, at the same time, she felt very nervous about it. She was a little worried that things would be different or weird between them even if Pepper had tried to reassure her. After all, Pepper wasn’t blind and, as almost everyone around them, she had noticed the complicity and the way they looked and talked about each other. Only an idiot wouldn’t be aware of it, or two in love idiots as matter of facts.

After finishing her cup of tea, Arlo made her way back inside the house and sat next to Pepper on the couch as her mom closed her book and looked up at her.

“Steve?” Pepper inquired, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Yeah. He just finished a mission.”

“You two spend a lot of time of the phone.” Pepper observed in her ‘mom’s voice’.

“Well, we are good friends.”

“Friends, right. I was once good friends with your dad you know.”

Arlo felt herself blush and she started to play nervously with a piece of her hair. “We are just friends.”

“You know, there’s absolutely no shame in liking someone.” Pepper stated, taking gently Arlo’s hand in hers. “I think you two would be great together.”

For a second Arlo didn’t know what to say. She liked Steve, a lot more than she was ready to face it. If she was quite honest with herself, she was even in love with him, and apparently, it was quite obvious to her mom. “You… You really think so?”

“Honey, Steve is a great man, and you deserve someone that cares about you as much as he does.” She tenderly stroked her cheek. “I know this isn’t easy for you to imagine having someone that way after what happened to Miles, but you can’t live in the past either. You deserve to be happy and Steve seems to make you very happy.” Pepper continued, a loving smile on her face.

Arlo took a few minutes to ponder over her mom’s word but soon Pepper changed the conversation, and the brunette was glad she did. They talked for two more hours before Arlo felt herself grow tired and she walked up to her bedroom. When she laid down on her bed, Pepper’s words were still turning in her mind. She did deserve to be happy; Miles would want her to be.

****

As Steve hang up the phone, he found himself smiling like an idiot. He missed Arlo; he really did. A few months back, when she had decided that she wanted to stay with her family, he had been a little disappointed. Of course, he knew she needed to spend time with Pepper and Morgan, he even was the one that suggested it but part of him was a little worried things would change between them. However, it didn’t and things were going really well between the two of them. They were closer now than they had ever been, to the point where Steve even thought about actually asking her out when she came over.

Steve drove into the driveway of the compound and stopped the car in front of the lake house that had been build in the last few months. It wasn’t entirely done; it still needed some paint in few of the rooms, but it was habitable. As the soldier stepped out of the car, he was welcomed by a pretty cheerful Bucky. Steve liked seeing his best friend like this, especially after all he had been through while being the Winter Soldier.

After a quick hug and a few words Steve went to his room, dropped his bag and hoped onto a hot shower. His body was a little sore from his last mission and he was glad to have some time off to enjoy the peace of the countryside. He stepped out of the shower, dried himself and put on a pair of grey joggers and a simple t-shirt before heading back to the kitchen where Bucky had made diner.

“That’s something I haven’t seen in a while, James Buchanan Barnes cooking diner.” Steve teased, as he picked up a plate and sat on a bar stool by the kitchen island.

“Well, don’t get use to it. You’re still better at it than I am.” Bucky said sitting in front of his best friend.

“Wait until Arlo gets here; you’ll realize we’re both just really bad at it.” Steve added as a stupid smile appeared on his face.

Bucky rolled his eyes and took a bite. “I would like to know what you don’t like about her, because if I listen to you, she’s perfect.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, clearly understanding where he was going. “Nobody’s perfect Buck.”

“Hmm hmm.” Bucky nodded and paused for a second. “You know, it’s been a while since I saw you smile like that.”

“Like what?” Steve frowned.

“Like a sixteen years old idiot utterly in love.” Buck explained, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m not a…” Steve stopped when he saw Bucky’s gaze and felt himself turn red. “This is ridiculous.”

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told her how you feel.” Bucky shook his head. “You know, as you say yourself: as the world’s leading authority on waiting too long, don’t.”

Steve looked down at his plate, playing with his food. He knew Bucky was right, he knew he should tell her before she slipped away. She was a very beautiful young lady, he was fully aware of that, and he knew she wouldn’t wait for ever. He also knew deep down that she probably felt the same way. Suddenly, he was just getting cold feet and was very scared to let her know how he felt. Steve had never been really good with ladies and truth was, he didn’t want to tell her anything over a phone conversation, it didn’t seem right.

“What are you waiting for exactly? Someone else to come around or the world to end?” Bucky asked, almost as he had read Steve’s mind. “If you don’t do anything, maybe I should.”

Steve sat up, his eyes flying to his best friend’s face in surprise. “What?” He blurted out.

“I mean, she is gorgeous, smart, kind, pow…”

“Okay, stop! I get the point okay?” Steve cut him off, a little on edge.

Before the serum Steve had never been a first choice for the ladies, he wasn’t even considered, especially with Bucky by his side. His best friend was a charmer, a handsome man who always had success with women, and part of Steve sometimes still felt like Bucky would always be chosen over him. So, if his best friend started flirting with Arlo, the soldier was pretty sure he didn’t stand a chance anymore, or at least that what he believed.

“Then tell her how you feel pal. You’ve got nothing to lose.” Bucky smiled softly.

“I didn’t want to tell her over the phone Buck. And I think she needed to spend time with her family without me spilling my feelings out.” Steve said shyly.

Bucky groaned in frustration, letting his head go back before glancing at the blond soldier. “Look Stevie, she likes you, just as much as you like her, it’s kind of obvious. So, stop making stupid excuses and just tell her. You came back for her, didn’t you?”

Steve didn’t answer. He did come back for her, of course he did, but also for Buck, Sam and the others. Bucky wasn’t stupid and he knew Steve more than anyone else, just like Steve knew Buck better than anyone else. However, having Arlo so far away from him made him doubt if he had made the right choice sometimes. Should he have stayed with Peggy? No. No Peggy was his past, and Arlo was his future, he just needed to act on it, for good.

“Alright. Now let’s go and watch that movie you picked.” Bucky changed the subject, standing up from his chair and cleaning up his place.

Steve stayed there for a few second, thinking, before doing the exact same thing and settling on the couch next to his best friend.

****

For the next two days, Arlo kept herself busy over the house, trying not to think too much about Pepper’s words and about the fact that she would soon see Steve again. She was excited to see him, but she was also very nervous. She had packed her suitcase and put it in the trunk of her dad’s old car before turning back to hug her mother and sister.

The drive to the compound wasn’t too long. She turned on the radio and sang along a little, as her fingers tapped against the wheel. A weird feeling started to grow in her when she drove down the small gravel path leading to the compound lake house, that was very similar to the one where her family lived. She had a sick feeling, which seemed to settle in her stomach, until her eyes stopped on a very familiar silhouette standing a few meters away cutting wood. Instantly a smile spread across her lips, and she found herself relax and feeling stupid at how nervous she had been.

She stopped the car as Steve turned to her, a huge smile spreading across his own lips. She stepped out, not even taking the time to slip on her winter jacket and walked toward him.

“Hey, beautiful.” The soldier greeted her.

“Hi, soldier.” She spoke.

A seconds later, she was pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his neck as his circled her waist and picked her a few centimetres up from the ground. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and closed her eyes.

“I missed you so much…” She confessed in a small whisper.

“I missed you too, love.” Steve whispered back.

They stayed like that a few minutes, Steve holding the young Stark as she enjoyed his embrace. She had missed him so damn much that she suddenly didn’t understand why she hadn’t come back earlier. She was definitely not leaving him that long ever again.

“Come on, let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.” Steve dropped her back on the floor.

“You know I can’t get sick right? Serum and all that shit remember?” Arlo smirked and Steve chuckled.

“I remember, but still.” Steve winked and took her hand in his, pulling her towards the car to grab her suitcase before leading her inside.

Steve couldn’t help but feel the need to protect her, even if she probably didn’t need it, and to act like a gentleman when she was around. He dropped her suitcase in a small room, next to his, and reluctantly let go of her hand.

“That’s your room. Well, it’s the last free we have here for now actually. We’ll have more space in a few months when the compound is be done.” Steve explained.

She smiled at him softly. “It’s perfect Stevie.”

Steve noticed the nickname, the one that only Bucky had ever given him, but he liked it coming from her, even more than coming from his best friend. Best friend who entered the room right at this moment.

“Hey, look who’s here! Hi gorgeous.” Bucky greeted, a smirk on his face almost as if to provoke Steve nicely.

“Hi Buck!” Arlo replied back as he gave her a hug.

“You look beautiful!” Bucky observed, continuing to tease Steve.

The sergeant glanced at his best friend who groaned quietly, a clearly annoying look on his face. However, Arlo didn’t notice the exchanged between the two soldiers, blushing slightly at Bucky’s words but keeping her sass.

“Are you horny or what?” Stark rolled her eyes.

“No, just stating the fact, that’s all. You do look beautiful, doesn’t she Steve?” Bucky answered, turning fully to his best friend who was struggling not to turn fully red-faced.

“Yeah.” Steve simply said, scratching the back of his neck nervously before Bucky laughed and walked away, just like that.

“What’s the hell was that? Did you hit him on the head too hard or something?” Arlo frowned and shood her head.

“No, but maybe I should.” Steve said, thinking about how embarrassing his best friend could be sometimes. “I swear he’s lucky I love him. The man is an embarrassment sometimes.” Arlo snorted as Steve shook his head. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He added before taking her hand back in his.

Steve gave her the tour of the lake house. He started by showing him his bedroom right by hers, Bucky’s a little further down and the bathroom right in the middle of the floor before they headed down to the large kitchen opening into the living room where stood a massive couch by a slightly smaller fireplace. She loved the house, it felt just like home, even more so because Steve was by her side.

That night she cooked for the two men, a simple dish her mother had taught her, but which ended up being a big success. After cleaning up the dishes, Bucky excused himself to his room to read the Lord of the Rings, which he had now read three times according to Steve’s commentary, and Arlo settled on the couch by the blond soldier. She quickly snuggled by her side and for the first time in a very very long time, both of them felt really happy and calm.

Almost like they were meant to be together.

****

Chapter fifteen

#chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x OFC #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #arlo stark #MCUfanfic #multiverse madness

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layniapetrovnaaa · 4 years

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“No boys”

Request: @soytrash

Hey beautiful 🤍 how about a cute little moment between reader and Logan with Laura regarding a crush 🥺And Logan is just overprotective, but prior to Laura coming home from school and talking about a crush, Logan is trying to get some from reader 🥵 please and thank you hun let me know if that’s okay or not 🥰 (maybe with the baby from your family series too) sorry if it’s too much I love your writing 🥺🤍

Warnings: Smut, swearing (if you squint).

A/n: Do you guys picture yourself when reading fanfiction? Cause I do and don’t haha. Typically when I read/write for Logan I picture myself as Scarlett Johansson in Match Point and The Island lol. I’d love to hear about you guys, so just let me know!

Reader is written as under 30 y/o, if you are older, just change the number :)

I hope this is good enough (I’m not really that confident in this one). Let me know if you have any constructive criticism.

[The Howlett Family series]

It was a particularly warm day in the Canadian Rockies, warm enough to open a few windows and have the cozy log house smelling of the fresh outdoor air. the window above the sink that you were currently standing at let a breeze into the house that tickled you just enough to have your body bear a small chill.

As you rinsed one of the bowls you had used this morning to prepare breakfast, your hips swayed side to side in a fluid manor that matched the rhythm of the song that lightly boomed out of the speaker which sat by the fruit bowl on the counter. The reason behind the low volume was that Logan was currently trying to put your youngest daughter down for her daily afternoon nap. If the wails and grumbling coming from the baby monitor was any indication, it wasn't going very well.

You dried off your hands and picked up the monitor, holding down on the button that allowed your voice to come through on the other end.

“You need some help?”

“We’re fine. I just cant find her goddamn pacifier.”

“Did you check on the shelf by her changing table?” you spoke again.

Suddenly the crying stops and you smile knowing he found it.

He lets out a quiet “Thanks.”

You set the monitor back down and go back the the half a dozen dishes left in the sink.

“Kid’s quite the screamer hm?” you announce as Logan walks out from the hallway a few minutes later.

“Yeah she is, I think she got it from her mother.” he jokes walking around the island to be closer to you.

You let out a breathy gasp like-laugh.

“Oh really?” you say in an exaggerated tone, humor still consuming it.

“Mhm, and speaking of screaming...” he places his hands on your waist and squeezes a bit.

“We can’t baby, Laura's gunna be home in like ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is enough time. I can’t help it, you just look so sexy--”

Before he can finish you interrupt.

“Logan, you know damn well ten minutes isn't enough time.”

“I just need something [Y/N].” he says as his hands find your breasts and you let out a small moan, abandoning the dish towel and griping the counter.

He kisses your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft flesh, which brings forth light breathy moans from your mouth.

You turn your head to kiss him and you can feel yourself throb a bit when your lips meet. his hands dip into your top and pull your breast out of their confines, teasing your nipples with his fingers.

He continues to grope and kiss you as his dominant hand makes its way into your pants.

You moan loudly into his mouth as the pad of his middle finger circles your clit a few times.

His lips separate from yours so he can speak.

“Hmm, You like that?” he says in his breathy and gruff voice.

You can’t seem to make out any words, so instead you offer an almost whiny sounding “Mhm.” as his fingers inch lower.

You gasp, throwing your head back onto his shoulder, your right hand coming up to hold the back of his neck, as his middle and ring fingers enter your tight lubricated hole.His fingers curling in the classic “come hither” position, making you squeeze around his digits.

Even after all of the time you had spent with Logan, your body still didn't know how to handle the pleasure, that being evident in the way that your back arched and you sporadically bucked your hips back into his crotch with every jolt of pleasure that you felt.

Your moans were absolutely erotic as he seemed to push further into you, finding that spot that did in fact make you scream.

And the explicit squelching noises were making you even more desperate as he fucks you with his fingers.

As you let out another slew of loud moans, you feel his hand come up to cover your mouth.

“As much as I love hearing those pretty noises you make, baby, you gotta be quiet.”

Your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut at his his words and the vibrations from your moans bouncing against his cupped hand.

His thumb starts to circle your clit in the same rhythm that his fingers were moving in.

God, you were so done for.

He releases his hand from over your mouth before he asks:

“You gunna cum?”

“Mhmm” you let out in high pitched whine.

“Ouh! Don’t stop.” you pleaded as that marvelous feeling started to take over.

“That’s right baby, jus like that.” he speaks, egging you on until your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasmic euphoria taking over.

Eventually your body comes back down to earth.

“Look at that, you got three minutes to spare.” he coos in a triumphant tone.

Your breath is heavy and you whimper slightly when he pulls his fingers out of you.

You glance over to the built in clock in the stove before readjusting yourself and catching your breath.

Turning around, you plant your hands on the space where his shoulders and neck connect, and kiss him. Your tongues danced together sensually until you pulled away.

“I wish I could return the favor...” you hum and he kisses you again.

“You will later.” he says as the screeching of the school bus tires alerts you of Laura’s homecoming.

You look up at him and bite your lip, giving him a sensual smile as you nod.

You separate from him as you hear the front door open, going over to greet Laura.

“Hey honey, how was school?”

You could hear Logan in the kitchen, chuckling at your total change in demeanor.

You turn slightly to roll your eyes at him, but the small amused smirk on your face gives you away.

You turn back to your daughter as she answers you while getting her homework and lunchbox out of her backpack.

“It was alright. We got to watch a movie in my english class, so that was nice.”

You follow her to the kitchen where she sits at one of the bar stools at the dark wood island, slapping her purple folder and pencil onto the table.

You noticed something off with the young mutant, like she wasn’t telling you something.

When she looked up to see you and Logan analyzing her, she knew she would have to put on a better performance if she wanted to keep her secret. Fortunately for you, she wasn’t feeling up for a challenge today. And it’s not that she wanted to hide what her friends had told her was called a “crush”, but she knew how her parents would probably react.

“Laura, is there something you need to tell us?” Logan spoke.

“Sweetheart, you know you can tell us anything, right?” you squeeze her shoulder in a loving manor.

She nods, taking in a breath before turning to you and muttering: No puedes decírselo a papá... (You can’t tell daddy...)

Hearing this concerned you. Laura and Logan had a pretty open relationship, despite their constant bickering.

Your eyes quickly flick over to Logan, who was watching you and Laura, his arms crossed while he leans against the kitchen counter.

“Que es Laura?”

Logan was accustom to yours and Laura’s more private conversations you had in spanish. He wasn't really a fan, only because when they would occur, he felt left out. But, he figured this must be important and waited patiently before asking you what she had just said about him.

“Hay un chico en mi clase que está enamorado de mí.” (There is this boy in my class who is in love with me). Her voice is quiet, but her tone sounds exasperated.

Logan's brows furrowed when he heard “un chico”. He didn't know much spanish, but he did know that un chico meant a boy, and he did not like the sound of that.

You snort, your hand quickly flying up to cover your mouth before you speak.

“Aww Laura!”

A shy grin spreads across her face.

“What did she say?” Logan speaks up

You bite your lip, trying to hold in your small bit of laughter. You look over at Laura and can tell that, although she is nervous for what her fathers reaction may be, it would be best to tell him about her dilemma.

“Laura has a not so secret admirer.”

“He wrote me a note.” she says, grabbing a crinkled white paper from her pocket.

You could tell by her humorous tone that she found the situation comical, and didn't seem to reciprocate the feelings.

Logan on the other hand had immediately gone into full protective father mode, snatching the note from her hand, and reading over it to make sure nothing obscene had been written/drawn on it.

After he is finished looking at it he crumples it up and puts it in the garbage.

“No boys until you are 30.”

“Logan don’t be ridiculous.” you say, walking over to fish the note out of the can.

“I am not being ridiculous.” he scoffs, incredulously.

“In fact, I think I’m being a bit lenient. 30 years old is a perfectly reasonable age to start being romantic with someone.” he says, and now it was your turn to scoff as you hand the paper to Laura.

She makes a disgusted face and holds the very corner with her pointer finger and thumb. You couldn't tell if it was because it had been in the trash, or because of it’s contents.

You turn back to face Logan and cross your arms.

“You do realize that we’ve had a baby together and I’m not yet 30, right?”

He retracts slightly, and grumbles:

“That’s different.”

“Uh-huh” you reply sarcastically.

“The feelings are not mutual by the way.” Laura finally speaks up. Deciding to clear the air before an argument started brewing.

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

“That’s my girl.” Logan says, and you chuckle.

“That conversation is not finished by the way.” you say while you walk over to the pantry to get Laura a snack, Logan grimaces, thinking of the conversation that would come later.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you and Mama end up together?”

“Uhh, well...” he starts, glancing up at you, not sure if it was the right time to share.

Yours and Logan’s story was a bit controversial. The reason being that you were only 19 when you first “got together”, and Logan was your ex-teacher. And it wasn't exactly the most orthodox either. Instead of the typical flowers and a dinner date, it was more like neither of you could sleep one night, and one thing led to another, which led to you waking up in his arms in the morning. You had always had romantic feelings towards The Wolverine. Though they were never truly discussed, you both knew they were there, and you knew they were unbreakable. So, after that night, you two became exclusive.

“We met at Charles’ school, you know that.” you speak, setting the packet of crackers in front of the pre-teen, and walking over to grab an apple to cut up for her.

Laura sighs, knowing that she probably wouldn't get the answer she was looking for if you weren't willing to share it.

She rips open the wrapper, glaring at Logan when he steals a cracker from her.

“Well, how did you know you had a crush on each other?”

You chuckle lightly as the knife cuts into the ripe and scarlet colored fruit.

“We didn’t exactly have a crush on each other, Laura.” Logan starts, but a dry cough finishes the sentence.

You look up at him, asking if he was alright with your eyes.

He gives you a blunt nod as he lets out a deep breath.

You notice your daughters furrowed brow as she munches on the biscuit, and elaborate on Logan’s previous statement.

“Your father and I’s relationship is a bit complicated and unconventional, Laura. What he was saying was that we have and had a connection on a level so much more than a crush.”

She nods and pops another cracker in her mouth.

“But,” the crisp sound of the apple interrupts you slightly.

“usually when you have a crush on someone, you get the feelings of butterflies in your stomach whenever you see or think about that person. You smile when they smile, and laugh when they laugh. You want to be around them all the time, and you try to get their attention. You sometimes get nervous, and jealous of others that are close to them.”

You place the apple slices on a plate and slide it over to her, cleaning up the slight mess you had made and you glance over at her.

Laura sat starring at the plate as she thought of all of her symptoms you had just listed.

“Why were you asking?” Logan asks, his voice stern and suspicious.

She looks up, once again nervous.

You smile, getting an inkling as to where this is going.

“Well, there’s this-”

“No Laura. No boys, remember?” Logan interrupts, his custodial protectiveness resurfacing.

“It’s not a boy.” she mutters.

Logan blinks a few times, looking over to your grinning face.

“It’s a girl?” he asks, making sure that he wasn’t getting mixed up at all.

Laura looks up from the oxidizing apples a second time and nods.

“Well,” he leans back in his seat, breathing out.

“Tell me ‘bout her.”

She grins and you smile back, lovingly.

And then she doesn’t stop talking about the girl with the dark umber skin and curly caramel highlights until you have to remind her to eat her apple slices.

#old man logan #wolverine #old man logan imagine #old man logan x reader #old man logan imagines #logan howlett #old man logan smut #Smut #laura howlett #laura kinney #logan 2017 #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine imagine #wolverine imagines #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

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Leaves of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,148

Summary: You and Bucky are getting ready to spend your first fall in your new house.

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club continuation of drunk drabbles and the lovely prompt below from @buckstaybucky and the surprise drabble challenge Fall in Love! I love all of this! YAY! Hope you like this and thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Sweet soft fluffly love, domestic fun fluff, Bucky’s flannel, fall themes

The curtains rise high from the morning breeze, your body curled comfortably under the blanket and wrapped in Bucky’s arms. It’s quiet except for the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft singing of the birds. Calloused fingers smooth down your thigh and pull you closer, Bucky’s warm breath tickling your shoulder with his, “good morning beautiful.”

You turn to face him and snuggle closer, “mornin’ baby. You’re so warm! I don’t wanna get up!” Laughing into your hair he brushes some loose strands from your face and kisses your cheeks. “We’re in no rush. We have all day to decorate.” Your eyes pop open and your cheeks turn up in a grin. “I can’t wait!”

Shooting up you scramble to get out of the bed and, in the process, pull the covers from Bucky’s naked body. He throws a shirt at you and it lands on your head, his smell instantly surrounding you. You pull it down and hug it to your chest, “thank you baby! My favorite flannel!” Next comes a pillow but you duck just in time. “You mean MY flannel.”

Shrugging it over your shoulders you close just a few buttons and twirl around, “nope. I mean mine. All your shirts that I love become mine anyway.” With that you saunter off into the kitchen, grabbing some fuzzy socks on the way. Bucky swings his legs over the bed and grabs a pair of sweats, following right behind you.

“Want to try that pumpkin spice tea we got yesterday?” You’re already standing at the counter, taking out the ingredients for pancakes. “That sounds great baby girl, thank you.” He slides up behind you, his arms resting on either side of your body while you prepare the food. “You look really cute in my shirt you know that.”

Reaching up to grab a measuring cup you purposefully brush your ass against his crotch, “of course I do.” Moving your hair away he starts kissing down your neck, pulling his flannel off your shoulder so he can keep going, “are you making those pumpkin pancakes doll?” You shiver at his touch and nod, wiggling out from under him, “I’m trying to but you’re very distracting Barnes.”

He moves away and pushes himself up and onto the island, grinning when your eyes wander down his bare torso. “Still distracting baby,” you hum, staring at him while you mix the batter. “I’m behaving.” You raise a brow but don’t argue and finish up the pancakes.

Suddenly he jumps down and walks toward the large window above your kitchen sink. “Hey doll, quick come here.” You rush over and slip under his arm, “what??” He carefully points to the tree just outside the window and smiles. “Oh my gosh Buck! A chipmunk!!! He’s so cute! And tiny! And I love him!” Bucky’s body rumbles with laughter and you start hopping up and down, spinning in his arms and hugging his waist. “I love our new house!” He kisses the top of your head and pulls you tighter to his body, “me too doll face. Me too.”

After a delicious and very pumpkin themed breakfast you finish getting dressed and head to the garage to gather the decorations. Every time you pull one out you squeal in happiness much to Bucky’s delight. “Oh Buck, look at this one! How cute is the little owl! I love owls!” Bucky stands behind you, his cheeks pink from the cool morning air and his eyes sparkling, “you love everything!” Turning to face him you cup his cheeks, “but nothing as much as you!”

You both laugh before warming up with a kiss then gather as much as you can hold and bring it out to the front of the house. Your porch is the perfect setting for pumpkins and some hay bales as well as some cute hanging decorations. Bucky ties a large corn stalk to each of the pillars that frame the steps and you add some pretty ribbon around them, tying it into a big bow at the front.

“Wow! Looks perfect baby girl, you did amazing!” You stand in the crook of Bucky’s arm, the warmth of his body and his words covering you like a blanket against the chill. “Thank you, baby, I just love it! Now all we need is to rake the leaves to fill the pumpkin bags!” Bucky surveys the front yard, laughing when he sees how many leaves there are. “I think we have plenty,” he jokes handing you a rake.

You work in comfortable silence, every so often glancing at your surroundings and taking in the beauty of it. The trees sway gently in the breeze, their golden yellow leaves drifting slowly to the ground and adding to your growing pile. Bucky makes his way closer to you, grabbing a handful of leaves and throwing them over your head.

Several get stuck in your hair and on your shirt. “Lemme take a picture beautiful.” You smile while he snaps a few pics then continue raking the last of the leaves into a pile. Bucky puts his phone away and goes back to working on his area. Watching him you get a playful idea and carefully rest your rake against a nearby tree. You rush at him from behind and try to knock him over into the pile, but it doesn’t work. Instead it’s like hitting a brick wall and when his arms instantly shoot backwards and grab yours you know you’re in trouble.

In seconds flat you’re on your back in the pile of leaves, Bucky hovering above you and laughing victoriously. “Nice try baby girl.” You pout and take a handful of leaves, throwing them at his face, “ugh. I almost had you!” Bucky wiggles over you, “not even close.” You decide to take a different approach and lean up to kiss him, hoping it will work as a distraction.

When you feel his grip loosen and his hands start to slide under your shirt you use it to your advantage and flip him over, pushing him down and under the leaves. “HA!” You quickly get up and try to run away but he grabs your leg and picks you up in his arms. “Bucky! Put me down!” He grins, “if you say so,” then drops you into the giant pile again.

By the time you two are done jumping and playing in the leaves it looks like you never raked anything at all. “Well. That was really fun but counterproductive,” Bucky says, looking around, his hands on his hips. “So worth it!” He takes your hand and pulls you toward the house, “what do you say we have some lunch, finish this up, then try out our new outdoor hot tub.” You jump on his back, wrapping your legs around his waist and burying your face in his neck, “sounds perfect Bucky.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @buckstaybucky @bugsbucky @buckosawrus @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-henley @breezy1415 @buckys-minty-breath @book-dragon-13 @bucky-on-my-mind @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lookiamtrying @lorilane33 @lokilvrr @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @addikted-2-dopamine @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @this-kitten-is-smitten @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @yansi1923 @hopefuldreamers-world @tales-of-spring @survivor-reborn

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lollytea · 3 years

Text

Fearless (part 2/3)

( PART ONE okokok some parts of this are pretty good. some not so good. but the important part is im tryin my goddamn best out here.)

[OCTOBER 22ND, 7:02PM] The sun had melted away beneath the distant hills and Louie had somewhat calmed himself down.

At least, he was no longer hyperventilating. The feathery tufts on his cheeks were not as fluffy as before, now clumped together from his waterworks earlier.

He lit the last of his lights, drawing the match away and allowed the head of the flame to seize its last moments. It danced with delight, flickering as it devoured the thin strand of poplar wood.

Louie watched it too long, finding solace in the glow of gentle orange. Just as it was teasing to taste his fingertips, he snuffed it out, not nearly as interested in the arising string of pale smoke. Seven illuminated oil lamps circled his room, washing him in warm, yellow light. But still, It would breed an array of shadows, outlining everything with subtle pools of gloom. Shadows made Louie uneasy. They gave him the strangest feeling that he was being watched. Reminded him of people and powers that were best not to think about. But a shadowy room was preferable to pitch black. He was scared of the dark. Come to think of it, he was scared of a lot of things. Louie had a complicated relationship with fear. He was, by no means, the skittish kid from five years ago. He simply couldn't live with that mindset for long when thrust into the life of McDuck royalty and all the madness and danger attached. So, he adapted. His busiest days tended to fall in the order of breakfast, adventure, magic, certain doom, barely escaping with your life and then sleep. Rinse and repeat. Living like that didn't phase him much anymore. How could it when he was surrounded by the most courageous family put on this earth? And when you continue to survive when that was your Day-to-Day, it had a tendency to boost your confidence. He had gotten braver for sure. Much braver. And yet, he couldn't help but feel like he was lying to himself sometimes. Being afraid of the world around him had never quite faded, he just gotten much better at handling it. Recent years made things all the more messy. His brothers weren't as brave as they used to be these days. Not after what they went through. As a spot of hope, Huey was starting to rebuild a stronger, improved version of his old self. But Dewey still needed time. It made Louie wonder if his intrepid brothers could be broken like this, should he even bother trying to toughen up? He had never been like them. Not naturally, at least. He didn't stand a chance when his time came. He figured that with all he's experienced, he should've at least developed past his more irrational fears. But he didn't. Deep down, silly stuff still unsettled him. Spiders, violence, surprises. The dark. Ty knew he was afraid of the dark. Ty knew most of the stuff he was afraid of. And despite teasing Louie for pretty much everything else, never his fears. He claimed his brother was the same so he didn't find it all that weird. Louie called bullshit on that one. From what little he knew about Ben, it was impossible to picture that guy being scared of the dark. Ty was most likely trying to ease his insecurity. It didn't work. He felt uncomfortable sometimes, being somebody scared of so much, being close with somebody like Ty. Fearless. It sorta made him wonder if he was inferior. As if standing alongside Ty just wasn't right. The balance didn't seem equal. Wow. Louie was never gonna be good enough, was he? Wait, no, stop it. Fucking stop it. He had no right to be feeling all sorry for himself for the probability that he wasn't good enough for Ty. On the grounds that he wasn't brave enough? No. Of course Louie wasn't good enough for Ty. That was an irrefutable fact. But what mattered right now was that his carelessness had almost gotten Ty killed today and he couldn't, in good conscience, be focusing on anything else. He almost got Ty killed. He almost got Ty killed. He almost got Ty killed. That was a little more important than "Boohoo, cute bear boy is never gonna kiss me. I'm sad." To make matters worse, Louie had gone and chosen the perfect time to figure out he was in love with Ty. Sure, It had left him happily dopey at the time. But now, after everything that happened, it was like his imaginary little love letter left a paper cut on his heart and splashed it with lemon juice. Ty was going to resign as his retainer. The more Louie said this to himself, the easier it would be to accept it when he received the news. It was truly possible Ty was currently out of his life for good. As much as Louie was trying to talk himself into hunting the boy down right this minute and begging for forgiveness, there was a part of him speculating that Ty would prefer not to see his stupid royal face ever again. It hurt. It really did hurt. But if that's what Ty wanted, Louie would silently abide by the request. He hated to admit it but the spineless side of him didn't want to face Ty either. The last look at him had been his still body laying on an iron bedstead in the castle infirmary. Beakley had assured the stricken Louie that Ty was not dead but refused to divulge the details as she ushered him out and exiled him to his room for the rest of the night. He needed to see Ty conscious. He needed to see him alive. It would be one weight off his chest just to know his retainer had bounced back. But also.....he didn't want to know the damage he'd done. He want to know how badly Ty had been wounded nor how close he had brushed by death. It had been Louie's fault. And he knew that. But the thought of confronting it head-on was a difficult reality to swallow. Even though he should. He should. Completely unrelated but another dumb, embarrassing thing that made him jump out of his skin? Sudden noises. Still completely unrelated but there was a knock at his door.

___________

[OCTOBER 22ND, 11:24AM]

The sky was clear, the autumn air wasn't chilly but pleasantly crisp and there was a lively gathering in the forest. It was held in a wide clearing, bursting with happy people, milling around and chatting. Surrounding them was an almost perfect circle of tangled old oaks, their branches wreathed with strings of homemade lanterns and flower garlands.

Ty and Louie were quick to turn on tunnel vision towards the table with a large arrangement of party food. They came away with armfuls of bread, cheese, fruits and two tankards of apple cider. They found a spot for themselves, hiding away behind a stack of bailed hay just on the outskirts of the festivities. They set up their little feast, which they wasted no time in devouring.

There were minstrels playing a vibrant tune. But even with all their flutes, fiddles and practice, they fell short in comparison to the natural music of Ty Cloudkicker's laughter. Louie was talking fast. He was gravitating into Ty's space as he did so, lured in by the bubbling sound. He was eager, grinning deliriously as he spouted out more and more of his story to keep the laugh from fading.

As if it was a lifeline. Like the back of his mind was utterly terrified it would stop. Yet he was entranced with a flood with endorphins, so enamored with the resonance that he couldn't help but be elated as he rattled on to keep himself alive. "Okay, so nobody specifically told Uncle Donald that keeping snacks in your crown was not considered "Kingly" behavior. But see, he just saw it as an extra pocket. He didn't get what the big deal was."

When Ty laughed hard enough, he started snorting. He attempted to control himself. Louie wished he wouldn't. "So imagine being one of those advisor buzzard dorks, right? And you're having this big, important royal audience with the new king. And then right in the middle of discussing warships or something, he reaches into his crown, (not breaking eye contact.) and starts munching on a fish sandwich. They looked at him like he just spat on their mothers' graves." The octave skyrocketed and Ty disintegrated into high pitched cackles, tightly clutching his side as if he would split in half. It swept away the narrative in Louie's head, fizzling the thought process as he continued to gaze at Ty as if he were channeling golden light. However, his brain did not send the memo to this mouth that it was time to stop talking. Which led to Louie stuttering out "And the--....He--...uh, he--,um...." a brainless smile slapped on his face all the while. He couldn't stop smiling. He was crashing and burning and he couldn't stop smiling. He was certain he would be humiliated over this blunder later but right now, it was pretty funny. Thankfully, his subconscious had mercy on him, cutting him off with a nervous, breathless giggle. Ty was oblivious to whatever kind of gay breakdown Louie was having as he was trying to regain composure from his own hysterics. He was beginning to calm down, occasional wheezy yet delighted noises still sputtering out of him. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back with a shaky exhale, still stuck with that huge sunny smile. They fell into a silence in the aftermath, content to sit and just listen to the music. Ty picked up his cider and took a gulp. Louie mirrored him. Then Ty's entire frame bucked with a surprise hiccup and Louie nearly choked. He was pretty sure he saw his whole life flash before his eyes as he collapsed into a coughing fit, Ty thumping him firmly on the back. "I'll live, I'll live!" Louie gasped, regaining himself. "Stop hitting me, I bruise like a peach." "Sorry." He drew his hand away. Then he hiccuped again and Louie lost it. "It's not funny!" Ty insisted, a desperate crack to his voice. It was pretty hilarious, actually. Not just the ridiculous little noises, but the way his shoulders jumped and how he would blink in split second afterwards, startled and bewildered like a baby animal. Ty gave him a shove, Louie still snickering and flailing his hands to halfheartedly fend him off. "Hey, hey, what gives you the right to attack me? I nearly choked and died 'cause of you." "Sounds like a "you" problem." "Where'd those hiccups even come from? Your papa bear never teach you not to drink your cider so fast?" Ty's bottom lip jutted out, irritated. He shook his head "Nah, it's--" Hic. Louie snorted. "Shut up!" He snapped. Yeah, his face was definitely a darker shade of pink than usual. "Sometimes I get hiccups if I laugh too much." "Huh. that's a thing that can happen?" "Yeah. A thing I gotta live with." Hic. "Lemme guess, this hasn't happened in a while?" "Huh?" Ty turned to him, perplexed. "Nah, it happens all the time. And when I tell ya it's the most annoying thing--" "You can't be serious." Louie smiled with a disbelieving shake of the head. "You, like, barely laugh anymore." "What's that supposed to mean?" "What?" He shrugged. "You don't." Ty rolled his eyes and directed his vision elsewhere. "I usually do whenever I go back to the glen." "Are Ben and Lottie really that funny?" "They are the least funny people I know. Also they suck and they're cheaters and I hate them." Hic. Let's see. So, he was clearly pouting. Acting all petty about his siblings. The Glen. Laughing to the point of hiccups. "Lots of tickle fights, huh?" Louie deduced, a smirk playing across his beak. Ty considered him for a moment, as if he was thinking about decking him right then and there but ultimately decided it wasn't worth the effort. (Louie was offended.) He then looked off into the distance, an indescribably haunted look in his eye. "Soooo....I'm gonna guess you usually lose the tickle fi--?" "I do not!" Ty abruptly yelled, shooting him an indignant look. "Let's get this straight, if it's one-on-one, I win. I always win. You better not forget that, your highness." He jabbed Louie's chest with his forefinger. "I'm the best fighter out of the three of us. In fact, I probably got the potential to be the best fighter in the whole kingdom!" "Real modest." "It's just if they team up, then it's unfair! That's why they're--" Hic. Louie watched, delightfully entertained as Ty hissed "God. Damn. Hiccups." "And how often do they team up?" He didn't answer right away. Then reluctantly grumbled "Most of the time." "So what I'm hearing is--...." Louie casually leaned against Ty's side, propping his elbow on the latter's shoulder. "You do lose most of the time?" "Shut up." "No." "Okay, so here's the thing. Let's say you're a big, strong brave knight. You're super cool and heroic and everybody respects you." Hic. "Then you go back home and then suddenly you're just someone else's baby brother and they see you just standing there, minding your business and they're just like "Well! Guess I gotta obliterate him!" And they do not hold back." "Ohhhhh, I get that, I totally get that." Said Louie. "Well, not the brave knight part. But y'know. Me and my brothers had to share a room. It was tiny. There was always a foot in your face or whatever. And sometimes when were bored, they started getting rowdy and throwing hands and it's not like I asked but I got dragged in too. When I was just trying to sleep, man! I wasn't asking for a spontaneous duel at 2am." Ty snorted. "Oh yeah, and sometimes Dewey calls me a little bitch." "He's right." Louie knocked his body against Ty's, making a sound of faux outrage. Ty only found that funnier. Huffing, Louie pawed around for the cluster of grapes at his side. He twisted one free and twirled it around his fingers for a moment. "Watch this. I can feel it. I'm gonna do it this time." "Are you now?" Said Ty in such a distinctly pleasant tone that Louie could not possibly interpret it any other way than "I do not believe that but I'm humoring you but I also want you to understand that my sweet voice is oh, so bitterly sarcastic. Fuck you." "I see you're doubting me." "Me? Doubt my liege? I could never." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're a real court jester. Now shut up and observe." Louie wiped all expression from his face and inhaled deeply to obtain peak tranquility. He relaxed his whole frame. If he could pull this off, this would be his day for sure. Ty was watching. This moment would define his life. Thinking a hasty prayer to every known God, force and entity that had ever favored the unlikely ones, he tossed the grape in the air, threw his head back and opened his beak. The grape finished rising and gravity took control. It fell. Down, down, down, down. Louie now understood the concept of meditation. He was so in the zone, he could've sworn the grape was descending in slow motion. Yes, yes, it was aligning directly below his beak. He was gonna catch it! Down, down, down, down. Then Ty snatched it right out of the air and swallowed it whole. Louie sat, slack jawed, attempting to process what had just happened. He slowly turned to Ty, completely blank. Huh. That moment really did define his life. "You bastard!" He squawked. "Me bastard!" Ty exclaimed, looking insufferably proud of himself. "How could you?! I know our allyship has been complicated but this is high treason!" "Sorry, sorry, I just--" He sat back a little, shaking with silent laughter. He then formed a square with his hands and hovered it before Louie, squinting one eye. "I just needed to see the face you would make and god, it was worth it. You think you could hold that face for a few hours to get a portrait made? I'd get it framed and hang it in my room." He was teasing him. Louie knew he was teasing him. And yet he still blushed bright red from the fragment of fondness blurred in the implication. "W-well, well I would--I'd--" He floundered, racking his brain for a retort. "You think there's any musical instruments that could replicate your dorky little hiccups? I'd hire minstrels just to have them play it for me! Y'know, for when I need a laugh." Ty's smug grin dropped and his eyes flicked about uncertainly. "I--..." He dragged the word out, face flushing at a rapid rate as he folded his knees up to curl in on himself. He crossed his arms. "I think they're gone now anyway." He mumbled. Hic. God, that never got old. "If you laugh one more time, I'm putting you in a tree and leaving you there." Louie laughed again, out of spite. "Nobody's fault but your own. Imagine you've just fought an epic battle and you think there's no more enemies to take on. But as soon as you say that out loud, boom! Second ambush! You would think a warrior like you would get that." "Your highness?" "Yeah?" "Shut your huge mouth." "No." "Okay. Dunno why I thought that would work. Never does." "Y'know I would offer to spook your hiccups away. But we both know that wouldn't work." "Yeah, probably not." Said Ty with a shake of his head. He perked up a bit. "Lottie gave it a shot once. Nothing." "Well, it's just like you said that one time." Louie shrugged, then faltered when the back of his mind took notice of the dimly glowing orange irises he was met with. His voice softened involuntarily. "You're fearless." He didn't know what he said wrong. Ty's face fell. He looked so utterly devastated that Louie, completely lost to why he was even upset, felt his own heart shatter to pieces. He wanted to start sobbing just from seeing him. "Oh..." Ty whispered. He clutched one of his hands with the other and began fidgeting with his fingers. "Well, see. Uh, the thing about that is--...." Concerned, Louie scooched in closer, peering at the face that had once again turned away from him. He hesitantly touched Ty's upper arm. "Hey. Ty. Are you--?" "HEY, LOOK AT THAT!" Ty blurted out, his voice nervously rising in pitch. He attempted to subtly clear his throat. Louie followed the direction of Ty's pointer finger which was gesturing out to the thick expanse of forestry. There was nothing there. But then he caught a flash of movement and noticed two figures tucked away in the shadows of the trees. A young man and woman, probably only a few years older than them. "The couple?" Louie asked, puzzled. "The what now?" Then Ty did a double take, then snapped to attention as if he had just noticed them. "Oh! Oh, yeah, them, sure. I mean, yeah, that's what I meant. Them. Uhhh....look at them!" "Uh. Okay? Why?" "Theeeyyyy're....cute? Gross? They're something. They're definitely something." Louie hummed, taking the two into consideration. The girl was letting out a peal of laughter and the guy was blabbing away animatedly, looking thrilled with himself that she was finding him funny. He was trying so hard.... Louie didn't know if he wanted to gag or coo out an "aww!" "Grossly cute." He decided. Ty snapped his fingers. "That's it!" "You know, I don't get why they're over there. There's tons of people around here. Why would you wanna show up to a party if you're just gonna hide away and hang out with one person the whole time?" "For real though." For the next few minutes, Ty and Louie observed the couple, keeping up a running commentary on the guy's obvious nerves and the girl's less than subtle advances. Ty and Louie learned a lot about themselves in those few minutes. Namely that they were both terrible at lip reading. "He said Pants." Ty was certain. "No, he said Nance." Louie countered. "Her name is probably Nancy." The girl clapped her hands together, nodding eagerly. "Then what's that for, huh? Clearly he just offered to tailor her a personalized pair of pants." "You are so dumb, that's not what's happening here at all." The guy took a dramatic step back and twirled his wrist an unnecessary amount of times before offering her his hand with a half-bow. She took it, giggling. The two them scampered off, out of the shadows and into the heart of the party, where other couples were twirling around as the minstrels played. He curled an arm around her waist, smiling as though this was his greatest honor and they spun into the motion, flowing so naturally amidst the other dancers as if they were simply another cogwheel in the world's most elegant clock. "Dance." Said Ty and Louie in unison. "Pretty sure we were close." "Pretty sure we're idiots." "Yeah, I know but just let me pretend." Ty suddenly snickered, his eyes glinting. "What was that thing he did with his hand anyway? And why did she eat it up?" "It's called flair, Tiberius." "Kinda dumb." "You're just mad that flair is not something you possess." "Bullshit, watch this!" Ty sat up straight and bent his arm into a perfect ninety-degree angle. "Prepare to be amazed." And then his entire forearm began to spin and spin and spin and spin and spin like a windmill in a hurricane. "Flair, flair, flair, flair," He was chanting and Louie had already collapsed in a giggle fit. It wasn't even remotely funny. It was dumb, it was so dumb. But Louie could admit to himself that dumb schticks get like ninety percent more humorous to him if there's a really cute boy performing them. He was easy like that. Ty was extremely committed to the joke as he kept spinning and spinning for over ten seconds. He kept shooting Louie glances and his grin got wider and wider every time he looked away. "FLAIR!" He let his arm go, throwing out an open palm and nearly knocked it against the side of Louie's head. "Hey!" He dodged. "Watch where you swing that thing, you could've whacked me!" "But I didn't!" Said Ty gleefully. He lowered his hand but did not withdraw. It remained unwavering and offered out to Louie. He took it. He didn't think, he just took it. It was only when they made contact that Louie woke up and his heart promptly spiked. But besides a light blush, he managed to keep his face neutral. "So, I guess it's not just that girl who's impressed by this stuff." Ty was nonchalant. His smile then twitched, as if aching to stretch wider but he was reigning it in. "You are too." They were still touching, which, by all accounts, should continue to fluster Louie. But as seconds ticked by, a sense of calm was settling over him. The very thing originally causing panic was now bringing him comfort. It was the weirdest thing, "I was laughing at you, not with you." He said evenly, catching Ty's contagious smile. "Ehh," He shrugged. "I'll take it." Louie would count this as a new domain for sure. Uncharted waters. As if he and Ty had stumbled in accidentally but now they were here, their curiosity was urging them to explore. Not to a dangerous extent, of course. But maybe just edge along the sidelines and see what they could discover. "Your hands are so tiny, it's crazy." Ty commented, tilting his head. Turning it over, he slid his thumb thoughtfully across Louie's palm. "How do you even hold anything?" Louie wasn't even eyeing their hands but was regarding Ty's pensive face. "It's kinda the worst. Whenever we find treasure and I get my cut, the fancy rings and bracelets are huge. I always gotta go to a jeweler and get them resized if I wanna wear them."' Ty was fiddling with Louie's fingers now, fixing him with a decisive nod. "I'll get you a ring for Christmas." "Woah, woah. For real?" "Yeah. I'll put it in one of those fancy boxes. But then you'll open it and see it's made out of grass and try to have me beheaded." As they were speaking, their hands continued to play around. Ty had flattened his own, aligning his palm against Louie's. Louie spread his fingers and Ty laced his through. "Uncle Donald says I'm not allowed to say "Off with his head" anymore or I'm grounded 'til I'm thirty-five. It "makes the people want to revolt."" Louie air-quoted with his free hand. "But I would fire you for sure." Ty snorted. "You would not and you know it." There would never be any proof that they held hands that day. Not a single eye witnesses, including themselves, as both boys had turned a blind eye to their own actions. They were afraid to look down, as that would be an acknowledgement. Louie had no mental image of the moment, fuschia fur intertwined with snow feathers, only a rush of heat and a hazy ponder if the dampness was his sweat or Ty's. And if the feel of Ty's touch was just an illusion of the mind, there was one poignant hint of the reality and that was how gentle their voices had gotten. "Oh, so, you're really gonna test me like that, Tiberius? Pushing me around, stealing grapes, calling me a little bitch. Is this any way to treat your liege? You don't think I'm at the end of my rope with you?" "Nahhhh...." Ty drew the word out, grinning. He twisted his muzzle into an exaggerated pout and batted his eyes. "You would never because I'm awesome and cool and smart and you love me." It was Ty's utter nerve that left Louie too astonished to even blush. Instead, he simply tilted his head, an eyebrow cocked. "Do I?" He challenged. To his credit, Ty did not relent either. However, the impishness gradually died from his eyes until he was left solemn. "Maybe?" He spoke softly, as though too much force would crack the delicate little word. He bore into Louie's eyes, like he was searching for an answer. Pleading for an answer. Louie felt his own hand squeeze Ty's. He inhaled. He knew he was going to say something, he was just leaving it up his own scattered subconscious to determine what. He would open his beak and whatever words wound up tumbling out would seal his fate. He didn't have a second to panic, to fret, as he was already speaking and he was petrified by how fast this was all going. "I--" Something shattered and a woman screamed in pain. Indistinct shouting and Ty cursed under his breath. Louie scrambled around to see the commotion and the last few things he registered were the gleam of sunlight catching unsheathed weapons, the girl he called Nancy with crimson pooling from her forehead, Ty demanding "Get down!" and knocking him stomach-down into the ground.

“Stay there and don’t move.” Then Ty had rushed off and everything went to shit.

___________

[OCTOBER 22ND, 7:13PM] Louie was well acquainted with that knock. Firstly, one firm rap against wood, proceeded by two more rapid-fire. He associated it with a twinge of annoyance, high sun beams streaking in his window and somebody near, dear and insufferable to his heart, pestering him from the other side to rise and shine already or his breakfast would go stale. This usually occurred around 9:30AM. If given a say in the matter, Louie would sleep til noon. But he didn't have a say in the matter because every morning, without fail, there was a retainer banging down his door. Something was off this time. Once he knocked, Ty had fallen uncharacteristically silent. No continuation of drumming out an obnoxious little tune and and no insisting he open up. Louie was hesitant to do much of anything. It seemed his door was the only thing protecting him from facing repercussions right now. If he fell deep enough into denial, he could pretend Ty wasn't there. So long as he kept his door shut, he could pretend everything was alright. Ty didn't almost die. It was a tempting thought. It resounded in such an appealing voice inside his head that Louie seized his latch before he could give in. The brass shocked a chill to the pads of his fingers as he held on tight. He had to open up. He had to. His hand fidgeted, stalling the moment. He thumped his forehead against the door, heaving a steadying sigh. "You don't wanna see me, do you, your highness?" He heard Ty say in hushed tones, his voice startlingly close to where Louie had situated himself. "Ehh, if we're being honest....not really." "Oh...." "Do you wanna see me?" "I mean....I kinda don't? The idea of seeing you right now is making me nauseous." The statement skewered Louie's heart. He shook it off. "Why'd you knock?" "'Cause it doesn't matter what I want, I gotta see you right now. It's important." An prolonged pause hung in the air, buzzing with a mutual uncertainty. Louie tapped his fingers to the wood and after a second or two, Ty did the same. Their respective rhythms aligned. "But..." Ty continued, his voice faltering. "If you don't wanna see me, I can go--" "Convince me." Louie was blurting out before he thought twice about it. "Huh?" "I need to open this door but, like surprise surprise, I'm scared. You've done it before. I get scared and you talk me into stuff. Do your big strong hero magic and get me to suck it up. Please, I need it." "Oh, uh, I--" He could hear how flustered Ty had gotten suddenly being put on the spot. "Well, I--...I guess you don't have a choice 'cause if you don't open up, I'm strong enough to barricade the door down. So, I figure we should just do this the easy way." Despite the circumstances and the scruple wrung tense in his stomach, Louie felt the corner of his beak twitch at the tentative touch to Ty's tone. He felt his stiff shoulders relax. "Is that a threat, Tiberius?" "Uh, no." Ty admitted, sounding sheepish. "That was just a joke. See, it was the first thing that came into my head and then suddenly I was saying it. Sorry, I dunno for sure if now is "joke time" and I figured it'd be kinda weird to ask so--" He didn't get to finish rambling. His hair whipped to the side with the rush of air that came with the swift swing of the door. Louie fixed him with a hard look, processing the sight of his retainer standing there, alive and bright eyed. Ty's hand was still hovering awkwardly in the air, where he assumed it had been resting against the door. He blinked back at him, puzzled and a little alarmed, as if caught under a spotlight. He didn't look angry. But Louie knew better than to lull himself into thinking he was in the clear. Whatever resentment Ty was feeling would spill out in time. Louie braced himself. "Hey, Ty." He said stiffly. "Come on in."

#ty cloudkicker #fairytale au

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mcwriting · 3 years

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sweet home alabama (2)

Hi all! Between marriage project and some one shots, I decided to upload this chapter!

Reminder: Characters have strong southern accents (save for Tom in the present).

Masterlist

Word Count: 2618

Warnings: slight injury mention

∆ present ∆

The weekend came and went, allowing Tom some time to get a new wardrobe for farmwork and acquire a pair of boots, as his last pair had been passed down and worn out by Sam years ago.

Tom had been enjoying a peaceful rest when he was jolted awake by two hands forcefully shaking him.

“What the- Sam! What are you doing?” Tom exclaimed, sitting up.

“You gotta go to Mel’s today, right? Sun rises in an hour. Better get up and eat ‘fore you head over there,” the younger brother explained. Tom tossed back his head and groaned.

“Fine. I’ll get up,” he replied, tossing off his quilt and sheet.

With the money Tom had made in recent years, he had been able to send some home every so often, which helped fund a much needed expansion of the family home. Unfortunately, they hadn’t added enough bathrooms for each brother to get their own.

“Tom! What in God’s name is taking you so long! You’re gonna be working cotton not modeling it!” Harry yelled, pounding on the door.

“Alright alright! It’s all yours!” Tom exclaimed as he opened up the door. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at his brother.

Though Tom had dressed in a button up, jeans, and boots, he had also made sure to style his hair until every wisp sat straight.

“You know you’re gonna sweat that gel off in ten minutes, right? Especially if you wear a hat.”

Tom rolled his eyes.

“Harry, you know me. There’s always a camera somewhere. Gotta be ready for anything. And it’s pomade, not gel.”

The other young twin just rolled his eyes back and slammed the door shut.

∆

A few minutes down the road, y/n was getting ready to start her own day. She rose at dawn like always, stretching a bit and hopping out of bed.

Though she was living a country life, she still took the time to do a full skincare routine, being especially attentive to the products she used and how much sunscreen she applied.

Since she wouldn’t be at any farms in the morning, y/n put on leggings and tshirt and headed out the door, a granola bar in hand. She only had to drive a mile away to get to the “s.h.e.d.”

As usual, she was the first one there, so she keyed in and turned on all the lights. She took in a deep breath of the smells of the soil and chemicals around her as she tossed on her lab coat.

You didn’t think she was any ordinary farm girl, did you?

In reality, she had actually gone to UCLA, getting degrees in both chemistry and environmental engineering. Now she had spent the last year doing research thanks to a grant to improve the agricultural health of her hometown so she could eventually receive a master’s degree.

But we’ll talk more on that later.

Now that the sun was finally peeking above the horizon, her two lab assistants finally showed up.

Her assistants, Ciara and Jacob, were students at a community college in the town 45 minutes away. They were bright and the three always enjoyed working together, as they played fun music and conversed while recording research.

“Hey! Glad y’all could finally make it! Y’all know that last week I collected more samples from Mel’s, so today I want to prepare a gram from each jar in solution so we can run samples and start looking at what nutrients need supplementing and where so I can put a fertilizer together for tomorrow.”

The two were happy to follow their boss’s instruction, and y/n couldn’t help but smile as she scanned over her lab, remembering where she started.

∆ 16 years old ∆

Y/n had always been good at school.

A straight A student, never one to act out or deliberately miss work. Everyone knew she was bright, and she continued to prove that as she aged.

By sophomore year of high school, she was already an above-average scorer on the ACT and was taking courses above her grade level to keep from boring herself.

But in a town as small as hers, one could only get so advanced in high school alone.

Thankfully once she was a junior, the community college Ciara and Jacob were now attending allowed students to enroll in some basic online classes and receive credit, so long as they had good enough internet connection.

Because she was ahead, y/n had a free period where she could mooch off of the school’s wifi in an empty classroom. However, she didn’t have the same luxury at home, and had to go to Tom’s to complete any assignments after school.

By this point, Tom had been going to small auditions for a couple years, picking up the occasional commercial role and making a few bucks here and there, enough to get his family better TV and internet, anyways.

“Hey, y/n?” Tom asked one day, late in the fall. He laid back on the bed, tossing a foam basketball above his head while y/n worked on her college math class from the floor. She hummed in response, holding a pencil between her teeth.

“What are you plannin’ to do with all this college stuff anyways?” he asked. His accent was still as strong as ever. He hadn’t taught himself to let it go yet.

“I’on know. Maybe git a degree and move out of this town for a while. Find a real job that ain’t baling hay or planting stuff. You know I really love science,” she replied. She knew she had a lot of options, she was only a couple points away from that perfect ACT score by now.

There was a pause as she continued to tap numbers into a calculator and record them.

“I got another audition ‘fore thanksgiving,'' Tom announced after a while. Y/n didn’t look up.

“Oh yeah? What for, toothpaste ad or somethin’?”

“Uh, no actually. This one’s for a movie. A real movie.”

Y/n dropped the pencil and looked up at Tom, pushing up from the ground to sit on her knees as he sat up straight.

“Really? You’re serious? You ain’t pulling my leg or something?”

Tom smiled big and nodded.

“I mean it. I really got this audition coming up.”

“Oh my gosh, TOM!”

Y/n quickly stood up, tackling her best friend in a hug, practically ending up on his lap. They stayed that way for a while.

“Tom, this is seriously incredible. You’re gonna be in a movie!”

He pulled back quickly.

“Don’t be too quick, now. This is only an audition, there’s no way to say I’ll actually get the part-” he started, but y/n got off him and kneeled on the floor, so that her eyes were level with his and she could grab his upper arms to look at him directly.

“You’re gonna get that part,” she smiled, unable to contain her excitement. “You’re gonna nail that audition, and you’re getting that part. This is gonna be your big break, I just know it.”

“Thanks for believin’ in me. Hopefully I won’t prove you a liar this time,” he replied, pulling her up into another hug.

She ended up being right, too, because after his first audition, he got a callback during Christmas break and secured the role which he’d film the summer between junior and senior year.

The pair knew they were really starting to grow up, but didn’t let their different pursuits come between them just yet.

Tom was the one who drove her to her final ACT where she got her perfect score (since she didn’t have a car yet), and the movie filmed a few hours away in the Birmingham area (where y/n drove Tom’s truck in his absence since he was still too young to live there alone).

It worked, for the most part.

∆ present ∆

Tom drew in a sharp breath and winced, limping through the barn and plopping onto a hay bale as he gulped down some water. He had been walking up and down the rows watering the plants, as the four-wheeler Melanie’s dad typically used to water was broken.

“How’s it looking, Mr. Carmichael?” he asked, dabbing away the sweat on his forehead with a towel as he rehydrated.

The older gentleman stood up and looked at Tom.

“Well, son. I’ve almost got this thing here fixed, but you ain’t looking too good,” he pointed out.

“What do you mean, sir?” Tom asked. He may have lost his accent, but didn’t forget his manners.

“Looks like you’ve been ridin’ horses the way you’re walkin’. New boots? Not to mention that sunburn you’re startin’ to nurse. Why don’t you run up to the house and have Mel fix those up. I’m sure her momma fixed some lunch for ya, too.”

“A- are you sure, sir? I’ve only got about 10 more rows before I’m done.”

“No, no. It’s alright, boy. Run along and fix yourself up. I’ll handle the rest.”

Tom thanked the man and slowly got up, immediately remembering the pain in his feet and now aware of the stinging on his cheeks.

He’d forgotten that boots don’t really break themselves in and he hadn’t worn very thick socks. He also had somehow neglected that the sun beats just as hard in the farmlands as it does in Malibu.

He waddled up to the house, where Melanie was on the porch reading a book.

“Well by God, Tom. You’re walkin’ like you just got your back blown out for the first time,” she laughed, causing his cheeks to redden more.

“They’re new boots, alright? Now could you help me out? Your dad said you might know of something?”

She looked past him towards the barn, then closed her book and nodded her head towards the door, standing.

“Come on. Momma made you a sandwich if you want it. You can leave your boots by the door.”

They headed inside, a large living room on the right and the kitchen to the left. Tom wiggled his shoes and socks off in the entryway as Melanie ducked into a hallway to grab a few things.

“Oh Tom! I’m glad you came in! Are you hungry? I’ve got lunch for ya,” Mrs. Carmichael said as she appeared from the kitchen.

“That would be really nice, Mrs. Carmichael. Thank you,” he replied as she sat him down at the kitchen table, placing a plate with a turkey sandwich and some chips in front of him along with a glass of sweet tea.

He dug into the meal, immediately realizing just how hungry he really was. By the time he’d finished the sandwich (which really didn’t take that long), Melanie appeared with a laundry basket full of stuff. Tom washed down his meal with some tea before speaking.

“Jesus, Mel, how much does it take to patch up some blisters?” he asked.

“First off, don’t be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain in this house,” she commanded, pointing her head towards her mother in the living room, to which Tom covered his mouth and shot a thumbs up. “And second, I figured it best just to grab all my stuff than dig through it.”

She plopped the basket on the table and herself into the seat next to Tom, stealing a chip from his plate. It crunched in her mouth as she began pulling out random things like a stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, and meds.

“What’s that all for?” Tom asked, brows furrowed. Melanie gave back an equally confused look and went back to digging.

“What do you mean? They’re just medical supplies.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean why do you have a stethoscope and stuff?”

She paused what she was doing and looked back up at Tom.

“You do know I’m a nurse, right?” she asked. She immediately knew he didn’t by the way his eyes popped open.

After high school, Melanie had been able to go off and get her nursing degree, now working in the closest hospital which was, you guessed it, 45 minutes away.

She usually worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital Tuesday through Thursday, spending her other days at home so she could respond to small needs around town, especially on weekends when people liked to get drunk and be reckless.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize that. Good for you,” Tom replied, unsure of what else to say.

“It’s alright. You’ve been gone quite a while and we all know you ain’t checking in on what happens ‘round these parts no more. Now take this and let me grab the aloe from the fridge,” she said, dropping two advil on his plate and getting up.

Tom did as told, feeling the weight of what she had dismissively said. He really hadn’t checked in since leaving. Sure, his brothers and Harrison sometimes kept him in the loop. At least, he thought so.

He was trying to remember what the last big piece of news he had heard about home was, but came up short. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen anything on social media about home, since he’d unfollowed most of the people back home after his career took off.

They all reminded him of y/n anyways.

“You mind if I put some of this on your face?” Melanie asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He obliged and she spread some of the cool aloe gel over his sunburn.

“Feel better?” she asked, to which he nodded. “Good, now let’s take a look at those blisters.”

She cringed when she saw how beat up his feet were. She pulled out a bit of numbing gel, hydrocolloid bandages, and fabric tape. Soon enough, she had his blisters all covered up and was handing him some more bandages and tape.

“Now I want you to leave these on as long as possible, alright? When they fall off or the spot in the middle gets too big, you’ll switch ‘em out for new. You should be in ship shape here in a few days. And you best not forget sunscreen from now on.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Mel. Hard to believe I’ve been gone long enough for you to become a nurse and all, huh?” Tom asked, half joking. Melanie nodded.

“Yeah, well. ‘Lot’s changed around here, even if it don’t look like it. You’d be surprised… Now before I forget...” Melanie quickly got up and left the room, returning with two wood and metal contraptions. “Here’s some boot stretchers to put in your shoes when you get home. Should help stretch ‘em out and I’m sure the boys would lend you some leather conditioner.”

With that, Tom put his boots back on and thanked Mrs. Carmichael for the meal, heading back outside. He found Mr. Carmichael sitting on the now-functioning four wheeler.

“Well, boy, you all good?” the older man asked.

“Yes sir. Melanie got me all taped up and your wife made a great lunch. So what else do you need me to do?”

Mr. Carmichael looked around for a moment, staring at a few things, then back at Tom.

“Well I got the rest all watered and y/n won’t be around with fertilizer till tomorrow so why don’t you go home and rest up those feet, eh?”

Tom tried to object, as it was still quite early in the day, but the old man wouldn’t have it. He eventually conceded and gave one last thank you, hopping into his old truck and heading home, pondering why y/n would be bringing fertilizer in the coming day.

∆

A/N: hope you guys are liking this story so far! I really love the time jumping, and the progression of it in future chapters is really cool!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @mortallythoughtfulgurl, @onebigolemess, @justafangirlduh,

#sweet home alabama #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland story

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @nelba @scribblenotes76 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy @misty-possum @gallowsjoker @midnightbeauty35 @lackofhonor @renegademustelid @missfronkensteen @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby.

It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere.

Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

I sound like Dutch.

He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired.

He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead.

His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again.

Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late.

Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound.

He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough.

He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it."

Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

I gave you all I had.

…

He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin.

How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way.

Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him.

Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again.

Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did.

But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way.

…

There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps.

Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

The note was unsigned.

Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself.

Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time.

Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters!

A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

"Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up.

There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt.

Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin.

Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle.

Irene.

Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran.

"Arthur!"

Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

...

"Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

"Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

"Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

"I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

"Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

"Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

"I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

"Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident.

"Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately.

"I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered.

Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

"Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love."

Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur."

"Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat.

"Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

"She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?"

"A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

"Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her.

"Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here."

Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

"You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company."

"Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again.

"If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in.

…

Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

So what was he waiting for?

Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief.

Her eyes…

Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

"After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

The future.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

"Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #high honor arthur #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 epilogue #rdr2

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slutsfordoves · 3 years

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hey welcome! for a prompt, geralt/jaskier, edging and overstimulation? Geralt tying jaskier up (willing or unwilling, you choose) and edging him for hours, until he’s begging to come, near crying with it, and then when geralt finally lets him come, he *doesn’t stop*, and now jaskier’s crying for an entirely different reason. (Bonus if you want: jaskier goes into subdrop afterwards? Maybe geralt realizes and comforts him through it, or maybe he doesn’t ;)) -stuffthatbard

oof this is...so good. good enough that i doubt i did it any amount of justice, but i did try! no subdrop in this, not because it was not an INCREDIBLE idea, but because i ran out of steam and wanted to finish it up. maybe i will revisit in the future!

cw: dub-con, unnegotiated kink, some light humiliation, edging, overstimulation ----- The door opened, and Geralt was there once more, seeming as cold and remote as a mountain’s peak. Jaskier whined. Geralt said nothing. Only strode forward, and Jaskier strained against his bindings, as though to roll away; the ropes held, as did the knots. They were of a Witcher’s making. He’d never had any hope of escape.

“I can’t go on, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “Please. I promise you, I can’t.”

Geralt ignored him. He came to sit at the edge of the bed where Jaskier lay, trussed up as he was with his ankles bound by his shoulders, his wrists behind his back. The position left his arse and his cock vulnerable, on display; and for hours Geralt had come and gone, toying with him as he pleased. His hole was well-stretched, now, having been worked open on thick fingers; the rim red and leaking spit and oil into the hay-stuffed mattress. His cock was aching from abuse, from being denied release. He felt as though he’d soon lose his mind.

Geralt wrapped his dry hand around Jaskier’s cock.

“No, don’t,” he cried.

Geralt squeezed him. His touch was kept light, as though he were holding Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s cock had wilted during Geralt’s most recent absence, but now, under his renewed attentions, it sprang back to half-hardness. The pain was terrible. As was the rush of pleasure. It came fast enough that Jaskier was momentarily made dizzy by it, his head floating in some lovely, strange place above his shoulders. The flicker of the lamplight seemed brighter, there. The air seemed more clean. He was allowed only a moment to simmer in that fine heat, in the pleasant clench of pelvic muscle that precluded coming.

Geralt abruptly let go of him and slapped his open palm across Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier squealed. The pain juddered through him, a shock that set all his nerves alight and exploded behind his eyelids; and he bucked, tried once more to heave himself off of the bed, his thighs shaking as leaves did during storm-winds. Geralt slapped him once more. Jaskier warbled like a songbird, forced himself to settle.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, “be good for me.”

“I am, Geralt, please. I have been.” He sniffled. He was crying again, fresh tears dripping down his flushed cheeks. He could endure no more. He braced himself against the unpleasant squirm of humiliation in his guts; begged, as he had been reduced to it: “Please, let me come.”

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No, but I - I do want to. It hurts so much.”

Geralt hmed, and grasped him. Held him now in a firmer grip, enough so that when he stroked Jaskier root to tip, his callouses scraped his raw skin. His cockhead was wet and blood-red, stark against the white of Geralt’s fist.

“You leak like a woman,” Geralt said. His strokes sped up. Jaskier struggled to keep his hips from moving, tried to steady his pathetic heart. “I’ve done my best to teach you patience, but you’re a poor student.”

Geralt’s wrist twisted. Jaskier jerked upward, into the tight tunnel of Geralt’s fist. He felt his balls draw up, a pressure build at the base of his cock; a thin wash precome spurted out of him, dripping down over Geralt’s fingers, and he was so close, so close. The end was so near. He would come across Geralt’s thick knuckles.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, chastising. The grip that had held him was gone, and his cock was left to bob between his legs, red and leaking. The room’s cool air like a strike to his overworked flesh. “Jaskier, pay attention.”

“I am paying attention, you absolute bastard,” he bit out. Then, after a moment, “sorry, I’m sorry.”

Geralt chuckled.

Once his erection was no longer throbbing, Geralt curled his hand loosely around him once more. He tugged at him cruelly. When Jaskier blinked away the sheen of tears that clouded his vision he saw that Geralt was not even looking at him. His gaze had shifted, away from the bed, away from Jaskier’s heaving body. The hand around him stopped being anything but painful. How could his suffering not even be worth Geralt’s regard?

He was close. So close. If Geralt would only continue to stroke him just a moment longer. He shuddered, felt his cock throb; and it was so much like the pulse of coming that he was certain he had finally reached the end, that Geralt had allowed him to reach his peak.

Geralt’s hand pulled away.

Jaskier nearly screamed with the pain and the frustration of it, having been so near the precipice and having been torn away from it, having again been denied. His body lurched forward, searching blindly for stimulation. He would do anything for it. He ground his feet against the mattress, grasping at it with his toes, as though he could find relief somewhere in the hay mound.

“Fuck, please,” he said. He was on fire. Rocking himself through a full-body ache. “Please, please. Let me come, let me come.”

Geralt swung his eyes back to Jaskier. His sharp eyes raked over him, every quivering, red inch.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! Yes, please, Geralt, please.”

Geralt smiled. Jaskier could see the sharp points of his teeth.

“Alright.”

-----

He screamed against Geralt’s palm. His face was so wet with his crying, his eyes so clouded, that he could see nothing. It was like the blindfold, almost. Another way of rendering him in some way insensate.

Geralt pumped his fist along Jaskier’s soft cock. His orgasm had finally been wrung from him; he’d come messily, painfully, a swell of come that dribbled out of him and over Geralt’s fingers. A wave that had crested, but Geralt, greedy for his distress, kept pulling.

Geralt refused to stop touching him. Refused to stop wringing him, though he’d long ago become dry, The pain was excruciating. Entirely unlike any other pain. The color and sound had drained from the world, as surely as his orgasm had been drained from his cock, until his focus was narrowed down to that single point of agony, the nesting ache that had overtaken the entirety of his cock and arse and all the space between his thighs.

His body curved in, hunched over itself, strained desperately against the rope. He felt mindless, ruined; between screaming, he begged, but all entreaties for mercy were uniformly spurned. Geralt only pulled at him harder, his golden eyes glittering, cruelly, in the dying light.

“This is what you wanted,” Geralt told him. “Isn’t it, Jaskier?”

#cw dubcon #cw humil #cw edging #cw overstim #prompt fill #geraskier

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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years

Text

Volunteer

for @thefanficfaerie‘s OTP Challenge (2020) Words: 1264 Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Prompt: Winter Wonderland: Day 10 - Volunteer Summary: Steve & Reader arrive at the compound to help the rest of the team with the Avengers’ annual toy drive.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up after all the work is done!” Tony commented as you and Steve joined him in the main conference room of the Compound.

“Charity work is never done, Tony.” Steve disagreed.

“We stopped to get more wrapping paper. Bruce texted me that you were running low.” You excitedly showed Tony the five rolls of wrapping paper you’d bought on your way over. Tony inspected each design before noticing a problem.

“Did they not have any Iron Man wrapping paper?” He frowned.

“Oh no, they did, but I assumed you had provided plenty of that.” You assured him. “Try not to have too much fun without me.” You told Steve. You kissed him on the cheek before leaving him alone with Tony to finish decorating the conference room.

Just down the hall in another room Bruce, Thor and Sam were wrapping presents. They each greeted you with smiles as you passed out the spare rolls of wrapping paper. Once the supplies were divvied up, you made room for yourself on the floor and got to work.

“I can’t believe he’s not here yet.” You heard Clint complain as he and Nat entered the room.

“Santa guy still missing?” Sam asked. He glanced down at his watch. “He’s cutting it awful close.”

“What kind of a low life skips out on playing Santa at a charity event?” Nat wondered aloud.

“The kind that only accepts their very large service fee in full and upfront apparently.” Bruce sighed. “Anyone know what the backup plan is if this guy doesn’t show?”

“I got a Santa suit in the trunk of my car.” Sam offered. “I play Santa for the family every year back home. I’ll go get it. Plus, then I can see how Barnes and Rhodey are making out with the reindeer.”

“Reindeer?” You repeated.

“Stark rented out a petting zoo for the kids.” Clint explained. “Rhodey and Bucky were in charge of setting the whole thing up out back. Why don’t you go with Wilson and take a look? Romanoff and I can help with the wrapping.”

“C’mon, [Y/N], I have a feeling those two need all the help they can get.” You followed Sam through the halls of the compound to the back lawn.

Once outside you could see, and smell, the multiple pens that had been set up. There was a pen of Alpacas, each one wearing a knit sweater. Across from them was a small gathering of rabbits. The rabbits varied from angora rabbits with long fur to English lops with long floppy ears. Another pen housed a herd of goats and a fifth had two donkeys who happily munched from a hay bale. Twinkling Christmas lights had been strung above everything to create a soft warm glow.

“Wilson, give us a hand!” Bucky shouted from three yards away. He and Rhodey were standing together by a supply shed next two a seventh pen full of caribou.

“Sorry man, I gotta do a thing.” Sam shrugged before heading to the parking lot.

“I can help.” You offered joining Rhodey and Bucky at the shed.

“We have to put one of these,” Rhodey gestured to freestanding hand sanitizer pump, “and one of these,“ He pointed to a gumball machine type of device that was full of feed. “Inside of every pen and a extra sanitizing station on the outside of every pen.”

“Ok, no problem.” You told them. You picked up one of the feed machines and began carrying it away.

“No problem, she says.” Bucky laughed as he followed behind you with a hand sanitizer station. You entered the reindeer enclosure since it was the closest to you. As you carried the machine inside the rattle of the feed alerted the deer, within seconds they all started approaching you. You paid them no mind and set the machine in the center of the pen. “How did you do that?” he demanded, following you out of the pen.

“I just carried a machine, Buck.” You laughed. “Same as you.”

“Yeah, except when he tried that earlier with the goats, three of them ganged up on him and knocked him to the ground.” Rhodey laughed.

“Wait till I tell Steve you got beat up by goats. He’ll be sad he missed it. Actually, I’m kind of sad I missed that.” You laughed. “I was going to do the rabbits next. You think you can handle that Buck?”

“Ha, ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “We get it you’re like a Disney Princess or whatever.”

“Alright, team, how’s it looking out here?” Tony asked. He and Steve had now arrived on the back lawn. “Event starts in ten minutes. The kids’ll be here soon.”

“We’re just about done.” Rhodey updated him as he climbed out of the Alpaca pen.

“Great, everybody suit up and let’s get the show on the road!” Tony clapped his hands before going back inside. After making sure everything at the petting zoo was set up, Rhodey and Bucky followed after him.

“Guess I better go get changed too.” Steve told you. “Oh wait!” He unzipped his winter jacket to reveal the top half of his Cap suit.

“But you left your shield and cowl in the car.” You reminded him.

“You’re right. I’d be lost without you.” He winked before jogging over to the car.

Back inside, Steve and Tony had completely transformed the conference room into a winter wonderland. Instead of a single large table that had been present when you arrived, there were now three smaller two person tables, each with a red or green tablecloth over it. A large Christmas tree that had been set up and decorated prior, had been moved to the front of the room. Piled under the tree were the hundreds of donated presents that the others had been wrapping for the past two days. A red carpet ran up the center of the room, leading to a large plush red armchair.

Sam sat in the red armchair, looking very fitting in his role as Santa Claus. His infectious smile shone through even the fake beard and false reading glasses. The rest of the team milled around the room dressed in their uniforms eagerly waiting for their young visitors.

“Nice engagement ring, [Y/N].” Tony whispered to you. “Thought we wouldn’t notice, but I did.”

“Todays is about the kids, Tony.” You whispered back. “I didn’t want to take away the attention.”

“We’ll have a party later then.” Tony commented. “But for what it’s worth, I know he’s crazy about you and I can’t think of two people more perfect for each other.”

You didn’t have a chance to thank him, because in that instant the door to the conference room opened and about a dozen children entered the room, each one of them absolutely ecstatic to be there. You weren’t sure if the kids were more excited to see the Avengers or Santa. Each child had a chance to tell Santa Sam what they wanted for Christmas before selecting a present from under the tree. Once each of the twelve kids had had their turn, they were ushered outside to the petting zoo and a new group of kids entered.

This continued until all two hundred and fifty kids had been able to meet Santa and the Avengers. After their time with Santa, the rest of the team and the petting zoo was over the children and their caregivers were loaded back into their various vans and buses and the 2020 Avengers’ Toy Drive was officially complete.

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers Reader Insert #Steve Rogers Imagine #Steve Rogers Fan Fiction #Steve Rogers Fan Fic #Steve Rogers FF #OTP Challenge #OTP Challenge 2020 #Winter Wonderland #Winter Wonderland 2020 #Christmas

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter seven: a little death

word count: 11.1k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: gore. so much gore. "a little death”? more like a lotta death. yeah it’s just blood and guts, and then john is kind of a fucker for like .0000005 seconds

notes: hi folks! we've got another big'un, a little more john/elliot centric with some plot threads starting to weave together. i'm really excited with where things are going and how things are shaping up, and i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!

special thank you to @shallow-gravy for lending me her eyeballs to proof this chapter <3 dani and sylvia both are characters of @starcrier's beautiful talented mind and she was kind of enough to help me fill out the cast for the world i'm working on!

as always, thank you so much to everyone who reads/comments/kudoses/likes; whatever your form of support is, it really means the absolute most to me and it's the whole reason i keep going!

“Well, well, well, Mr. Seed!”

It was Sylvia’s cheerful voice that first put a smile on Elliot’s face. It was the ensuing expression on John’s face when he realized he’d have to slide into boots worn by at least twenty other people that kept it there. He grimaced as he set his own perfectly tidy shoes to the side and pulled the first Wellington on.

John had done the right thing by swapping out the collared shirt he’d been halfway through putting on into a black turtleneck—still, certainly, more expensive than perhaps any item of clothing Elliot herself had ever owned, but less pretentious than a silky button-up.

“Right size?” Via asked.

He forced the grimace into a smile. “Perfect fit.”

With a satisfied nod, the blonde turned back to Elliot and handed her the lead to the horse she was going to brush—a hefty Clydesdale that plodded out of his stall obediently. He nosed her pockets for treats, whuffling against her offered but empty palm before she started tying him to keep him in place for a good brushing.

“You look fit as a fiddle and ready to ride,” Via announced, clapping John on the shoulder once he’d gotten his shoes swapped out. “What do you think? Wanna climb on up?”

“On that?” John asked incredulously when the blonde indicated the bay.

“Yes sir. Hugo’s great for beginners.”

“Hugo’d be great to stomp me to death,” he muttered. “Ah, no thank you, Sylvia—I think I’ll stick with the ground for now.”

“Suit yourself.”

She gave Elliot’s shoulder a quick squeeze before setting off at a brisk pace. At the barn, Via always seemed to operate on a different kind of frequency—she was still quick to smile and quicker to laugh, but there was definitely something more businesslike going on. John watched her go for a minute, mouth downturned in a frown, before his gaze returned to Elliot.

“So,” he said, “what are we doing?”

“I’m brushing Hugo,” she replied primly. “You can...give him a treat, or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to do something?”

Elliot sighed, patting Hugo’s neck and giving him a scratch. The bay turned his head, regarding John for a moment before bumping his muzzle against her hip affectionately.

“Here,” she said, holding out a brush. “You can brush him.”

It was John’s turn to do the regarding, then, eyes darting down to the brush and then back up at Elliot. He did still look a bit ridiculous—walking around in the Wellingtons, brushing loose wisps of hay that had somehow managed to cling to his turtleneck, the normally perfectly-slicked back hair falling loose and unruly. As John weighed the brush in his hand like it was some kind of artifact, he gave Hugo an awkward pat on the nose and one stilted brush along his neck.

“Great,” Elliot chirped. “Just keep doing that, but...better.”

She stepped away, leaving John with the horse and heading down the main hall. She’d taken about five steps before she heard John go, “Wait, where are you going?” and she turned to look at him, brows pulling together in something close to pity.

He looked so uncomfortable. And it was so good.

“To brush another horse, honey,” she replied, voice dripping with sugar. “What, did you think we were going to hold hands while you made yourself useful?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotten mouthy,” he said, eyes on her as she clipped a lead onto her usual equine companion, a handsome palomino named Butterscotch.

“I’ve always been mouthy, John.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

A few minutes of silence lapsed between them, filled only by the occasional whuff of horse breath or John muttering a swear. Elliot had just gotten into the rhythm with the palomino, gliding her hands and the brush across his neck in slow, even strokes, when John said, “So, you’ve been coming here a lot then, huh?”

Elliot let out a sigh. “This is supposed to be my quiet time.”

“I’m just curious,” John replied. “What made you want to start spending time around big, smelly animals?”

She dropped the brush in a bucket, fishing out the comb and starting to work on some of the knots. “Doctor’s orders.”

John made a low noise, agreeable even though she thought that he might be burning over there. Back in Hope County, he’d been determined to know her—get inside of her, get in the nitty-gritty, dig his elbows up into her guts and gore and figure out every little thing about her and what it was that she was keeping from him.

It made her wonder if he had read the file Joseph had compiled on her. It had been given to him, after all, like a trophy. Like she was a trophy, a gift from Joseph to him. His reward.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Maybe that is what John thought; that all of his ragged attempts at convincing her that what they’d had, those fleeting moments, had been love. But she’d seen the way he’d looked when Joseph had praised him, the way he tiptoed around himself and his true nature, always with a foot on Joseph’s side and one on hers. Now, watching him stand awkwardly to the side of a giant Clydesdale, making an attempt at integrating into her daily life—it was almost sickening, to think that she had been the prize in some weird game for Joseph’s approval.

“Left him all alone with Hugo, huh?” Sylvia asked, jarring her out of her thoughts and reminding her that she’d been brushing the same spot in the palomino’s mane for a while now.

“Ah, yeah,” Elliot replied, clearing her throat and focusing on a different spot. You make me sick, she wanted to tell him, the warmth of the morning evaporating in the wake of her anger. You make me fucking sick, I won’t forget it, I can’t forget it, fuck you fuck you. “He could squirm a little. Builds character.”

Via’s eyes narrowed playfully, squinting at John as he gave the bay a hearty pat on the neck. “Not an animal person, huh?”

She felt her mouth twist wryly, wanting to say something vicious. Something mean. Something—

( I’m glad I didn’t break that wrathful streak out of you, )

“City boy,” is what she ended up supplying, to which Via went ahh, as though that explained a lot. In a lot of ways, it did.

“How’re you holdin’ up over there, buddy?” the blonde called down the hall, Hugo’s ears flicking in her direction. John glanced up and planted a smile on his face that was so canned Elliot thought he couldn’t have seemed like he meant it any less.

“Fine,” John said, like he was on automatic, and then quickly added, “Great, actually. We’re bonding, Hugo and I. The two of us.”

“Yeah?” Via’s head tilted. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Yes. A pair, he and I.”

“Good,” she replied cheerfully. “You can take him on a walk then.”

“Huh?” came the intelligent reply, followed by the unceremonious drop of the brush in the nearby bucket. “What?”

“Take him out, stretch his legs a little,” Via explained, her voice warm. “He’s a nice boy, you two are pals. Should go fine.”

John grimaced. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Elliot had to swallow back a laugh when Via asked, “You don’t know how to walk?”

The brunette sucked his teeth. A little smile was on his face, but it was the same kind of smile he’d given Elliot when she said something particularly mean-spirited—and though Sylvia West was clearly not a mean-spirited person, she had yet to find John very charming at all. Jury was still out, after all. Elliot was sure that bothered him.

“I’ll show you,” Elliot sighed, after a few seconds of Via waiting patiently for John to explain himself. “Just unclip the—”

“Don’t stress it, Freckles,” Via interjected gently. “You’re busy with Butterscotch. I’ll help John.”

She hesitated, feeling a sudden jolt of panic. Via was saying, take care of yourself. She was saying, put yourself first. She was saying, you don’t have to jump to do the stuff all the time. But it had been so long—so long of trying to prioritize herself and choosing other people.

You don’t have to Atlas this thing yourself, deputy, Jerome had said, like she wanted to let someone else handle it, like she wanted to be alone with herself.

But before Elliot could convince herself that it was more important that she show John how to do something fairly self-explanatory, before she could protest that Via was too busy, the blonde picked up the brush, put it back in her hand and crossed the hall to John with great purpose.

“Don’t worry, bud, I’ll make sure you don’t get trampled,” Sylvia chirped at John, unclipping the lead from the hook in the wall and setting it in his hand.

“Thanks, Sylvia.”

“No sweat, that’s what they pay me the big bucks for.”

“Lot of money, having people walk horses around?”

She flashed a smile that was all teeth. “Tons. I fill my pool up with hundred-dollar bills just for fun. Swim around in it and everythin’.”

John’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. He glanced back at Elliot, their eyes meeting for a moment—and maybe it did make her regret, a little, all of the poison she’d been thinking about him; maybe seeing him standing there and jesting with Sylvia and giving her that boyish smile made her regret thinking about how much she hated that he wanted to know her, all of her, all of the yucky, nasty bits of her that she wished didn’t exist.

Watching him walk out the front of the barn in the rubber boots, Hugo plodding along amicably behind him while Sylvia chattered, made Elliot wonder what it would have been like if he’d kept his word; if he’d meant it when he’d said that they would leave Hope County. There had been a time where she’d thought maybe she and John were meant for each other like he’d claimed. There had been a time where she’d thought maybe she didn’t want anyone else, maybe she wanted someone who kissed her when she was still covered in another man’s blood, who didn’t mind when her fingers itched and burned for acts of violence.

Yours must surely be the sin of Wrath.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he was it for her, Elliot thought while John and Sylvia walked the Clydesdale in a big loop around the snowy parking lot. Maybe she never would find someone who loved her, all of her grit and gore and venom, the way that John did.

The way that he’d looked at her scar, then a wound, with adoration, his hands red with her blood. The way he’d said, It’s going to look so good on you.

“That’s okay,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone, feeling the palomino’s velvety muzzle bump her hand impatiently for her attention. “I’m—”

Not ‘I’m’. It wasn’t ‘I’m’ anymore. It’s not just about you, anymore.

“We’re,” Elliot amended, swallowing thickly, “just fine being alone.”

If she said it enough times, maybe she would learn to believe it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You really never walked a horse before, huh?”

John glanced up, his gaze darting to the blonde that had been walking alongside him as they circled the parking lot. This is not what he wanted to be doing. When he’d said he was coming with Elliot to the barn, what he’d anticipated had been something closer to getting time with her—out of the house, away from the dog and her mother, and in a situation that was more comfortable for her. She clearly liked coming here, or she wouldn’t have strongly considered objecting to his tagging along.

Hm, something inside of him said, doesn’t that say something, that she doesn’t want you in a place she feels happy and safe?

No. Not really. Not in the least.

“I haven’t,” John replied after a moment, realizing that Sylvia was waiting very patiently for his answer, without rushing or prompting him. That was probably why Elliot liked her. “It’s funny, I grew up in Georgia and never seemed to be around a horse my entire life.”

“That is funny,” Sylvia agreed, without laughing or cracking much more than a polite smile.

His eyes narrowed. He pushed a smile onto his face, the rope hung loosely in his hand as Hugo trailed along beside him, content to brush at the ground with his nose once in a while. John thought, there’s got to be a way to figure you out. There’s got to be something. What did Elliot say to you about me, Sylvia? What did she tell you that’s making you this obstinate?

Just as John opened his mouth to say something, the blonde said, “You know, I don’t like you much, Mr. Seed.”

He closed his mouth, stopping at the far end of the parking lot. Sylvia turned to look at him, her gaze scrutinizing, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know what I did to disenchant you, Sylvia, but—”

“I spend a lot of time with troubled people,” she interjected, and infuriatingly she did it so kindly that it almost lost its insulting edge.

Swallowing, John’s brain scrambled rapidly, looking for some kind of footing before he began as amenably as possible, “I hear equine therapy is beneficial to plenty of people—”

“Doctors and therapists send folks here all the time to try and get some kinda relief. I don’t always know what it is, but I’ll tell you one thing: that girl in there—she came in looking more haunted than a cemetery, and the way she looked when I first saw her is the same way she looked when I caught y’all on the street.”

The polite smile dropped from her face. “I don’t like that she got that look back.”

John bit back his venom and said, “To be frank, you don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Sylvia replied lightly. She turned to him, and reiterated with pointed firmness, “All the same, I don’t like it, and I don’t like you, John Seed.”

“You’re awful polite,” he said tartly, “for a woman who doesn’t like me.”

Sylvia sucked her teeth in a gesture that was reminiscent of going come on, shaking her head again and huffing out a sigh. “You strike me as a man that hasn’t ever been just plain old disliked before,” she said, planting a hand on his shoulder even though he easily had two or three inches on her. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I think you’re hopeless, John. Jesus Christ, people been givin’ up on you that fast, huh?”

John blinked rapidly. That was not the answer he had anticipated. The words rattled around in his head, clanging painfully loud, foreign and unfamiliar and scary in how it felt to have someone, Sylvia, look at him and say, people been givin’ up on you that fast?

Mentally scrabbling, he brushed her hand from his shoulder and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly fine. I just don’t understand putting yourself through the trouble of being nice to someone if you don’t like them, that’s all.”

“People can change,” Sylvia told him plainly. “After all, you said you’ve never been around a horse before, right?”

“Well—”

“And now here you are, walking a horse around an empty parking lot in Nowhere, Georgia. I’d say that’s changing, wouldn’t you?”

John snapped his mouth shut. There was something unsettling about the way Sylvia was looking at him; like she was seeing him, really, right then and there, after knowing her for so little time. It was the same—

It was the same way Joseph looked at people. Seeing them, for exactly as they were, with everything they brought to the table. So why did it feel different when Sylvia looked at him? Why did it feel different from Joseph when she looked at him and said, I’d say that’s changing, wouldn’t you? Why did it feel more real?

“You’d probably best head back in,” Sylvia continued after a minute, smiling at him brightly. “Hugo’s an old man, he doesn’t like to be out that long. Much rather prefer to be inside and warm.”

“Yeah,” John said after a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’d better.”

He didn’t like this, not at all. He especially didn’t like the feeling of Sylvia, a woman who blatantly did not like him, seeing him.

Turning, John started back across the parking lot to the barn, the hefty Clydesdale trailing obediently behind. It wasn’t until he was nearly to the doorway that he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket; pulling it out with his free hand, John brought the horse to a stop and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, John.”

It was Joseph. Speak of the devil, something in him whispered as he glanced back over his shoulder at Sylvia beginning to trek down into one of the riding yards.

“Joseph,” John said, clearing his throat, “I’m so happy you called.”

“How are things going?” His brother’s voice maintained its typical serenity, but there was a strange idleness to it, like he wasn’t fully invested in their conversation. It was unlike him, to sound like this—to sound absent, or troubled.

“They’re good,” he began cautiously. He wondered if Isolde had told Joseph about him hanging up on her. It would be just like her. “Really good. There was a doctor’s appointment yesterday—” That Elliot didn’t let me go to, he thought, as Joseph made an agreeable noise to show he was listening, “—and the baby is healthy. Really healthy, and good, and next week we’re going to find out the gender. Elliot’s been going to these stables because the doctor thinks it’s good for her stress—”

Joseph’s voice cut in over him, sharp and impatient. “Do you know what’s going to be really good for the deputy’s stress?”

He shifted on his feet. “It’s just, she’s been talking to the doctor about it—”

“There will be bombs dropping, John.”

“I—know that,” he replied quickly, glancing back at the barn and seeing Elliot dusting her hands off on the top of her jeans, having put the palomino away. “I know that, Joseph, I promise, I—”

“There will be no baby to be worried about,” his brother continued, “if you and our sister are not here when they fall on us.”

Joseph bit the word out, sister, like it was a cyanide pill crushed between his canines. Just hearing his brother’s voice change like that made John’s throat feel tight. The anxiety of hearing Joseph’s displeasure was rising up high and hot in his throat, and Elliot was walking towards him, head cocked to the side curiously, and if she knew he was talking to Joseph she was going to go ballistic. She would, and he would be back to square one—and he’d only just gotten a little bit closer; the feeling of the soft skin of her throat beneath his fingers from earlier that morning still lingered, burned in his memory.

“I understand,” John said automatically, pitching his voice low. “I do, I’ll—”

“You have a week left. I won’t wait for you.”

“Joseph—”

“I’ve given you great freedom to fetch your wife and child, when I have every reason to have left her to Hell.”

His stomach wrenched. He knew it. He knew Joseph was angry about it. Regret flooded him; he should have stayed back in Hope County a little while longer, until Joseph was done in his solitude, to talk to him first. “I know, please, if you would—”

“The next life is something that has to be earned,” came his brother’s voice, sharpening as he spoke, “and your wife has done nothing but reject the absolution that I—” He paused. “—we offered her, at every turn.”

I know, John wanted to say, but could not; what would be the point? What would it matter? He’d said it a handful of times already, but Joseph was angry, he was so mad, so mad, and all that time spent back in Hope County felt very suddenly like it had amounted to nothing.

“The gates will be closed to you.” And then, his voice harder now: “Tell me you understand, John.”

He gripped the horse’s lead tight. For a second in time, the comedy of it all—trailing after Elliot into a stable, joining her and her friends that didn’t like him at a bar, listening to her mother expertly sliding in barbs—had been overwhelming. His life had temporarily become a rom-com, and by the season finale they’d make amends and everything would be fine.

This was a reminder that was not how things were going to go. He didn’t have the leniency to just take however long he wanted; there would be no time to make friends, even ones that looked at him and said, just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I think you’re hopeless.

Get Elliot and baby. Bring them home.

“John.”

“I do,” he whispered. “I understand, Joseph.”

“Good.” Joseph paused, and then after a moment: “And no secrets, John. I’ll know if you’re keeping something from me.”

The words washed a strange, cold sense of dread over him. For a second, John thought, have I been keeping a secret from him? Have I been lying to him about something?

Elliot had stopped a few feet away, her head tilted inquisitively. She was far enough that John thought she might not be able to hear him, but still he turned his head like he’d seen something interesting back in the parking lot when he said, “I would never do that.”

There was a little exhale on the other end of the call. “I know. You’ve always been good.”

Something frantically pleased lit up inside of him, rapidly firing the neurons in his brain. Good, they said, chanting, we’re good, we’re good, he said we’re good, Joseph thinks we’re good.

Just as John opened his mouth to reply, Joseph said, “We’ll talk soon,” and the line clicked. Call Ended, said the screen when he pulled the phone away from his ear and turned back to Elliot, who’d started making her way over to him again. Something in his chest sank a little; he quickly tucked it away, focusing his attention back on the task at hand.

You’ve always been good.

“Who was that?” Elliot asked as she came up, rubbing her hands together in the cold absently. John gestured for her to head back inside, and she did, letting him fall into step between her and the horse.

“Just a wrong number,” he replied with a little smile. “It’s a new phone. I’ve been getting them a lot.”

“Ah.” She didn’t sound convinced, but he supposed he never expected her to. “And how was your walk with Hugo and Sylvia?”

“You would be surprised to know I feel much the same as before I walked.”

Elliot’s mouth quirked up at the corners, tugged into a smile. It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen that little smile on her face, but it was the first time that it didn’t feel forced, or driven by something sour or venomous.

John offered, “Sylvia has confessed she’s not fond of me.”

The redhead next to him made an inquisitive noise, though she didn’t remark on it. He imagined this was not news to her, given the way they’d been chatting when he’d come back from warming up the car the other night. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t spike a little bit of jealousy in him; that Elliot found it so easy to connect with Sylvia, even though they had history, even farther back than Eden’s Gate, if he was going to be a stickler about it. And he was. He wanted to be.

A little, he thought, maybe he was jealous that despite everything, Elliot still found some way to make a friend that defended her so fiercely.

Stupid, he thought, letting Elliot take the lead from him. It’s stupid. I have people who will protect me too. Jacob, and Joseph—

“But you already knew that,” he added after a moment, watching her. The redhead moved with a kind of surety around the horses; there were no darting eyes, no furtive glances out into the distance, searching for an invisible threat that only she could see.

“Well,” Elliot replied, “you didn’t really endear yourself to her. She met us in the middle of an argument, and then you proceeded to try and use your snake charms—”

“My what?”

“—on her, and that’s just not really her style,” she finished plainly, working to take the halter off and then sliding the stable door shut. “You don’t have all of your little cultists here to chant ‘yes’ at you whenever you please. You have to make a real effort with people.”

“I am,” John snipped out, “making a real effort.”

“Mm,” came the reply as Elliot slung the halter over her shoulder and started heading off down the hall without waiting for him.

“Elliot—”

“John,” she replied amicably. “I’m not going back and forth with you about this.”

He closed his mouth. Every single nerve-ending felt violently frayed from the onslaught; first Sylvia, then Joseph, and now Elliot. John could feel the headache blooming behind his eyes. Even though he’d felt that rush of adrenaline the second Joseph had praised him, there was still a knot in the pit of his stomach; just there, rolling tight and painful, reminding him that he still would have preferred that Jacob called instead.

Elliot returned, picking a loose piece of hay off of his shoulder and dropping it to the ground. “We going or what?”

Regarding her carefully, John said, “Only if you’re done. We’re staying however long you want.”

“Oh, are we? It’s all about what I want now?”

“It was always about what you want.”

She gave him a look. As she shrugged the heavier coat back on her shoulders, and he tugged the boots off, Elliot said, “You know how you’re always saying I need to find a new catchphrase?”

John pulled one of his shoes on. “Uh-huh.”

“I think you should take your own advice,” Elliot continued. “The whole ‘I’ll give you anything you want, Elliot’ bit just doesn’t hit the same when you spent the whole time lying to me.”

“I—” He let out a frustrated breath, pulling his other shoe on. “I meant it when I said it, Elliot.”

“Fucking me,” Elliot replied, “does not amount to giving me anything I want.”

“But it is what you wanted,” John retorted.

“Among other things.”

“Among other things,” he agreed.

They stood like that for a minute, regarding each other with tight expressions and the sourness of their exchange still lingering in his mouth. John exhaled through his nose and passed a hand over his face. It was one thing to be on edge because Sylvia had come right out and said she didn’t like him; another to then follow-up with a conversation that reminded him of his existential dread; yet another to be putting up with Elliot’s vitriol.

“When I said,” he began, “that I l—”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t fucking say it.”

“When I said it, I meant it,” he amended tartly. “I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, too, but I meant that.”

“Yeah?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “You didn’t mean to tell me that I’m never going to find someone that’s going to love me and all of my ugly too, is that what you’re trying to say? That whole ‘no one’s going to love you with all that red in your ledger’ bit was just a fun little jab—”

“No,” John replied evenly, feeling that petty little spike in his chest, “I meant that.”

His words seemed to catch her off-guard, immediately unseating her. The expression that crossed her face was bewildered; the animosity had fled it, and instead what replaced it was hurt—bright and blooming across her features, flushed under her skin in a gorgeous high color. It wasn’t unlike the flush in her cheeks from when she’d been frenzied by the killing of Kian, and it looked just as beautiful now, too.

John thought, I love her, just like this. Wretched and wicked and furious with me. Hurt and needing.

He had seen her in fury, in grief. Watched the remains of what happened when she sank her teeth in down to the bone, whether it was to kill or to howl in her sorrow. And he had loved her then, too.

I meant it, he thought, because no one is good enough to love you except for me.

“Well, it doesn’t fucking matter,” Elliot replied after a minute. Though her words carried with them the same cadence any other angry response would have, her voice sounded small, like he’d sucked the wind right out of her sails. “What you think, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know fuck all about me or what kind of person could love me, and—” Her lashes fluttered. “And fuck you, John.”

John watched her expression for any giveaway that he’d gotten where he wanted: inside. Before, he’d known her quite well—could gauge her anger and her grief and catch it before it exploded. Now, with the baby, things had changed a little.

“I think I’m familiar with exactly the kind of person who could love you,” he said after a moment. And then, gesturing ahead of him: “Shall we?”

The tension in her jaw tightened, flattening and flexing the muscle when she clenched her teeth. Those spiteful little eyes; he’d missed them, missed the way she’d looked at him. As of late, she’d gotten too comfortable withholding her attention from him.

Get Elliot and baby. Get home.

It was a mantra now, running its track in his head over and over until it wore a rut into his brain. As Elliot brushed past him to walk to the car, and he fell into step trailing behind her just a foot or so, he let the words sink in. He’d gotten distracted; strayed from the path—but he wouldn’t let that happen again. Joseph was right. He was good, and he would just have to make Elliot see that.

One way or another.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Staci Pratt was doing alright, all things considered.

The Veteran’s Center was empty. Had been for weeks, in fact—after a particularly tense call with Joseph, Jacob had evacuated most all of his Chosen except a select few into the bunker and locked it down. He’d grabbed his keys, looked Pratt dead in the eyes and said, “I want to see you sitting in that chair waiting for me when I get back, Peaches.”

How long was he going to be gone? That was a question that had been sitting on Pratt’s brain for the last two months.

It might have been more than that; it honestly could have been a little less, too. He had no idea. Three days after Jacob had left with his chosen, and left Pratt in the Veteran’s Center, the radio chatter had fuzzed out. Interrupted by something. A day after that, he saw strange convoys along the streets.

Well, he’d thought, Jacob did say to stay put.

So, stay put he did.

There was food, and water, and even though the snow was falling, the place stayed pretty warm. He hadn’t heard Jacob’s voice on the radio for weeks. He’d stopped checking it. He thought that since it had been so long, maybe Jacob and the others were—

“Staci,” came a sweet voice from the other room, “come here, quickly!”

Pratt pulled himself to his feet. His limbs felt heavy, but pleasantly so; like he’d been grounded to the earth, finally, at last. For a second, the floor seemed to stretch out under his feet, as far as he could see; the leaves, having blown in before the snow through then-open windows, folded and melded against his shoes. Like they were trying to be with him. What had he gotten up for again?

“Staci!” The sing-song voice came again. Dani, he thought, taking an unsteady step forward. Shit, Dani’s calling me. That’s what I got up for.

“Coming,” he managed out, taking a few steps and then catching his momentum and carrying himself into the next room over. The glossy-haired brunette was sitting with her legs tucked up at the desk, watching the security monitors avidly. Sheridan had come knocking a few days after the convoys had passed, and at the time, Staci had thought she was some kind of test—after all, Jacob had said to stay put. Sitting in that chair, waiting for me when I get back. That’s what he’d said. Getting up for a pretty girl at the door was directly disobeying him.

But he’d let her in, because she smelled good and smiled at him with pearly teeth and a cute accent he couldn’t place, and asked if he had room for her in the building, and said things like, You can call me Dani, if you want!

That was what—four weeks ago? Maybe more? She’d made herself at home, explained she’d gotten lost from her family and that she’d been worried because she saw strangers with guns running around. She had food, and water, and warm clothes, and—

Drugs. The “herbal” kind. It will open you to the influence, Dani had told him, giggling when he blinked owlishly at her. Brings you closer to the earth, Staci. It feels nice, I promise. Pratt thought it might have been Bliss, at first, but it was different; it didn’t jar him on his way down, the crash felt so much gentler, and Dani offered it to him to use whenever he wanted, and he just wanted to feel. Good. For a little while. That’s all. Just a tiny while.

It wasn’t hard, to feel good around Dani. It was like he’d spent all that time in constant fear and stress, listening to Jacob tallying body counts from Elliot. Sometimes the redhead would suck his teeth and say, what the fuck is my brother doing with that girl? and shake his head, and the idea that Jacob Seed wanted to turn Elliot into a perfect killer had washed him with a cold, ferocious dread.

Then, Jacob had left. No more body counts. No more radio calls, listening to the redhead’s urgent voice from the other side of the door. A tiny while had turned into four weeks, and now he was here: stumbling his way into the security room where she was curled up. Somewhere in the distance, a little alarm bell went off in his head. Jacob would be so mad, that alarm bell said. He would be so mad, so fucking mad, so so so mad.

But the thought was a small voice, easily washed out by Dani’s blinding smile when he got close.

“You remember I was telling you about my family?” she asked. She was tearing tiny bites off of a piece of fruit leather; Pratt reached blindly around in one of the drawers and pulled out a bag of beef jerky.

“Yeah, you said they’d be looking for you,” Pratt replied. That was weeks ago, he thought to add, but did not. “Did you find—?”

His eyes fixed on the screen. It was a stranger there, on the screen—which was to be expected—but she didn’t look like Dani. Not at all. They looked to be the same age only, but the woman on the screen had short-cropped, light-colored hair, and she was swathed in dark fabrics high up to her throat.

“That is my sister,” Dani told him excitedly.

“No way,” Pratt said, blinking at the screen. The woman on the screen was obviously not related to Dani by blood. He watched her move, wraithlike, a ghost skimming along the side path up to the F.A.N.G. center—one of the only places Jacob had left some of his Chosen out and about.

Oh, no, he thought suddenly. Oh fuck, this is bad. Oh fuck, Dani’s gonna watch her sister get killed, holy shit—

“We have to stop her,” he blurted out, starting to fumble around for one of the radio’s batteries—he was sure he could charge it up enough, he was sure, he was sure, slamming the walkie talkie on to the charger he’d conveniently left off because he didn’t want Jacob calling for him—when he saw the flicker of one of the Chosen coming out around one of the building’s corners, suspicious. “Um—that guy, he’s—”

“Shh, shshsh,” Dani said, waving her hand at him and watching the screen. “Do not be so noisy. I am watching.”

“Dani, you don’t understand,” Pratt tried again, more urgently, “that man is going to—”

The brunette made a sharp little noise, a quick tst, and planted a bit of fruit leather in her mouth, knee tucked up against her chest. It was like she was watching a movie. It was like—

Oh, God, Pratt thought, swallowing thickly as the figure of Dani’s “sister” came scooting around the corner behind the Chosen. She was going to get killed. She was going to get fucking murdered, right there on screen, in front of this nice young woman who’d been nothing but kind to him, and he was going to have to explain to her what it was he’d watched Jacob do and—

Something sleek and metal glinted on the video feed. Dani’s sister was not sneaking, anymore, but grabbed the chosen’s shoulder with one hand and drove the point of her blade straight into the junction of his shoulder and neck.

It was hard to make out expressions on the screen, details and nuances, but there was one thing clear from the woman’s body language: she was not troubled, fighting for her life, and she had done this before.

“Dani,” Pratt whispered, feeling his stomach lurch when the knife was pulled out of the Chosen’s neck, arterial spray coloring the ground in black and white on the computer screen. “Dani, what is—”

“You are going to miss it,” Dani told him, shooting him an annoyed look.

“Miss what?” he croaked. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see whatever it was Dani was afraid of him missing. The only thing he wanted was—

But she reached up, snagging his hand and squeezing it absently. She had been doing that sort of thing a lot—touching. She’d bring his hand to her pulse so that they could breathe in tandem, touch their foreheads like she was checking him for a fever, take his hand while she walked through the halls and looked around. Another thing Jacob would be furious about, if he found out.

When he found out.

Dani’s hand offered him little comfort now, though. She leaned in to the screen a little and murmured, something in a thick, rolling language that Pratt couldn’t quite make out, and said, “Oh, how many people do you think are there?”

“I don’t know,” he said, fixing his eyes back on the screen. “I don’t know, a lot, Dani, there’s probably a lot—”

There were a lot. There were a lot of them, crawling around the F.A.N.G. center, and he watched Dani; watched her watching the screen as her sister—“sister”—dispatched each one of them with distinct, violent ease. Like it was a dance. One, two, three, waltzing as she picked up whatever she could find and used it to incur blunt force trauma.

Blood, everywhere. Viscera when she shot both kneecaps of one out. Spray when she pushed yet another’s face into a broken plank of wood, falling off of the side of the building. The picture was in black and white, but even still, Pratt could see it: red, everywhere. Red in the snow. Red on her hands. Red on their faces, on their clothes, on her knife on the gun because she twisted it out of one of their hands and pushed it into his mouth and fired, insides painting the wall of the building behind him.

So. Much. Blood.

“What—” Pratt swallowed, his mouth dry as sandpaper. Suddenly, feeling like the world was a conveyor belt under his feet didn’t sit so well anymore. “What is—?”

“This is the important part,” Dani told him. “You have to watch her. Återfödelse.”

“What does—”

“Shh.”

He watched. He watched, and he wished that he hadn’t, because the woman on the screen shrugged out of her coat, pulled some black latex gloves out of her pocket, and snapped them on.

And then, she gutted them.

Like fish.

Stripped their shirts and jackets off. Cut them from the hollows of their throats down to the tops of their jeans—which she had enough generosity to leave on them—and then scooped their insides out like a butcher at home in her own work shop. Scooped them, dumped them, sat them up against the wall of the building. The woman moved with the unhurried but thorough, single-minded pace of a woman determined to finish her plate and lick it clean.

He was going to be sick. He was going to be fucking sick. He pushed the forgotten bag of beef jerky onto the countertop beside the computer. Dani must have thought he was offering it to her, because though she was fully engrossed in her sister’s work, she said sweetly, “Oh, no thank you. I am vegetarian.”

Pratt pulled away from the computer screen and the chair where Sheridan sat, admiring the bloody gore being laid out before her. The world pushed and pulled in his vision in time with his rapidly increasing heartbeat; he stumbled into the next room, reaching blindly out of muscle memory alone before his fingers found the edge of the trash can and he could bend over and throw up whatever was in his stomach.

He was wrong. This was worse than Bliss—Bliss was one kind of trip, and you knew immediately what it was going to be from the start. But this? This was a fucking nightmare. Each time he closed his eyes he kept seeing them, Jacob’s Chosen, entrails scattered in the snow and jaws lax and ribcages split open.

Fuck, he thought, breathing over the trash can as another wave of nausea hit him. Fuck fuck fuck, fuck fuck—

“Oh, Staci,” came Dani’s sugared voice, teeming with pure, unadulterated sympathy, rippling bright pink and blinding in his vision. How long had he been knelt over the trash can like this? “Are you feeling unwell? It can be a lot, you know. The first time you see it.”

“There—” Pratt lifted his head weakly, looking at the girl who’d happened to wander in here, just after he’d seen those glossy gray vans patrolling the area. Separated from my family, she’d said. “It happens more?”

His words came out in a wail, pitching almost into hysterical. Dani clicked her tongue, smoothing the hair back from his forehead in a gesture that was supposed to comfort him.

“Of course it does,” she told him, crouching beside him, bringing his hand up to her cheek. “Återfödelse. Rebirth. It will happen to us all. If we are lucky, Helmi will be the one who does it for us.”

The last thing he wanted was for that woman—Helmi—to do anything for him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, the exhaustion of his adrenaline and the crash of his high digging straight into his skeleton.

I have to get the fuck out of here, he thought. I have to get out of here and tell—tell the others—tell Jerome and Hudson and Elliot and—

“It is okay,” Dani murmured, planting her hand on the back of his neck and giving it a little squeeze. “She knows I am here. That was good thinking, to get the radio all charged up.”

It took every ounce of his strength not to moan in misery at that. The brunette smiled at him, radiantly and with pearly teeth, and he was suddenly filled with dread at the idea that there may be someone out there worse than the Seeds.

“You should lay down, get some rest,” she suggested gently. Coming to a stand, Dani glanced back at the monitors, and then back at him, lips still quirked in that pleasant little smile.

“You will want to be at full speed when she gets here.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things in the car were uncomfortable. That is to say, Elliot was still nursing whatever wound his honesty had given her, and regarding him warily out of the corner of her eye every time he attempted to strike up conversation with her.

I’m not going to apologize, John thought resolutely, between the stop at the pharmacy and the house. I meant it. I’m not going to apologize for something I meant. And mean. I know I’m the only one meant for—

“What is going on?” he asked, slowing to a crawl when he came to the turn up the Honeysett’s driveway. It was packed with cars—lining the parking area in a little cluster. The redhead beside him let out a frustrated, agonized little moan, burying her face into her hands.

“It’s Tuesday,” Elliot replied tartly.

“Okay, and?”

“Tuesday’s the day mama has all of her debutante friends over.” She shifted in the passenger seat, gesturing with her hand. “Well, you gonna park or what?”

John’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Great. An audience, a crowd, for the impenetrable, unshakeable tension sitting just there, right between them. But even now, it was a relief; all of those weeks spent without her had reminded him that even when things hadn’t been the most ideal, when they’d been fighting constantly, at least it had been something. As long as she wasn’t acting like he didn’t exist.

“Can’t wait,” is what he said, pulling the Jeep down the long drive and parking it where no one would need to have him move it later. Through the glass, he could see gauzy shapes milling about, drenched in amber light; Southern women, hair curled and faces powdered and the flowy fabrics of their loose-fitted (and yet, somehow still miraculously tailored) clothes, martini glasses in hand.

Elliot said, “Stepford housewife does seem on-brand for you.”

He shot her a dry look. “I prefer my women with a bit more bite to them.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

So, it was going to go great, then.

As he made his way up the steps, Elliot paused, turning and looking at him before they could reach the door. He looked at her expectantly; eyebrows lifted.

“I don’t have to tell you to behave,” she began.

“No, you don’t.”

“But I will anyway.” Elliot’s hand rested on the doorknob. “These women are nicer than mama. They’ll want to know all about you, ask you tons of questions—I need you to give them vanilla answers. The most vanilla. You’ve gotta be as unthreatening as a wafer, John.”

Still recovering from the pleasant swoon of hearing the words I need you come out of Elliot’s mouth, John said, “Scout’s honor, Ell.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. Loose wisps of ginger hair tumbled out of the half-pony she’d slung her hair in, and her eyes darted—unsure, wetting her lips, like there was something that she wanted to say to him but she didn’t quite trust herself to.

“I’m—” She stopped.

“They’re going to wonder why we’re standing out here.”

“I’m trusting you,” Elliot bit out. The words were almost as sweet as I need you, he thought. “Trusting you not to...take advantage of the fact that I may or may not have omitted important information about what was going on back home. I would really like it, John, if we could get through this evening without my life coming apart.”

The urge to reach up and brush the hair from her face, cup her cheek—it burned in his fingertips, itching. But he kept his hand at his side and said, mood instantly elated by the idea that Elliot needed something from him, “No nuclear bombs dropping tonight, my love.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. We get in and we get out, no casualties.”

“Just like old times,” John agreed. “Sans the ‘no casualties’ bit, of course.”

Elliot’s mouth twisted. He thought she might have been trying to stop herself from smiling, but the expression was wiped so quickly from her face that he didn’t have any time to dwell on it too long before she opened the front door and he was hit with a blast of heat and floral perfume.

Oh, yeah, he thought, stepping inside after Elliot to the sound of bright, vibrant chatter cascading over soft music playing in the background, that’s debutantes.

“Is that Elliot?” exclaimed one woman, perhaps a few years older than Scarlet, coming to a stand and setting her glass to the side as she hurried over to wrap Elliot in a hug. “My goodness, look at you. You dyed your hair, didn’t you? I love it, it’s beautiful, sugar.”

“You’re home late,” Scarlet remarked as Elliot shrugged out of her jacket, perched on the couch. Boomer had come racing down the stairs at the sound of someone’s arrival, little feet tapping excitedly against the carpet as he begged for Elliot’s attention.

“We had to make a stop, mama. And—thank you,” Ell replied, clearing her throat, returning the embrace for a second before she pulled away. The interaction was an interesting one to watch—and gave him, perhaps, more insight into the dynamic between Scarlet and Elliot than his wife would have wanted. After all, it wasn’t Scarlet getting up to embrace her pregnant daughter after not knowing where she was all day.

Elliot turned and gestured to John with a smile that looked more like a grimace. Her hands had gone to Boomer, though, rubbing his ears—more for her benefit than his, it seemed. “Delia, this is—um, John. John, this is Delia, she’s—kinda like my aunt.”

The woman, Delia, turned bright eyes on him. “Well, um John, isn’t it nice to finally meet you!” she exclaimed, hugging him tight and filling his senses with perfume and chiffon.

“Pleasure,” John replied, beaming, “is all mine, I assure you, kinda Aunt Delia.”

She’d been right, of course. All of the women in the room regarded the two of them with nothing short of warmth, glowing curiosity—certainly, they gossiped, but nothing quite as scathing as Scarlet Honeysett’s own impression of him and even, to an extent, Elliot. For the most part, the matriarch’s disdain of him was carefully bottled, though she made no move to greet him or show him off like a mother-in-law ought to.

“John is Elliot’s husband,” Scarlet said lightly from the couch, where the other women made various noises of feigned excitement and disappointment alike. He could about hear Elliot wanting to crumple in on herself.

Delia left one hand on John’s shoulder, the other affectionately twisting one of Elliot’s coppery curls and letting it fall to the side. “Dyed hair, married—honey, is there somethin’ you haven’t been up to? And what about a weddin’?”

John had never seen Ell turn into such a shrinking violet before. She blinked owlishly at the women—even the one she claimed close enough to be her Aunt—and shifted on her feet.

“We didn’t really think about it,” Ell managed out shyly, cheeks flaring pink. “And no, I haven’t, but—well, except—”

Painful. It was painful, how much she was suffering through this. “It was an unconventional thing,” he supplied easily, flashing a charming smile. “We thought about maybe having a nice reception, but we’re just not in a rush right now. Can’t do anything nice in the middle of winter, after all.”

Instant relief flooded Elliot’s face. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Finally,” Delia hummed, “a man who has some taste. You know, Scarlet, my boy’s been trying to find indoor places to have his weddin’. I asked him, what, does he think folks want to be sweatin’ like a sinner in church the second they step foot in there? It’s no less than—come here, John, honey, you can sit with me—no less than two hundred guests, and...”

John let Delia manhandle him into a chair nearby the fireplace. It had been quite a blow to his ego to have Scarlet regarding him with so much disgust, like he wasn’t even worth her time of day; even now, when his mother-in-law came to a stand, beckoning Elliot into the kitchen with a single elegant hand into the kitchen, she barely spared him a glance. Like he was nothing.

That’s where she gets it from, he thought dryly. Honeysett women.

“John, you ever been to one of Scarlet’s Christmas parties, honey?” Delia asked him, jarring him out of his thoughts. He planted a polite smile on his face.

“Unfortunately, I’ve not had the opportunity,” he replied lightly. This was easy—older women, dying to know more about him? Easy as pie. “Christmas is next week, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Delia replied, patting his hand. “You’ll have to come. I mean, of course you’ll come—Elliot will be there. Where are you staying? Scarlet didn’t put you up in a motel, did she? I’ll tell you what, I hear the most awful stories about that place. In fact, just the other day, Justine Adler was telling me...”

The woman launched into another bustle of gossip, busying herself with pouring a drink which was then promptly planted in John’s hand. Somewhere close to halfway into that, Scarlet and Elliot returned, the older woman resuming her spot at the center of the couch and Elliot sitting herself on the ground beside him, back to the fireplace.

He leaned over, as the women burst into glittering laughter, and said, “Wanted to sit by me instead of your mother, huh?”

“She told me to pretend like we like each other,” Elliot muttered back. “What are you drinking?”

John flashed her a grin. “Delia made it for me.”

“Elli,” Delia said sweetly from the chair, “do you want somethin’ to drink, too?”

Elliot flushed. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m alright.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

The conversation resumed, and John let a few beats go by before he leaned to the side again; this time, he pitched his voice lower, and he saw Elliot tuck the hair behind her ear. “I like when your accent comes out,” he told her, turning his head to look at her, and she did the same at the same time, putting them almost nose to nose. “It’s cute.”

“You’re on thin ice, buddy,” she replied, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t forgotten what you said.”

“I’m counting on that elephant’s memory of yours, Elli.”

“John, are you fixing to get glassed or what?”

He couldn’t stop the grin from hitting his face again. She had to behave here—she couldn’t kick up a bit fuss about it. But even when she asked him if he was trying to get his face bashed in, a little bit of wry amusement bled into her voice, like muscle memory demanded the jab be more playful than threatening.

“I’ll drink to your health,” John added amenably, “and merciful nature.”

She squinted at him, the corner of her mouth twisting into something close to a smile.

“Sure, John,” she replied. “You’ll need all the help you can get on that front, anyway.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time the last lady had left and the glasses and plates were cleaned up, night had fallen deep and dark over the Graves (Honeysett) home. Elliot thought she’d never been more tired her entire life than she had been sitting through that little gathering, listening to the women ply John with questions about what he did and what he was doing, and how did they meet, and wasn’t he just so happy to be down here in Weyfield? Wasn’t he so pleased to have Scarlet as a mother-in-law?

To his credit, John upheld his promise to behave. He took only one alcoholic drink from Delia and spent the rest of the time sipping it, engaging more freely with the other women than she’d seen him do with her own mother or even Sylvia—likely because they had no reason to dislike him. On a surface level, John Seed was a very charismatic man. Charming. Thoughtful. Perceptive. He laughed and he made the ladies laugh, and even her mother seemed a little pleased; not without her carefully placed jabs, but for a second in time, Elliot felt less like she was going crazy and more like a normal girl. A real girl.

It made her think about the night she’d first met him, almost two years ago now, and the way he’d looked at her and said, a lot can happen in a week, beautiful. She’d been a fucking fool back then, and in a lot of ways, Elliot thought she still was a fool—but at least she was on the defense. At least she felt comfortable with the idea that her baby might never know John, in any capacity.

She was ready to cut and run, if needed.

And why haven’t you? Something inside of her asked, as she moved up the steps and stopped at her bedroom door. Why haven’t you cut and run already?

“Elliot?” John turned to look at her, pausing when she did. His eyes were inquisitive. No, not inquisitive—prying. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my bed?”

Lonely, another part of her replied. We haven’t cut and run because we’re lonely.

“I’m sure,” she said after a second. “Nice try, though.”

“You’re still mad,” he said, his voice rumbling teasingly. His eyes darted over her, lingering on her mouth before fixing on her eyes. “Didn’t I do good? Just what you asked?”

“You—did,” Elliot allowed after a moment. It was true. “But of course I’m still mad, you fucking idiot. You told me no one was ever going to love me, and that you meant it.”

John sighed. There was a brief moment where he neither said nor did anything, but after a second he reached up and swept the hair from her shoulder. The gesture made her skin prickle; anticipation curled at the base of her spine and began its stretch, luxurious and leisurely, up to her neck. Tight, tingling anticipation, when his fingers brushed the side of her neck.

Push him away, she thought.

“I do mean it,” he said, “because, I don’t think—”

Push his hand off of you.

“—anyone else is going to love you—”

He was closer now, much closer than before, like she’d blinked and suddenly he was there, in her space. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; the smell of his cologne washed over her, drowning out all of the alarm bells in her head, speaking to a creature inside of her that craved comfort.

“—the way that I can love you.”

John’s forehead brushed hers. So close, too close—but she thought about waking up this morning and the way he’d put his hand just there, in the same place, the way he’d murmured concernedly, you said you’ve been sleeping fine.

“Ell.” His voice was pitched soft, low, something safe and warm and just between them, his fingers threading into the hair at the base of her skull, and now their noses brushed, and John had crowded her up gently against the doorframe, just the way that he knew she liked. “I want to kiss you.”

Elliot’s throat felt tight. I want to kiss you too, that wretched, sad little thing inside of her said, but instead she thought of something else—she thought about John, holding her under the water, and John, saying enough of that sad little whimpering, deputy, you’re pulling on my heartstrings, and John, spitting mad, telling her he was never ever going to take her back even though no one was going to love her because of the things she’d done.

“Can’t,” she managed out, her voice hoarse. “You can’t.”

John exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting like he was trying to stop himself—from saying something, doing something that he wanted to do very much but would regret later. It took a second, but once she gathered herself, she reached up and gripped his wrist with her hand, applying just a little pressure—and that was all it took for him to drop his hand from her neck.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. It sounded more like a way to console himself rather than an answer to her. He passed a hand through his hair.

“We can’t.”

“Okay, alright. No kissing.” He lifted his hands in a show of innocence. “You’re the boss.” The brunette’s eyes glided over her face for a moment, almost ruefully, before he stepped back and started heading down the hall. “Goodnight, Elliot.”

She stayed put, up against the doorframe to her bedroom, fingers curled into fists. Everything in her felt like it was burning—rioting, that she had denied herself something that might give her some temporary relief, some temporary pleasure.

But it wasn’t just about her, anymore.

“John,” she said, waiting until he turned to look at her. “Why are you even here?”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she continued, hating the little tremble in her voice, “did you come here because you wanted to be with the baby and I, or did you come here because you were mad we left?”

Elliot watched the muscle of his jaw tense and tighten, flexing as he tried to come up with an answer. And he was, having to come up with one, because he was doing that thing where he wanted to say something that was true to him and would make her happy.

And she didn’t want that. She just wanted him to be honest.

“Alright, good talk.”

“Elliot, listen,” he started, and she stepped into her bedroom, shaking her head.

“Goodnight, John.”

She closed the door behind her, pleased to not hear any follow-up knocks on her door or John’s voice coming through the wood. It was five minutes of waiting before she finally dragged herself into her pajamas, put a sleeping pill in her mouth, and crawled into bed with Boomer curled into her knees.

That’s okay, Elliot thought tiredly, shifting and closing her eyes. That’s alright. It can be just you and I, baby.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Staci?”

Roused from his sleep, Pratt lifted his head. When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been sleeping? He struggled to a sitting position, clearing his throat and blinked his eyes rapidly to try and get them to focus. It was Dani’s face that came into view, then, her hair slung up in a ponytail and her nose scrunching up in an amused little smile.

“Good morning. You must have been exhausted, you slept for so long,” she teased him, and for a second he felt relief flood over him. It had been a dream. It had all been an awful dream. Now, more than ever, he was sure that he needed to get to the Resistance—take Dani with him and get out of this fucking nightmare of a building. Yeah. Then he’d feel better.

“Yeah, I must have been,” he said a little sheepishly, his voice rough from sleep. “Hey, d’you think we could—”

“Is he finally awake?”

The voice that came from the other room filtered straight into his brain, crisp and sharp and distinctly un-accented. The sound of footsteps echoed across the tile before an unfamiliar woman filled up the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it and regarding him with dark, scrutinizing eyes.

No. Not unfamiliar. Very familiar, painfully familiar, disgustingly, awfully—

“Yes, Helmi,” Dani replied warmly, “he is awake. It was his first time seeing Återfödelse.”

The woman, dark and swathed in fabric up to her throat, swept her eyes over him. “Dani told me you puked.”

“I-I-” Pratt tried to function through the panic in his brain, rioting bells going off nonstop. Helmi had washed herself of any blood, that did nothing to erase the image of her driving a man’s face into a splintered plank until he was skewered on it, or the way she had methodically emptied out Jacob’s own chosen and propped them up.

To get found. To send a message.

“You?” Helmi prompted, her voice flinty. “You what, boy?”

“He is still coming down,” Dani said, pouting her lips. She no longer struck him as affectionate on an equal level, but instead gave him the distinct feeling of a girl fawning over a cute animal. An animal she thought was also stupid.

“Why do you think he’s been holed up in the big one’s base of operations? He’s their lap dog,” the blonde bit out. She took a few steps over, leaning down—she was tall, but dextrous, her mouth curving in a smile that was distinctly threatening. She reached up, and when Pratt felt his body flinch, she grabbed his chin. “Aren’t you, doggy?”

“I-I’m not!” he said quickly, jerking his face out of her grip. “I’m not, I swear, I don’t even like the Seeds, I swear I don’t, Jacob was keeping me here and then he got everyone in the bunker and—”

“Wait,” Helmi said, eyes narrowing. “You know where the bunker is?”

“Yes!” Pratt said quickly. His eyes darted between Helmi and Dani, nervous. “I do, I know where it is, but—but no one can get in without Jacob now. Everyone in there is locked down until h-he gets back.”

“I told you,” Dani said to Helmi eagerly. “I told you he was helpful, Helmi.”

Helmi sucked her teeth, giving him one last scathing once-over before she planted a pleasant smile on her face.

“Come on, doggy,” she said, grabbing Staci’s shirt collar and hauling him to his feet. “You and I are going to make a little trip. And—”

She paused, thoughtful, even as Pratt scrabbled to push her hands off of him. They made his skin crawl—long and elegant, but he had seen what they could do. What they had done. Helmi shoved the walkie into his hands, as well as a heavy coat.

“Why don’t you tell me everything you know about our friends the Seeds on the way there?”

#fic: witching hour #john seed x female deputy #my writing #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: helmi #ch: sheridan stark #ch: staci pratt #i have sated my desire for blood and now we can get back to getting these two idiots to fucking kiss already #far cry 5 fic #far cry 5 oc #john seed/female deputy #fc5 oc

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hh-rose · 3 years

Text

Those Five Years

ao3

You’d think that for people who had been alive for nearly a century, five years wouldn’t have much of an impact, but you would be sorely mistaken. A lot can happen in five years. Bucky didn’t exactly know what happened in those five years, but he knew something had changed. Sam didn’t seem to remember either, so Bucky knew that asking him would be a dead end.

Steve was a whole other problem to Bucky. Before he dusted, Bucky knew that he wasn’t the person that Steve had known before the war, and he was certain that he had changed even more. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he had changed, and he knew that he needed to tell Steve that.

Bucky waited until everything died down after the battle and the funerals to sit down and have a conversation with Steve. When Bucky told Steve that they needed to talk, it seemed like Steve also had something to say, so they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

“So,” Steve said, looking at Bucky who was pacing back and forth in the guest room that he, Steve, and Sam were sharing. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Five years?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded. “I don’t remember them at all. I know that there’s something there because I keep having weird deja vu, but I can’t remember any of it.”

“What’s the deja vu like?” Steve asked. Bucky thought about it for a moment before he answered.

“I think I met someone there,” Bucky explained, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows. “I feel like I really bonded with someone, and now that I’m back, I feel like there’s this hole.”

“I, um, I get that,” Steve responded, looking at the ground. “That’s how it was for me after I came out of the ice. It didn’t take me long to remember that the person I left behind was Peggy.”

“Right, Peggy,” Bucky murmured. He let out a breath. “It, uh, it hurt a lot when you fell in love with Peggy. I didn’t understand how you could’ve fallen out of love with me that quickly, but I think I might get it now. You don’t need to feel guilty anymore, though. I know that’s what all these years have been. You were fighting so hard for me because you felt like you left me behind to be with her, and then you felt even worse because I was alive and you didn’t know. You don’t need to feel guilty anymore because I know what it’s like to meet another person and fall in love.”

“In love?” Steve asked with a smirk. Bucky blushed slightly. “That’s not all it was, you know. I still loved you. I still love you. I was fighting for you because you were my first love and my best friend. I’m always going to love you.”

“I know,” Bucky responded, a soft smile on his face. “I’m always going to love you too. Always. But it’s not fair to keep trying to make this work if there are other people out there for us.”

“Wait, how did you know?” Steve questioned. Bucky let out a chuckle.

“Please, Steve, I know you better than anyone. The second I heard about the time travel, I knew that you were going to go back to her,” Bucky explained. Now, it was Steve’s turn to blush.

“And you’re not upset?”

“Of course not. You need to be with your love, and I probably need to figure out who mine is.”

“Oh, right. Who do you think it could be?” Steve wondered. Bucky shrugged.

“I have no idea. It could be literally anyone,” Bucky stated. Just then, Sam walked into their shared room.

“All done here, old folks?” he asked. Steve and Bucky both rolled their eyes. “Who’s sharing a bed?”

“Buck?” Steve questioned. The easy answer would be him and Steve. They shared beds together for their entire life. However, there was something inside of Bucky that was screaming Sam, Sam, Sam .

“You have a big day tomorrow,” Bucky told Steve. “Sam and I can share tonight.”

“Alright,” Steve said with a knowing smile. Bucky wasn’t sure what Steve knew, but he sure as hell knew something. “I’ll probably hit the hay then. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Sam said, walking over to his side of the bed.

“Night, Stevie,” Bucky echoed, shooting Steve a smile. He began to pull his hair up into a half-up, half-down bun.

“When did you start wearing your hair like that?” Sam questioned. “You had it like that during the battle too.”

“I’m not sure,” Bucky answered. Thinking about it now, he had no idea why he did it. It seemed like second nature, but he never did it before he went into the soul stone. “Wait, why are you being so nosy about my hair?”

“I’m not being nosy, man,” Sam scoffed. “I’m just being observant.”

“Did you observe that it looks good?” Bucky asked as he got into bed next to Sam. Sam looked at Bucky’s hair again.

“Well, I’m not saying that it doesn’t look good,” Sam responded finally. He smirked at Bucky. “Goodnight, man bun.”

“Yeah, goodnight, pigeon.”

...

Sam never exactly looked forward to his dreams at night. To him, a good night of sleep was a dreamless one. As he closed his eyes that night, he was immediately transported somewhere else, and he knew that it wasn’t going to be one of those nights tonight. It didn’t really feel like a dream though.

He was in a house that he never saw before, but it felt like he lived there for a considerable amount of time. Then, he heard someone groan.

“Bucky?” Sam asked, walking into what he assumed was a living room. “What are you grumbling about?”

“My stupid hair,” Bucky responded, pushing it out of his face. Sam tried to hide a smirk. “Don’t fucking laugh at me, Wilson.”

“I’m not laughing at all,” Sam said, most definitely holding back a laugh. “Why don’t you cut it?”

“Are you crazy? My hair is beautiful. It would be a sin to cut it,” Bucky stated. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, Jesus,” he joked. Then, he thought of something. “Wait a second. This might work at least until we see Wanda later tonight and can ask her for some hair ties.”

Sam walked into the kitchen and grabbed a rubber band from the junk drawer before returning back to the living room to find a very confused Bucky.

“Do you want it all up or just some of it?” Sam asked. Bucky shrugged. “Alright, I’ll leave some down. Turn so I can sit behind you.”

Bucky shifted on the couch so that Sam could sit behind him. Sam began to comb Bucky’s hair back with his fingers and assemble it into a pile.

“Okay, this isn’t technically meant for hair, so it might hurt a bit,” Sam explained before wrapping the rubber band around Bucky’s hair, causing him to grimace. “I warned you.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, getting up and walking to the bathroom to look at his hair.

“You could’ve thanked me first,” Sam teased, Bucky locking eyes with him through the mirror. They shared a smile. “Like it?”

“Love it,” Bucky responded. “Thank you.”

All of a sudden, Sam was being sucked out of the bathroom and brought to what he could only assume was his bedroom. He was sitting on the bed when Bucky walked out of the bathroom. Sam thought it was weird that Bucky would be in his bathroom, but he shook it off.

“Hey, have you seen any hair ties?” Bucky asked. Sam shrugged, but he was smirking slightly. “Come on, Wanda will kill me if I ask for any more.”

“I might know where you have some,” Sam offered. “I might also have one right now.”

“Oh, really?” Bucky asked, moving closer to Sam. “Are you going to give it to me?”

“You’re going to have to ask nicely,” Sam told him. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Can I please have the hair tie?” Bucky asked. Sam stood up from the bed and pulled the hair tie off his wrist. “Hot.”

“Hot?” Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, it’s hot that you have that on your wrist for me. Like you’re always ready to take care of me,” Bucky explained. Sam put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and turned him around.

“I am always ready to take care of you,” Sam told him, before tying Bucky’s hair up just the way he liked it. Then, he dropped a kiss on Bucky’s neck. “I ever tell you how hot you look like this?”

“Only every single time,” Bucky said, turning around and kissing Sam on the lips. “Well, not the first time, but in your defense, we weren’t together back then.”

“Because we were stupid,” Sam said against Bucky’s lips. “I have no idea how I ever lived without you.”

Sam shot up in bed. He looked around the room and saw that it was still dark, and both Steve and Bucky were still asleep. He looked down at Bucky and saw his little bun. His heart did a flip. Whatever he just experienced was not a dream, and he had no idea what it meant.

…

It wasn’t long until Steve and Bucky woke up. Steve wanted to get on the time travel road early. Sam was already up and out of bed when Bucky got up. Bucky had the urge to ask him why he was up so early, but the only thing weirder than Sam’s sleeping habits was Bucky picking up on them. He had no idea why he noticed such a thing, and more than that, he was incredibly confused about why he cared. Then, out of nowhere, Bucky remembered something.

“Sam,” Bucky groaned, rolling over in bed. He was feeling for something that wasn’t there. “Where the hell are you?”

Bucky rubbed his eyes and slowly got out of bed. He padded barefoot into the kitchen and saw Sam sitting on the couch with his knees to his chest. Bucky frowned before walking over and sitting a few feet away from him.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked sincerely. “If you needed space you could’ve kicked me out. It’s your bed after all.”

“No, it’s our bed,” Sam whispered, not looking at Bucky. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know you can talk to me about that sort of thing. That’s what we do. We help each other through that crap.”

“I know,” Sam murmured. “It’s just that...the nightmare was about Riley. I get those sometimes, and I didn’t want you to think that you’re just a replacement for him or something.”

“I could never think that,” Bucky replied, putting a hand on Sam’s knee. “I know that you’re always gonna love Riley, and a part of me is always going to love Steve. That doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other, and you know that.”

“That doesn’t mean that you would want to hear about my Riley crap.”

“It means that I want to hear about all your crap,” Bucky stated, causing Sam to smile for the first time since the conversation started. “This isn’t going to work if we can’t be open about everything with each other-- the good, bad and ugly. It’s going to be hard. A lot of things are hard to talk about, for both of us, but if we trust each other, then it’ll be okay.”

“Since when did you become the therapist in this relationship?” Sam asked, eyes flicking up to meet Bucky’s. Bucky smiled in return.

“I just love you a lot is all,” he responded. He looked Sam in the eyes with a sincere look on his face. “If something like this happens again, I want you to tell me. I never want to wake up in bed without you next to me again, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said with a nod. Then, he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bucky said, standing up and offering a hand for Sam to pull himself up with. “Now, how about we make some breakfast?”

Eventually, Bucky came back to the real world when he realized that Sam and Steve were both staring at him. What the fuck was that?

“Where did you go, Buck?” Steve asked, staring quizzically at him.

“Just thinking about how much I’m gonna miss you is all,” Bucky replied. Sam looked away when he said that, and Bucky wondered if Sam was having any weird memories too.

“Well, you can’t miss me if we don’t get this show on the road,” Steve stated, grabbing the shield and hammer. “Let’s do this.”

The three of them exited the house and met Bruce outside. Everything was all set up for Steve’s mission. Bucky was being honest earlier; he was going to miss Steve a lot. Well, he was going to miss this Steve. Young Steve. His Steve, not that he was his anymore.

Bucky felt bad that Sam didn’t know what was going to happen as Steve disappeared and didn’t come back. It wasn’t fair to him, and Bucky was going to tell Steve that when he returned. But, Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he sent Sam to go talk to Steve. He smiled even wider when he saw Steve give Sam the shield.

“Cap,” Bucky said with a grin when Sam walked over to him. The poor guy looked mortified.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“I knew he was going, but I didn’t know he was going to make you Cap,” Bucky informed him. “It was the right move, though. You’re going to be a great Captain America.”

“Thanks,” Sam responded, sheepishly. “You gonna talk to him?”

“Yeah, I think I will,” Bucky said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. His hand tingled as he did it, and his eyes went wide. He walked away as quickly as possible and hoped that Sam didn’t notice. “You should’ve told Sam.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve asked. Bucky just rolled his eyes before he sat down next to Steve on the bench.

“I’m sure it would’ve been nice for him to know that his best friend was gonna come back with one foot in the grave.”

“You know as well as I do that if Sam knew he would’ve told me not to go,” Steve stated. “He would’ve told me that the world still needed me, and it would’ve worked. Plus, he never would’ve taken the shield if I didn’t just spring it on him.”

“You’re right,” Bucky stated. Steve smiled.

“How do you know so much about the inner-workings of Sam’s brain? What’s got you so worried about him?”

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered, causing Steve to smirk. “Yeah, okay, so it might be him.”

“What brought you to that conclusion?” Steve asked.

“There’s just something pulling me to him. I don’t know how to explain it,” Bucky stated. “Plus, I kind of had a really vivid memory about him earlier.”

“When you zoned out?” Steve asked, causing Bucky to nod. “I knew it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“There’s no way that he still feels that way about me,” Bucky stated sadly. “It was probably just because he was lonely wherever we were.”

“Buck…”

“I’ll tell him, Steve. Just not right now. I need time.”

“Just don’t take too much time. I’m not letting you use any Pym Particles to go back and time and make it right with your love,” Steve told him. “That’s only cool when I do it.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

...

Sam watched as Bucky and Steve talked. He was feeling weird after the dream, and that weirdness was just amplified when Bucky touched him and he felt every single hair on his body rise at the same time.

He was watching his two friends very intently, though. He figured that Bucky was probably taking Steve going back to Peggy pretty hard. He didn’t know that much about Bucky before the Blip, but he did know that Bucky’s world revolved around Steve.

“Fuck.” Sam heard someone groan when he came to. He looked up and saw Bucky standing in the middle of a field. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Steve!”

“Bucky?” Sam asked, slowly walking over to Bucky. He had absolutely no idea where he was.

“Sam?” Bucky replied. “Where are we? Where is Steve?”

“I have no idea. I just remember fucking disintegrating and then waking up here.”

“Are we dead?” Bucky questioned, but Sam just shrugged.

“No.” They both turned to where the voice came from and saw Wanda sitting on the ground looking miserable. “We’re not dead. Thanos snapped us all here. We’re in the soul stone.”

“But we’re alive?” Sam asked.

“Unfortunately,” Wanda replied. “We’re stuck here until they figure out a way to beat Thanos, if that ever happens, of course.”

“They’ll figure something out. They always do,” Sam assured her. Then, he turned his focus back to Bucky who looked like he was going to throw up or cry or maybe both. “Bucky?”

“I just got him back,” Bucky said, collapsing to the ground and holding his head in his hands. “This isn’t fucking fair.”

“You’ll get back to him again,” Sam said, sitting down next to him. “You guys were, uh, together weren’t you?”

“Not since before the war,” Bucky responded. “We were waiting until I was alright to try again, but obviously that never happened.”

“It will,” Sam promised. “Until then I guess we just sit in this field.”

“The soul stone can be whatever you want it to be,” Wanda informed him. “If you imagine something, it’ll appear. Doesn’t work on people though, so don’t even try.”

“Okay, let me try,” Sam said, closing his eyes tight.

“Woah,” Bucky breathed out. Sam opened his eyes and saw a house not twenty feet away from them. “You living in that big thing alone, pigeon?”

“No, dickwad. I imagined two bedrooms, so you’re more than welcome to live with me.”

Sam came to as Steve and Bucky walked toward him laughing at a joke he wasn’t in on. That’s just how it was always going to be. Even if something had happened between him and Sam in the soul stone, Bucky’s heart was always going to belong to Steve. Sam was just going to have to live with that.

...

It only made sense that Sam and Bucky move in together, even if they didn’t admit why it made sense. It also made sense that they lived in New York rather than DC. It wasn’t because of Steve. If that were the case, they would’ve lived with him in Brooklyn, but no, instead they moved to Queens. Queens . Neither one of them had any idea why they would have such a strong bond with Queens until Bucky ran into someone at the grocery store one day.

“Oh, sir, I am so sorry.” Bucky heard a familiar voice say after he felt something smash into his back. He turned around to see a teenage boy whose face he didn’t quite recognize. “Buck?”

“Pete?” Bucky asked, nickname slipping out of his mouth without his permission. He had no idea who this kid was. Then, like magic, a memory from the back of his head was pulled forward.

It was a few days after the dusting when Bucky was sitting on the porch of his and Sam’s house. There wasn’t much to do in the soul world, so Bucky had taken to old man activities such as watching his nonexistent neighbors. Well, they were all nonexistent until he saw a teenage boy walking up the street.

“Hey, kid. You lost?” Bucky asked, shifting forward in his rocking chair. The boy stopped walking and stared at Bucky. He looked so lost and alone, and Bucky’s heart broke.

“Are you the Winter Soldier guy?” the kid asked.

“I don’t really go by that anymore,” Bucky responded. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Hi, Bucky. I’m Peter Parker, but um, you probably know me as Spiderman,” the kid, Peter said, and Bucky’s eyes went wide.

“No way. You’re the kid who beat the shit out of me and Sam!” Bucky exclaimed. Then, he got worried again. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Shit, kid. You have anyone here?”

“Um, no. I’m alone.”

“Well, Sam and I, we have a big house for just two people. You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Bucky stated. Peter smiled softly.

“Really?” he asked, grinning.

“Of course, kid. Come on, Sam’ll want to meet you.”

Just as quickly as he was pulled into the memory, Bucky was thrown out. Now, he was standing in a grocery store in front of a kid who he didn’t know but who he also helped raise.

“Peter,” Bucky breathed out, pulling him into a hug. Peter hugged back just as tightly. “I saw you at the funeral, but I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Are you back with your aunt?”

“It’s okay. I didn’t remember you until I saw you just now,” Peter explained into Bucky’s chest, neither of them wanting to pull away just yet. “I’m alright. Still adjusting to being back, but I’m fine. And, yeah, I’m back with May. How are you? How’s Sam?”

“Me and Sam are just fine,” Bucky told him, finally pulling away. “We just moved into an apartment a few blocks from here. I’m sure he’d love to see you, but, Pete, he doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t even remember being with me. At least, not yet.”

“He what?” Peter asked, completely shocked.

“Look, I’m positive he doesn’t remember me, but maybe he remembers you. I don’t want you to be upset about it. It’s nothing personal. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

“No, I know. I’m not upset about that. I’m upset that my da-- that you guys aren’t together,” Peter explained. Bucky knew what Peter was going to call them, but he didn’t say anything.

“I know, bud, but it’ll all work out. I promise,” Bucky assured him. “I should probably get going, but I’ll see you around. I’ll do more than that. I’ll see you all the time, okay?”

“Yeah, course,” Peter replied. He hugged Bucky one last time. “Bye, d--Buck.”

...

Bucky had been out for a few hours, which gave Sam a lot of time to think about things. There wasn’t really much for him to think about as he didn’t know the full story. He had no idea what happened in those five years.

Sam’s mind jumped from topic to topic hoping beyond all hope that something would trigger another memory. Eventually, Sam’s mind landed on Steve, and that did the trick.

“I wish I could just forget about Steve,” Bucky said as he and Sam sat on the couch that night. Sam was taken aback by Bucky’s abruptness. “I wish there was a way for me to just forget about it all and move on.”

“Well, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Sam offered, looking at the television and not the man sitting next to him.

“Who exactly am I going to get under here, Sam? The only people around here are other Avengers who either hate me, are with other people, or are minors.”

“You’ll just have to go search for someone I guess.”

“If only there were someone right under my nose who could help me out,” Bucky stated, staring pointedly at Sam. Sam wasn’t budging though. Bucky moved closer to him. “Someone I really trust. Someone who knows me. Someone who isn’t all that bad to look at.”

“Oh, you really know how to charm a man, don’t you, Barnes?” Sam asked, still not looking at him. Bucky moved impossibly closer. “Bucky, come on. You don’t actually want this.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Bucky whispered. “If you don’t want to, then obviously it’s a no, and we both move on and forget it ever happened. If you do want it though, then it should happen. I want you, Sam. I need you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Sam asked, finally turning to face him. “You want to have sex with me?”

“Look, I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here. What I do know is that I’m not spending all my time here not doing anything worthwhile.”

“And you think sleeping with me will be worthwhile?” Sam asked, smirking.

“I know it will, bird boy. What do you say?”

“I say that we should go to my bedroom,” Sam said, leaning into Bucky’s space before getting up and grinning as Bucky hurried behind him.

So, that was it. He and Bucky must’ve had a no strings attached, friends with benefits thing going on. It must’ve just been a way to pass their time while they were stuck in there. Mostly, it was just a way for Bucky to get over Steve. Just then, Sam’s phone began to ring. He groaned when he saw that it was Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he said when he picked up the phone. “Now isn’t the best time.”

“Oh, is something wrong?” the old man asked. Sam absolutely hated how he sounded. His blood began to boil, and he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Yes, Steve, something is wrong but it’s you not me,” Sam spat. “How could you do that to Bucky? I don’t understand. How could you just cast him aside like that?”

“What?”

“I’m not dumb, Steve. I know that you two were together before the war, and I know that he’s still in love with you now.”

“Sam, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said calmly. “Buck and I talked before I left. He gave me his blessing.”

“Of course he gave you his blessing. He would never have told you not to go. He loves you too much,” Sam told him. “You shouldn’t have done it. It was a messed up thing to do, and now Bucky is suffering.”

“Bucky isn’t suffering,” Steve assured him, but Sam just rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m right. You would know that if you just talked to Bucky. Or if he just talked to you. I’m sorry if you think that what I did was wrong, but I never would’ve done it if I didn’t know that Bucky would be okay.”

“You’re right,” Sam breathed out. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, pal. You were just looking out for Bucky.”

“Not sure why,” Sam muttered, and he swore he heard the old man laugh.

...

It was a few hours later when Sam and Bucky sat down to have dinner. Things were still very awkward between them, but neither one of them wanted to be too far from the other for too long. It was just an unspoken thing. Even if they weren’t talking, they always had to be near each other.

So, they sat across from each other at their kitchen table. They were eating takeout from some Italian place. Sam had ordered penne with vodka sauce, his favorite food. Bucky wasn’t sure how he knew that fact, but he knew it. Bucky looked across the table at Sam, who seemed to be very much enjoying his dinner, and he smiled to himself.

“This is good, but it has nothing on the vodka sauce back home,” Sam said after taking a bite of the food that Bucky made. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “God, you try to do a nice thing around here, and it’s never good enough.”

“Shut up,” Sam told him, looking him in the eyes. He raised his eyebrows at the man sitting across from him. “It’s very good for your first try. And thank you for tonight.”

“All I did was kick Pete out for the night and make some half ass pasta.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. Plus, you’ll really celebrate my birthday later on.”

“So you’re saying I could’ve just fucked you for your present?” Bucky questioned, causing Sam to shrug. Then, Bucky’s heart began to beat faster. “Actually, Sam, there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about. It’s about the sex.”

“I don’t think my birthday is the best time for you to tell me that you want to stop having sex with me, Barnes.”

“No, no, it’s, um, not that,” Bucky stammered. “Your birthday probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, you’re right, but if I don’t do it now, I might not ever, and I really, really need to get it off my chest.”

“Buck, calm down,” Sam said, putting a hand over Bucky’s on the table. “Whatever you have to say, just say it. I won’t be upset.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispered, looking Sam in the eyes. Sam’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, especially because it’s your birthday, but it’s true. I love you so much, and I love what we have. I love our house and our fucking kid. I love our little family. I just love you, okay?”

“Bucky, Jesus, I thought it was gonna be something bad,” Sam breathed out. He smiled at the other man. “I love you too, dummy. So fucking much. I love our family more than anything.”

“Okay, good,” Bucky said, going back to his dinner. Sam scoffed.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say.”

“I worked very hard on this meal, and I’m not letting it go to waste,” Bucky explained, forking more food into his mouth. “Love you, though.”

“It’s moments like this where I regret loving you.”

“You could never,” Bucky stated, and he was right. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Bucky?” Sam asked, shaking Bucky from his memory. His eyes shot up to meet Sam’s. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just zoned out for a few minutes,” Bucky explained, going back to his food. “Your dinner good?”

“It’s good, but I feel like I’ve had better before,” Sam responded, and Bucky’s cheeks went red. “And, I don’t think it was in DC either. I don’t remember when or where, but I remember having this really good vodka sauce on one of my birthdays.”

“Weird,” Bucky muttered, hoping beyond all hope that Sam would drop the conversation.

...

It wasn’t getting easier for either of them. Sam kept remembering exclusively sexual things, and Bucky kept remembering all their happy family moments. It had been a week since Bucky saw Peter at the grocery store. He knew that he needed to do something, so he came up with a plan. He hoped that Peter would be at the grocery store again at the same time, and he very politely asked Sam to go pick up some things for dinner. Bucky was hoping that they would run into each other and hopefully Sam would remember.

Sam was looking all around the store for the ridiculous number of things that Bucky asked him to buy. He was beginning to think that Bucky sent him to buy a bunch of random things just to play a joke on him when he heard a gasp from behind him.

“Sam?” a voice asked. Sam turned around to see a teenage boy who did not know.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Sam asked, not knowing if he was a fan or someone who actually knew Sam. He looked over the kid’s face for a moment before it hit him.

“Hey, Pete, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sam said one day as he and Peter were eating lunch in their kitchen. “But, you can’t tell Bucky.”

“Come on, Sam, you know I’m not good at secrets,” Peter groaned. Sam rolled his eyes fondly.

“I could just keep this really fascinating information to myself then,” Sam suggested, taking a bite of his sandwich. He knew that Peter would take the bait.

“No, no, I wanna know. Tell me.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam replied, a smirk on his face. Then, his smile turned soft. “I’m gonna ask Bucky to marry me.”

“What?” Peter asked, almost choking to death on the food he was chewing. Sam laughed at the idiot kid across from him. “Sam, that’s awesome.”

“You think so?”

“Duh, my dads are gonna get married,” Peter blurted out, but then his eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I just, I’ve come to think of you guys as my dads.”

“We’ve been raising you for five years, kiddo. I think it’s perfectly fine if you call us your dads. Lord knows we think of you as our kid,” Sam said sincerely, causing Peter to grin. “Anyway, you want to help me propose to your other dad?”

“I would love to,” Peter responded. Then, he felt an all too familiar sensation. “Dad, it's happening again.”

“What’s happening?” Sam asked, but his question was answered when he watched Peter turn to dust.

“Pete, holy fuck,” Sam whispered when he came to, tears in his eyes. He pulled Peter into a bone crushing hug. “You scared the hell out of me the last time I saw you. It was only a few minutes before I followed, but then I lost all my memories. I missed you so much, bud.”

“I missed you too, dad,” Peter said into Sam’s shoulder. He pulled back frantically. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m not sure if that’s okay now. I know you said it was okay back then, but now is different. Bucky said you didn’t even remember us, so obviously you wouldn’t be okay with me calling you dad.”

“Kid, take a breath, jeez,” Sam said, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He squinted at the kid. “What did you say about Bucky?”

“Shit,” Peter muttered. He let out a groan. “I saw him here last week. We didn’t remember each other, but then we did. It was so weird. But, then he said that you didn’t remember being with him, and he wasn’t sure if you remembered me at all.”

“I didn’t,” Sam admitted. “I didn’t know that me and Buck were serious, and I didn’t remember you at all. Clearly, we were serious though because I was gonna ask him to marry me. I was gonna ask him to marry me, Pete. And, you, you were, are , our son.”

“Are you gonna ask him to marry you now?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded honestly. “I didn’t think he remembered. I figured he would want to be with Steve. I have no idea what he remembers or what he wants.”

“He wants to be with you, dad,” Peter stated easily. “He was a mess when I saw him the other day. He misses you.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“You love him, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, smiling slightly. “I do. I can’t believe I didn’t remember how badly I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Then, talk to him. Please. For me,” Peter practically begged. “I have to get home or Aunt May will kill me, but I’ll give you my number so you can call me the second you talk to dad.”

“Alright, bud,” Sam stated, smiling at Peter as he typed his number into Sam’s phone. “I’ll call you soon.”

“You better.”

...

Bucky figured that he had some time to kill while Sam was at the store, so he decided to go to Steve’s house. Steve was always happy to see him, and he was even happier to lecture him on why telling Sam was so important.

“You have to tell him,” Steve said as soon as Bucky walked through the door. He was sitting in what Bucky liked to call Steve’s “old man chair.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch across from the chair.

“Steve, come on,” Bucky groaned. “You know that it’s not that easy. I don’t even know if he remembers or if he would still want to be with me. You of all people know how hard it is to love me.”

“What?” Steve asked, disgusted by Bucky’s statement. “Bucky, loving you was the easiest thing I ever did.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you, and that was before. Who’s to say that Sam would still want me after everything?”

“Did he tell you that he called me?” Steve asked, not paying any mind to Bucky’s ridiculous notions.

“No, but I’m not exactly surprised considering you’re friends,” Bucky responded.

“He called me to tell me off about leaving you,” Steve stated, and Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Yeah. He thinks that you’re in love with me and heartbroken because I left you for Peggy.”

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. Just then, both men heard the door open.

“Oh, sorry Steve. I didn’t know you had company,” the person said. Bucky turned around to see Wanda closing the door behind her.

“What do you need Bucky?” Wanda asked, closing the door behind him as he walked into her house.

“I have to talk to you about something personal, and I don’t want to upset you,” Bucky stated, pacing back and forth, not looking at her.

“I’m a big girl, Bucky,” she said, causing Bucky to scoff.

“Please, you’re practically a fetus compared to me,” he joked. Then, he looked at her apologetically. “Sorry, I do actually want to have a serious conversation. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, you dork. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“If you met someone else, would you ever think about getting married?” Bucky asked abruptly. Wanda looked at him quizzically. Bucky began pacing again. “I always planned on marrying Steve. Even when it was illegal, marrying him was all I wanted. I never thought I would want to marry anyone else, but here I am. And if we get back, what if Steve’s upset that I moved on? I just don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, breathe. Why don’t you sit down?” Wanda offered, leading Bucky to the kitchen counter. Bucky sat down on one stool and Wanda sat on another. She waited a moment before she said anything. “I am not in any way over Vision. He is very much still the love of my life. However, if there came a day when I found someone else and Vision was really gone, I would like to believe that he would want me to be happy. That’s all the people we love want for us after all. They just want us to be happy.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“If the roles were reversed and Steve found someone in these last few years, would you be happy for him?” Wanda asked, and Bucky was taken aback. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Yeah, I think I would be,” he answered honestly. “He did find someone else at one time, and I wasn’t happy for him. I didn’t get it, but now I do. If he wanted to be with her now, I would just be happy that he found her again.”

“Then, I think you have your answer,” Wanda replied with a soft smile. “If Steve loved you as much as you loved him, then he would be happy for you.”

“Thank you, kiddo,” Bucky said, and Wanda rolled her eyes.

“So, you gonna ask Sam to marry you?” she asked cheekily. Now, it was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“That’s the plan,” he replied, a smirk forming on his face. He was back to the Bucky that Wanda knew and loved, but then his face fell.

“Bucky?” Wanda asked, eyes wide with horror as she watched him turn to dust.

“Kiddo, Jesus,” Bucky said, standing up abruptly when he was brought back to the present. “I haven’t seen you since...well…”

“Since we talked about you asking Sam to marry you,” Wanda finished, smirking. They both heard Steve clear his throat, and Bucky blushed.

“I didn’t remember until I saw Wanda. Calm down, old man,” he told Steve. He turned back to Wanda. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin, taking Bucky’s abandoned seat on the couch. “What were you boys doing before I got here?”

“Just telling Bucky how he needs to tell Sam that they were in love in the soul world,” Steve stated, and Wanda whipped her head to look at Bucky.

“Shut up, both of you. I’m leaving now.”

“Wait, Buck, don’t go.”

“Do you want me to talk to Sam or not?” Bucky asked, grin taking over his face.

...

Bucky arrived home almost the same time Sam had. He walked into the apartment and helped Sam unload the groceries. He sifted through the bags and found some ice cream. Before he could even register, a question popped into his head and came out of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you get cookies and cream ice cream? You know Peter always asks for it,” Bucky blurted out, handing Sam the chocolate ice cream. Sam just stood there for a second, holding the ice cream in his hand. “What?”

“What did you just ask me?” Sam asked. Bucky’s eyes went wide, registering what he asked. “You asked me something about Peter.”

“Do you remember Peter?” Bucky questioned, looking Sam in the eye.

“It would be a bit hard to forget our son.”

“Wait, you remember us?” Bucky asked, hearting beating fast. Sam smiled slightly.

“I don’t remember all of it, but I remember some big things,” Sam explained. He put the ice cream away and turned back to face Bucky, entering his space. “For example, I remember that I had a pretty big question to ask you.”

“No, I had a pretty big question to ask you,” Bucky countered, pulling Sam closer to him.

“I think Peter would be pretty mad if we asked each other anything without him being here,” Sam stated, causing Bucky to nod. Sam pulled out his phone. Bucky began kissing Sam’s neck as he dialled. “I guess I’ll just have to call him.”

“Oh, so it worked. You did run into him.”

“I knew you sent me there for a reason,” Sam said, putting the phone up to his ear and kissing Bucky once on the lips before Peter answered. “Hey, bud, what are you doing tonight? Wanna come over for dinner with me and dad?”

...

Peter was incredibly confused as knocked on Sam and Bucky’s apartment door. He had no idea who remembered what, and he didn’t know what exactly he was walking into. All the nerves went away when Bucky opened the door with a warm smile.

“Sammy, the kid’s here,” Bucky announced from the doorway. He pulled Peter in for a quick hug before leading him into the apartment.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sam greeted from the stove. “I’m just finishing up dinner.”

“Cool,” Peter said. Bucky handed Peter some plates, and Peter began to set the table like he always did.

“So, how’s school been?” Bucky asked.

“Good. I’m almost done for the year, and then I’m going on a school trip during the summer. MJ and Ned are gonna be there.”

“Oh, MJ, I almost forgot about her,” Bucky said, smirking at Peter and then Sam. “You tell her how you feel yet?”

“God, no,” Peter responded, blushing a deep shade of red.

“Bucky, don’t bother him. Lord knows that you took your grand old time telling me how you felt,” Sam offered from the stove.

“Excuse me, I can say the same for you,” Bucky argued, but he was smiling all the same. “Peter, tell your father that you don’t mind me busting your chops.”

“What if I do mind?” Peter asked.

“Duh, then, you’re grounded.”

“Right,” Peter replied, smiling. He was done setting the table, so he and Bucky sat down as Sam finished the food and set it down.

“Dinner is served, boys,” he said, sitting down next to Bucky.

“Looks great, sweetheart,” Bucky told Sam before kissing him on the cheek. Peter pretended to throw up. “Don’t disrespect your dads, boy.”

“You tell him, honey,” Sam said to Bucky before casting a smile at Peter. “When is your trip, Pete?”

“Um, July I think,” Peter replied, before digging into his food.

“Okay, so that’s a no on July. Maybe August?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know. Steve’s birthday is July and yours is August. I don’t really want to put it in the middle like that. I wanna spread things out,” Bucky explained. “My half of the year is so boring. There’s nothing going on in the winter and spring.”

“I didn’t peg you for a spring wedding type,” Sam stated.

“I’m sorry what?” Peter asked, and both Sam and Bucky looked at him. “When did you get engaged?”

“Technically speaking, we never did get engaged,” Sam stated. “Neither of us ever proposed.”

“Didn’t need to,” Bucky said, taking a bite of his dinner. “We already knew the answer.”

“Aww, how cute,” Peter joked, but the sentiment was true. “What about a winter wedding? January or February?”

“But then we have to go from March to July without celebrating anything,” Bucky told him.

“That’s not true. Isn’t your anniversary in April? Plus, you technically adopted me in May.”

“Kid raises a good point,” Sam stated. “I like February. January sucks because it’s just the hangover after Christmas and Peter’s birthday.”

“Fair,” Bucky responded. “I like February too.”

“It’s really the best month of the year if you think about it,” Peter began. Sam and Bucky both watched him fondly as he went on a long, nerdy tangent about leap years.

Bucky turned and grinned at Sam who grinned right back. Bucky Barnes fell in love with Sam Wilson faster than he had ever done anything in his entire life. He had been alive for longer than any human should be, but the five years he spent with Sam were the best of his very long life. As he sat with his fiance and son, he hoped that the rest of his life would be as amazing as those five years.

#sambucky #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #sam wilson #peter parker

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