#and last night she was sobbing begging me to take the service she's supposed to work this morning

[imagine-that]

Rough days

Pairing: Andrew Deluca x pregnant!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, lots of fluff

Requested by @mayascorner

AN: It’s been a while! This one is short but I loved writing it (even though I’m not the biggest Deluca fan lol) and I hope you guys like reading it. Catching up on some requests, as you can see so probably more to come soon!

You carefully walked through the hospital, practically waddling with the size of your belly. The baby kicked again and as overjoyed as you were, you just wanted it to stop.

“Morning y/l/n. Sure that isn’t twins? The bump is definitely big enough.” Alex teased with a smirk as you waddled over to him, swaddling your belly with your arms.

“Ha ha. Don’t even joke about that Karev!” You warned, continuing on your way. Your appointment with Carina was in a few hours so you had enough time to scrub in on at least one case.

Though many surgeons often decided to stay all the way up until a few weeks before they’re due date, Andrew had insisted you take early leave, knowing you would over work yourself if you didn’t. He was definitely right because you’d been taking every spare moment to jump on a random case and wanted to continue to do so until your last day.

“Y/n! You’re supposed to be resting!” A voice scolds from behind you and you mentally curse your slow walking.

“Andrew, I was just going to scrub in on Karev’s service. It’s just a simple bronchoscopy to get a toy car out of a kids throat. I’ll be in and out, I promise.” You groan, turning around to face him.

“Fine but afterwards you go to your appointment and then home to rest, ok mi amore?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as he speaks. You smile goofily at the way his voice accents in Italian.

“Yes baby, I will do just that. Now go. You’re on the board with Grey. Good luck with that.” You giggle, pushing him towards the board to get him back to work.

He turns back to you and gives you a quick peck on the lips, smiling down at your large bump once more before he rushes off, muttering facts about the patient under his breath and making you giggle.

“Coming y/l/n?” Karev calls after you, making you rush over as quickly as you can.

“Sorry Karev.” You mutter sheepishly, following him into the room and continuing on with your patient as per usual.

———————————————————————

That night...

You shove your face into a pillow closest to you, groaning into it as you feel tears pouring from your eyes.

“Mi amore, I’m home!” Andrew calls from the living room. You carefully wipe your eyes, trying to stop the staggered breathes and sniffles you’re having.

“In the bedroom baby.” You shout back as evenly as possible, not wanting to worry him.

He enters the room and smiles at you but his smile drops when he sees your puffy eyes.

“What’s wrong mi amore?” He asks, sitting next to you, his face one of pure concern.

“N-nothing. Just a f-few mood swings is a-all.” You stutter, sucking in your quivering bottom lip and avoiding his eyes.

“Y/n...” Andrew says, obviously knowing your lie.

“Fine. Karev and I lost the little girl for the bronchoscopy. It was such a simple procedure but- but she didn’t make it. She was doing perfectly fine! But then her toy fell farther because my hand moved and she choked more and-and I don’t know what happened next because that’s when Karev k-kicked me out. All I know is that they lost her after that and that I shouldn’t even be in medicine.” You cry, letting your head fall against his chest as you began to sob.

“Sshhhh. It’s ok baby. It’s ok.” He says soothingly, rubbing in circles around your back

“What if I do the same to our daughter Andrew?” You murmur miserably into his chest.

“Well unless you’re going to be your own doctor, which I don’t see working, I don’t see how that would be possible princessa.” He says with a smile, but you let out a sigh, resting your head in his lap as you lay down.

“I mean what if I do something wrong that could risk her health?” You clarify. He frowns down at you worriedly.

“Darling have you been having these thoughts a lot?” He asks, his eyebrows knit together in concentration.

“No...” You say, wondering where it could possibly be going.

“Then you have no need to worry about it now. You’re a doctor, you would know if you did something wrong.” He assures you, looking you square in the eye as he speaks.

“Not according to Karev.” You mutter.

“Well Karev is a tool and everyone knows it. But he loves you, you can’t worry too much over this. Stress is bad for the baby mi amore.” He reminds you, stroking your hair gently. You hum in approval, shutting your eyes in exhaustion.

“She kept me up all night kicking last night. What if the exhaustion is how I messed up? Or how I grabbed the wrong lunch?” You suggest.

Andrew chuckles. “My love, you grab the wrong lunch everyday.” He reminds you, making you smile up at him softly.

“Right.” You giggle. You snuggle in closer to him, holding his hand in your relaxed state as he rubs one of his hands over your back in circles.

You slowly let yourself cuddle into his lap, eyes still shut and body completely still other than your breathing.

After a few minutes, Andrew lifts you gently, moving you over to one side of the bed and tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

His voice starts to fill the silence but you don’t stop him, listening to his words in curiosity.

“My princessa, we love you so much. Please stop giving your madre such a hard time. She loves you more than anything in this world, she can’t wait to meet you. Try to go easy on her.” He hums, stroking your stomach lightly.

You try your best not to smile, not wanting him to know you’re awake to hear.

He sings in Italian for a bit, something he rarely did, even if you begged him to. It made you want to giggle but you resisted, not wanting him to stop.

“I can’t wait to hold you in my arms princessa. I’m already in love with you. We don’t have a name for you yet but whatever it is, it’ll be perfect for you. Especially if your clever mom thinks of it. Let’s hope you look like her.” He says in a husky sweet voice.

“I’d much prefer if she resembled her dad.” You giggle softly, turning your head to face him. His brows raise in surprise as he moves back a bit, his cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment.

“Mi amore, I thought you were asleep.” He says sheepishly.

You shake your head, smiling to him.

“No and I’m glad I wasn’t. You just reminded me why this is all worth it. She keeps me up now and soon she’ll be keeping both of us up but she’s ours. We’ll get through all the sleepless nights the way we do everything else; together.” You promise, wrapping your little finger around his tightly.

“I love you Andrew.” You whisper to him, nuzzling up to him on reflex.

He beams, glad to be able to call you and the little baby girl growing inside you his.

“I love you too mi amore.” He says back, pulling you closer into his chest, never wanting to let go of moments like these.

#imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic fluff #imagine fluff #fluff imagine #grey’s anatomy fic #greys anatomy imagines #greys anatomy fandom #greys anatomy fanfic #grey’s anatomy imagine #greys anatomy imagine #greys anatomy #andrew deluca #Andrew Deluca x reader #Andrew Deluca fic #Andrew Deluca imagine #Andrew Deluca fanfic #Andrew Deluca imagines

[ciggylungz]

Eat your heart out

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(request: ok but what if u wrote one where y/n is a virgin and they finally did it after dating for months and then Harry's friends came to visit him and you overheard h talking how bad u are and all that angsty stuff...)

 Virginity

The word means a something different to everyone. Some people save it for marriage, some don’t care about it, others tie it to religion. It’s all up to personal interpretation and value. For Y/n, it’s not that she didn’t want to lose it, she just never felt ready until she met Harry.

She had met him through a mutual friend, they were both invited to a birthday party and just got on so well they decided to get to know each other better. Dates, hangouts, and many hours spent together later they had become official and now they’re 5 months in and going strong.

A few nights ago, she had finally felt ready. She had communicated to Harry at the start of their relationship she’d never been intimate with someone before and it might take her a while to feel ready to be so vulnerable with him, but eventually the night came and while it was a bit clumsy filled with trial and error she thought over all it was a special experience. Harry had made her feel comfortable, he had made her feel like she was beautiful and made him happy, so she’s completely confused and crestfallen at the words she’s hearing come from his mouth echoing through the spacious house.

“mate, it was bad. Like proper awful, I almost gagged at some points from how bad it was.”

A cruel laugh followed his words. Her chest felt hollow, like her heart had caved in just from his words. She couldn’t bring herself to stop listening, she guessed she was just a glutton for punishment because the hurtful words just kept coming.

“I thought being with a virgin would be hot!”

She heard the voice of one of his friends exclaim, she had never hated the sound of someone’s voice before that moment.

“so did I! it’s why I put up with the wait, thought she’d be bloody tight and a good shag, but I was dead wrong. She barely got wet; she didn’t even taste good! I couldn’t stay hard for shit, pretended to cum and everything just to get it over with. I didn’t know sex could be so bad!”

Another round of cackles and random bullying comments were made about Y/n among the group of men, at this point Y/n felt worthless. She felt like she failed, she felt dirty and stupid. Everything he’d ever said to her was now being questioned. she swears she could vomit.

“Jesus H, what a waste of a pussy innit? Don’t worry can get some girls lined up for you this weekend. Can trip and have a proper orgy, deserve it after pity fucking that dud.”

“Thank god! Need a good fuck after that nightmare. Line up a good few for me yea?”

Humiliated didn’t even come close to describing how Y/n felt right now. Not only had her boyfriend objectify and completely embarrass her to his friends, she’d just heard first hand that he hated it so much he had faked his orgasm, and was planning to cheat on her with multiple women in less than 24 hours. She was sick, her heart stomped on and her feelings completely crushed. She’d never felt so worthless, stupid, used and disgusted with herself. She had confided in Harry how she was scared to be vulnerable, afraid to be intimate with someone because she wasn’t ready to be so open and bare with another person. Harry had told her how she was worth the wait, how she was beautiful and he loved her but now she knew none of it was real. He’d just wanted to be with a virgin, and he hated the experience.

The vomit crawling up her throat had finally reached her mouth, the girl darting towards the bathroom to empty her churning stomach into the toilet tears springing to her eyes as her body tried desperately to purge out all the hurt yet the waves kept coming.

If anyone had heard her getting sick, they didn’t care since no one even called out her name. The girl didn’t even feel like an actual person anymore, just a defective object who was disposable. She couldn’t be here anymore, the emotional pain starting to manifest into physical symptoms as well. Her head pounding, stomach turning and ears ringing. It took all the energy she had left to shove some of her things into her bag to take back to her flat.

The girl was too humiliated to even face them, to confront Harry or mention what she had heard. She internalized all of it, pulling her hood up and ducking out of the front door silently. She suddenly felt lucky that the living room wasn’t in view of the entry way so she could slip out without detection.

 ----

y/n didn’t bother to leave a not nor text Harry about her departure, making her way on foot to the underground to get home. She hadn’t driven her car there since Harry had picked her up, and she didn’t have any service to get an uber so she opted for the easiest option.

The majority of the train ride she spent with her head down, thoughts racing as she desperately tried to suppress the sobs begging to be let out. she somehow managed to keep it together until she got into her flat, as soon as she shut the door her back was against it pained sobs wracking through her body.

When her bottom finally hit the ground she was reminded of the bruises she’d woken up with on her hips and ass from where Harry had gripped onto her.

Maybe that’s why he made me switch to all fours, he was so disgusted he couldn’t even look at my face. Maybe that’s why he seemed to get angry, I couldn’t make him feel good.

The soreness didn’t even compare to the internal injuries his words had left her with. It was as if she’d been clawed from the inside out, every hurtful word slashed at her organs. Her mind burning with self-hatred, insecurity and disgust towards herself. Y/n had always been insecure, she struggled with body image and confidence since she was a child and this ridicule of her natural state and what was supposed to be special tore her limb from limb.

She didn’t know how long it had been, she seemed to zone out finding herself laying in fetal position on the wood floors of her home. Her back was still pressed into the cold steel door, using what was left of her to stand to her feet and lock it, sliding the chain lock as well just to make sure there would be no chance of anyone disrupting her decent into the void of pain.

She didn’t get much sleep that night, her head wouldn’t stop pounding and her thoughts never eased up. She’d gotten a text from Harry asking where she was, her only sending a simple message saying she was feeling poorly and went home in reply.

Harry left her on read.

It must have been many hours since the sun had rose then set again in the time she’d laid still between her covers. She hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom or eat. She didn’t feel like a person anymore. She didn’t feel like she held any worth in any sense to anyone, seeing as no one had reached out for her in the hours she’d been MIA, not even the boy who supposedly loved her.

Y/n shifted her gaze to the clock on her nightstand, she then knew it was Sunday. It had been almost an entire 48 hours since she’d moved from her spot and by now she was sure Harry had been balls deep in numerous other women. Women who could give him everything she failed to, women who he desired and could get off with. They must be everything she’s convinced she’s not. Pretty, sexy, desirable, loveable, worthy of Harry’s intimacy. Something he regretted ever engaging in with his own girlfriend.

 ---

It was 10 in the morning on Monday when Y/n’s phone finally dinged. By Sunday night she had managed to drag herself to the bathroom to relieve herself and brush her teeth, yet she only then returned to her bed to lay in a depressed shame filled coma of sorts, she truly felt so heart broken it was like her body was giving up on her.

She caved and looked at the message, feeling another stomp on her deflated heart when she saw it was from Harry-

“you alright? Stopped by your work, they said you haven’t called out but you never showed?”

Y/n had forgotten about her job in her spiral, but even now she couldn’t bring herself to care. She knew she was already on thin ice with her manager for taking so many days off to see Harry preform or visit him on his breaks so it wasn’t a surprise if she got fired. She didn’t care though; she knew if she lost her job she’d be another month late on rent and end up being evicted since she couldn’t scrape together enough for last month either. This would lead to her likely having to move back home with her mother or find a hostile somewhere for women, yet she didn’t care. It seems silly that something as simple as someone commenting on her sexual skills would put her in such a state, but that’s not really the main focal point in her mind.

The thing that hurt most was knowing Harry had only been with her to get to take someone’s virginity, and she’d disappointed him so badly he talked shit about her to his friends and made plans to cheat on her. Harry had completely disrespected, objectified and crushed her, and he didn’t even know she knew but she decided he shouldn’t have to know she knew what he said for him to realize it’s wrong. He’s an adult man who knew full well how hurtful and horrid his comments were about someone he had claimed to love. He should have spoke to her if he felt that way, yet instead he played her and tossed her out like rubbish.

Harry broke her heart, one he’d known was already fragile and timid. He’d still said all those nasty things about her even after the nights he’d let her cry into her chest about how much she hated her body, how bad her self-image and confidence was, the way she felt like she was never good enough for anyone. His actions only confirmed what she’d always feared to be true.

Harry didn’t love her.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #blurb night #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles concept #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blog #harry styles request

[ellethinblue]

Missing Heart (Isaac Lahey/Reader)

I wrote a little something, I’m pretty sure no one will read it but it’s here and it’s cheesy while also a bit angsty.

I use female pronouns

1,971 words

-----

He had left without a word.

He had talked to her that day, the day he left, and he didn’t say anything about moving away.

She went to Scott’s house the next day to look for him.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m sorry… he moved to France.”

Nothing would have prepared her for the feeling of her heart stumbling across the wooden floor, as if searching for him.

He called her when he’d gotten settled, knowing that she would be confused and hurt but the call just went to voicemail. He considered leaving a voicemail, but realized that if she didn’t want to answer his calls, she’d delete a voicemail at the sight of his name or a foreign number. He called Scott asking if he could find out why she wouldn’t answer his calls.

“She said that if there was anything you wanted to tell her, you should have told her before you left.”

Whenever anyone talked about their past adventures, and his name would come up, she didn’t close herself off. Instead she would speak of those memories with a smile, to give the illusion of being fine, but her heart had withered while trying to find a way to him.

No one suspected a thing, fooled by smiles and laughter.

That is, until between life-threatening situations, she had managed to arrange a successful sleepover between the whole pack. Her phone had been laying on the table between them all, she had been talking to Lydia when her phone buzzed. She hadn’t noticed it, but her hyperactive friend did.

“Hey someone’s calling you.” Stiles called to her.

She turned from her conversation with a smile, but it faded when she saw the number. “Thanks.” She grabbed the phone and declined the call, turning off her phone before turning back to Lydia and continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Scott noticed the number as Stiles handed her the phone, saw the quick flash of pain and annoyance in her eyes before it disappeared. And he realized, maybe his friend wasn’t truly okay.

“Please pick up.” Isaac muttered as he called her for probably the thousandth time.

“You’d think you would have gotten it through your head by now.” She muttered to herself as she saw the incoming call again.

Decline

She’d had reached her breaking point when instead of calling, he texted her an essay. She didn’t read it, she deleted after marking it as read.

“Here save my new number.” She told her friends.

“Why do you have a new number?” Lydia asked, subtly glancing at Scott, who had questioned her about their friend.

“Changed provider, it was cheaper.” She easily responded.

“The number you have dialed is not in service, please check the number and try your call again.”  

“Fuck!” Isaac yelled as the phone fell out of his grip and onto the bed.

He had pushed her with the message. He knew it. Or maybe she had been in danger and he hadn’t been there to protect her.

He shouldn’t have left her.

“Hello?” Scott answered.

“Is she okay?” Isaac immediately asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t she be?”

“Her phone isn’t in service.”

“She changed her number.”

“Oh.”

“Hey man, sorry, but these calls are expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Isaac muttered before hanging up.

There was a knock on her door one weekend when she was alone.

“Hey.”

“Scott? Is something wrong?” She immediately asked at his curious expression. She motioned him in, seeing Stiles looking over from his kitchen window next door. She shrugged her shoulders at his raised eyebrows.

“You changed your number.” Scott stated when they were both seated.

“Yeah… we were texting last night, what about it?”

“But it wasn’t because it was cheaper, was it?”

“Yes it was.” Scott was confused for a moment, realizing she wasn’t lying, but he remembered his own conversation with Isaac.

“Isaac called me last night, worried that something had happened to you, because your phone wasn’t in service.” She didn’t respond, “and long distance calls are expensive. You never picked up the phone but he always called you.” She looked down at her trembling hands. “And it hurts because he left without saying anything.” She nodded, tears filling her eyes but not falling. “Maybe you should talk to him, and get the closure you need, not for his sake, but for yours.”

“Everything I want to say to him, I want to say face to face. There’s nothing I want to say through a call or through text. And there’s nothing I’m willing to listen from him through a call, or even through text.”

“Has he? Texted you I mean.” She nodded, “what did he say?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, I deleted it, if he can’t say it to my face, its lies.”

Scott nodded in understanding before getting up from his own seat, but instead of heading to the door, he sat at her side and held her.

The dam behind her eyes broke and the tears flooded her face.

“I loved him Scott, I loved him so damn much, and he just left as if I didn’t matter.” She sobbed. “Why would he do that to me?” Her voice cracked with the pain she felt.

“I don’t know.” Scott murmured as he held her shaking body, rubbing her back in reassurance.

Isaac never called any of them again.

What he did do, was fly back home.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Scott told him after Isaac knocked on his door.

“I- I have to try.”

Before going to her house, Isaac stopped by a florist, buying her white roses, he stopped by a market, buying her favorite snacks, and he stopped by her favorite restaurant, buying her favorite meal. When he arrived at her house, he noticed the light of her room being the only one on, meaning her parents were out of town as they always were. He knocked on her door, and when she opened the door, he couldn’t help but stare. He was only knocked out of his reverie when the door slammed shut.

He heard the thumping of her heart through the door.

Her heart was there, at his feet, jumping in joy as if to say ‘Look! I found him!’ But her heart had been gone for far too long, was that still what she wanted?

Was he still who she needed?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I will spend my whole life apologizing to you, just please let me in.” He begged.

She wanted to kiss him.

She wanted to slap him.

She wanted to hold him.

She wanted to yell.

She sat on the stairs in front of the door, staring at it as if he would magically not be there. But she could hear him pacing, and see him running his hand through his hair through the frosted glass.

“Please open the door. I just- I need to see you.”

“Have you ever considered what I need?”

“No. God, I know I’ve been beyond selfish, and I’ve never deserved you, but please give me a chance to speak. You said there’s nothing you want to hear from me that isn’t face to face. This is me here for that, for you.”

The door opened a second after he finished speaking, and he stepped back shocked that what he had said had worked.

She hadn’t expected to see tears speeding down his face.

“I brought you flowers.” He murmured, as his eyes roamed her face.

“Um, thanks.” She said, hesitantly grabbing the flowers from his awkwardly extended hand. “Come in.”  

Isaac picked up everything he had brought and stepped into the house. “I also brought you food and some snacks, um, Scott told me that you were supposed to eat with the them today but assumed you wouldn’t go, because well- because of me… Is that Scott’s sweater?” Isaac said after his attention wouldn’t leave the sweater that hung off her shoulders.

“Yes, it is, does it matter?” She snapped as she sat on the same couch where Scott had consoled her.

“No, no. Sorry. It doesn’t matter,” Isaac rushed out as he sat across from her. “Actually, it does matter, to me it does, are you with him? Are you two together now?”

“It shouldn’t matter, you left. But no, we’re not.” With her words it was as if a weight lifted off his shoulders.  

“I made a mistake. And I wish I could take it back. I never should have left Beacon Hills. I never should have left you. It got to me, it was too much-“

“And it wasn’t too much for us? For Stiles, for Scott, for me? Stiles and I are just human and we’ve been in this mess since Peter bit Scott. And yeah, losing our normal lives, and losing our friends has been too much for us, but we do it together. Because together we’re stronger. And you just left, as if our pack didn’t matter.”

“The pack does matter to me, I needed some time away from Beacon Hills.”

“Did I matter to you?”

“Yes! So much!”

“Then why would you leave without telling me? I was your girlfriend and you didn’t tell me!” Her chest heaved as she yelled.

“I don’t know. I don’t- I really don’t know.”

“Please just get out. If that’s the answer I get for you stomping all over my heart, you shouldn’t have come back.”

“No, I can do better!”  

They heard the door being unlocked and in stepped Stiles, “Hey I heard yelling, is everything ok- oh.” Stiles froze at seeing Isaac’s familiar curly hair facing away from him and seeing her teary eyes staring straight at him. “I was heading to the jeep when I heard yelling. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever is going on here…. I’m… just gonna… go. I’ll call you later.”

“Yeah. Thanks Stiles.”

After Stiles was gone, Isaac turned to look at her, “I can’t promise you that I’ll never hurt you again, because I’m not a good person and honestly I don’t know why you hadn’t left me-“

“Before you left me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you left then? Because you didn’t think you deserved me?”

Isaac realized that that was the true reason he had left, and the realization showed on his face, “It was.”

“Life isn’t about deserve, we choose that which we care about and hold on tight. You think all this bad stuff that happens to us in Beacon Hills is because we deserve it? Do you think people deserve to die? Do you think that I deserved what you did to me? No. People deserve much better than they get, but they get what they need and sometimes what they want. And I needed you.”

“Do you?”

“Do I still need you?” Isaac hesitantly nodded, “No.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t need you Isaac. I needed you then.”

“Right… Um, I guess I’ll go.” Isaac got up and started walking to the door.

Her heart ran away from Isaac and threw itself at her chest.

“But I do love you.” Isaac’s head snapped in her direction. “And, I’m really going to hate myself if I let you walk away. Because I do want you in my life.” She stood up from her seat.

“I love you.” Isaac breathed out as he stepped towards her, “I love you so much.”

He tried kissing her, but she put her hands up, “I love you, but if you do something that stupid again, I don’t care that you’re a werewolf I will kick your ass and make Lydia a wolf fur scarf.”

“I know.” Isaac chuckled as a happy tear sped down his face.

Her heart hugged his heart, shining gold as their people embraced.

--

I couldn’t help but make it a happy ending, I just love that man.

#teen wolf #isaac lahey #elle thinks she can write #something i wrote #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fic

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting it Back Together Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @bookworm-christina​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @amwolowicz​ @delightfulheartdream​ @frostbitten-written​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @tom-hlover​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @myraiswack​

For six nights Lilly didn't hear so much as a note of music coming through her walls. Were it not for the occasional banging sounds of large something or others being moved about, she might have thought her surly neighbor had relocated to get away from her. More likely, she realized, was that he had put on head phones to keep her prying ears from his precious compositions.

That being the case, Lilly did her best (which in all honesty was lousy) to put him out of her mind and get on with her life. She continued her late night foraging through her grandmother's belongings, pausing at regular intervals to sob when some unexpected jogger of memory was discovered. By the time she had worked her way through the main bedroom, where she happened upon a collection of love letters that Gran and her ill fated fiancé, Lilly's Grandfather though she had never met him, had written during WWII, she was surprised that she had any tears left. No wonder Grandma Lillian had never married, when she had found and lost such a great love while still in her college years. The paper was well worn, and Lilly could just imagine the older woman returning to read them again and again.

Less romantic but no less special was a photo Lilly found where it had fallen behind a bureau. The picture showed Grandma Lillian, glamorously beautiful in a long, sleek sheath dress and beads, singing on stage in front of a three piece jazz combo. Lilly smiled, naming each of the musicians in turn. The original band had long since gone their own ways professionally, but they had remained close friends regardless. The drummer had taken his savings and invested in a small blues and jazz club not far from here. Grandma Lillian had stopped in their on a regular basis to belt out a tune or two, always to great applause. Lilly's nights there, originally under age and smuggled in, were some of her favorites.

Impulsively, Lilly sprang to her feet. There was no reason she had to stay stuck inside all of the time. Gran would want her to get out and savor life; beyond a doubt she had always done so. Rummaging through her belongings she managed to find a simple black skirt and a red top that she had always liked. She brushed out her long hair with defrizzer until she could tolerate the way it looked billowing around her and applied a touch of lipstick and eye makeup to make her look "less like the walking dead" as Gran would have said. All and all she didn't look half bad. Throwing on a wool coat and pair of boots and putting the photo lovingly in one of about seventy gift bags she had found squirreled away earlier, Lilly made her way out into the cool night air.

It was after eleven, late to be heading out but still relatively early for a Friday in the city. A drifting of clouds obscured and showed the moon at intervals, adding occasional light to the dim streets with their burnt out lights. She would be out of the residential blocks soon and into the more bright and crowded nightlife that teemed nearby.

"It's not wise to be out alone at this hour," a low voice spoke in her ear as a hand descended to her shoulder.

Lillian let out a scream and turned around, bottle of pepper spray pulled from her pocket ready to douse her attacker. Before she could press the button the bottle was knocked from her hand to roll down the street as her wrist was locked in the tight grip of a large, leather encased hand.

"Don't," her assailant said calmly.

Looking up, far up, she confronted a pail face beneath a shock of wild, dark black hair, eyes obscured by sunglasses despite the lateness of the hour.

"Sorry if I frightened you," her neighbor said with a slight smirk, taking off the ridiculous glasses.

How had she not recognized that sinful purr of a voice? She heard it often enough in her fantasies.

"I wasn't frightened," she lied automatically, only to add as he continued to stair at her "well, maybe startled."

"Just imagine if I had been someone else. It might not have been so pleasant."

"Yes, because you are the soul of congeniality," she sniped back.

Slowly Lilly's heart beat was returning to normal, or at any rate as normal as it was like to get with him still holding her wrist. She startled easily at the best of times, and in a dark side street when by herself was far from optimal. He seemed to realize this, and was obnoxiously amused by it. Lilly did her best to glare at him, only too aware that she most likely looked like a little yippy dog.

"Fair enough," he agreed, finally letting go of her hand. "My point still stands though. It's not safe out here. All kinds lurking about."

"Monsters waiting to kill me and gobble me up?" she quipped lamely.

"You'd be surprised."

Bending down, he retrieved her pepper spray from where it lay on the street. He examined it as though he wanted to take it apart and put it back together again.

"Not very well constructed," he said at last, surrendering it back to her. "You'd be more likely to spray yourself by accident? Have you?"

"No!" she said indignantly, putting it back in her bag.

He looked at her knowingly and a tell tale blush spread over her cheeks.

"I did spray a date once," she admitted. "In the back of a cab. I was looking for something else in my purse, I pulled it out, and it went off right in his face."

She could not be entirely sure, but she thought she might just detect the hint of a smile twitch his lips. Well, wonders would never cease!

"Dare I ask if there was a date number two?"

"There was not," she sighed, beginning to walk again in the direction she had been going as he fell in beside her. "As it turned out, he deserved the dousing, though I didn't know it at the time."

"Well then," he said, long stride forcing her to trot, "it was all for the best."

"I guess. He was a broker, had a ton of money but was still rude to the waiter and left a horrible tip. I slipped an extra twenty in while he was in the bathroom."

"Fucking zombies. You're right, he did deserve it."

Lilly walked in silence for a few moments, wondering what on earth was happening. He had never seemed to particularly like her, in fact he had all but run away the previous two times she had come into his presence. So what was he doing now, walking next to her and talking as though he might actually not wish to be anywhere else?

"Where were you going?" she asked when she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Out," he said, jus the one word again.

"Oh, I used to go there all the time!" she said, making her eyes go wide and vacant. "They have horrible service, but the atmosphere is to die for!"

"Sorry, I'm not used to...."

"Talking?" she supplied helpfully as his words trailed off.

"Yeah," he agreed, not seeming to take offense.

Lilly watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was so odd. Handsome beyond question, talented, and clearly intelligent. One would think he would be out with a different partner every night if he wanted. So why did he spend all his time alone in a rundown brownstone? Why was he so closed off? She loved and hated puzzles, and he was one just begging to be solved.

"Where were you going?" he turned the tables on her.

"A club down on Avenue A."

"Ah, going to do what passes as dancing these days?" he said with a curl of his lip. "Grind against someone mindlessly to tuneless music?"

"Well, aren't we the old snob," she mocked him. "No, as a matter of fact it's a music club. Jazz and blues mostly. Small acts, lots of musicians stopping in when home from a tour, that sort of thing. Nothing fancy, but it has character."

"Really?" his interest seemed to be captured as she described it to him.

"Do you want to come?" she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral while she willed him to say yes.

"I suppose it's better than anything else I have to do," he grimaced.

"Wow, thank you so much," she said, pulling a face.

"I... I told you, I'm not good at this. I don't get out much, or see people."

"It's okay," she told him, fighting an exciting flurry in her stomach. "That's the good thing about music, you can just listen."

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes curiously bright as he looked at her.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Lilly was hyper aware of him next to her, towering over her diminutive height. She did find that she felt more safe with him beside her. Whenever they neared a group of people on the side walk one look at him was enough to move the loiterers scurrying out of their way. She also caught quite a few glances being thrown their way, particularly after he had walked by. He did have a noticeably nice rear view, she allowed. Scampering after him did have an upside she supposed.

They arrived at the club and Lilly smiled at the portly man sitting on the stool by the door. Sidling up behind him, she reached out and pulled his suspenders, allowing them to snap back into place. He spun around, face breaking out into a huge grin when he saw her. The next moment she was swept into a bear hug that left her breathless.

"Lotus blossom!" he grinned at her. "You're looking all grown up! Haven't seen you around here in years!"

"Not all of us are frozen in time, Q," she said with a laugh. "How long have you been wearing those suspenders?"

"Since you were first sweet talking me to let you in," he smiled back. "You and that Gran of yours. Get me in all kinds of trouble!"

"You found enough trouble all on your own."

"True that, but you always added just that extra dash. We were all sorry to here about Miss Lillian. She was a real special lady, and no mistake."

"Thanks," Lilly fought back tears as he swallowed a lump in her throat. "Is Ossie here tonight?"

"You know he'd never miss a Friday," Q rolled his eyes. "Who else would let him play besides his own bar."

"Thanks, Q. Talk to you later."

"This tall fella with you?" he looked her neighbor, once again sporting his sunglasses, up and down protectively.

"Yeah," she said, once again feeling that butterfly sensation.

"Well, alright then. You be nice to her, or big guy or not, I'll take you down."

Adam didn't dignify that with a comment, merely giving the doorman his usual stare.

"Tell the barkeep I'm buying your drinks tonight," Q added as they started in.

"Do you really want to do that?" she asked with a laugh. "You know how I am."

"Damn girl, just try not to bankrupt me," he chuckled.

Lilly laughed and walked into the dark club, sense memory falling over her like a warm blanket. Music, friendly faces, and a handsome man to escort her. What more could she ask for? She just hoped she could keep from saying or doing something stupid for the rest of the night.

***

Adam was convinced that his new neighbor destined to drive him to distraction.

It had never really occurred to him how thin the walls of his home were. If it had realized he would have never bought the damn place. Of course, until she had moved in it didn't really matter. The old woman who had been her Grandmother would never have been so gauche as to interfere in his composing. The granddaughter though...

And what galled Adam most of all was that she had been right. The minute her barked out suggestion came slamming into his creative space he knew that she was dead on. He played the piece, hoping against hope as he came to the end that her contribution would prove just as off as his useless attempts had been. And yet he knew before he struck the chord that it perfectly completed his work. It was humiliating!

After that he made sure to plug in his headphones before turning on his instruments. He didn't want to rude after all, he told himself. It had nothing to do with the streak of embarrassment he had felt at her correction. Adam just didn't want to intrude on her piece.

The way was she was intruding on his. He could hear her all the time. Moving furniture around, cooking in her kitchen, even, to his horror, running her shower. He tried not to think about what she might look like under a stream of hot water, body soapy as her hands slid along its curves. Tried to keep the memory of the taste of her out of his mouth as the vision sprang unbidden into his brain.

It was almost worse when he would hear her crying, which was often. Adam had avoided such open displays of emotion even when he was human. His own tears were only ever shed in private now that Eve was gone. Why then did he feel the urge to break through the walls separating them and wrap the girl once more in his protective embrace?

It must be because he had fed on her, he decided. It was only a few drops, true, but it had still managed to spark something within him. It was such an intimate act, drinking someone's blood. He should have just rinsed it down the drain and been done with it. But it was so sweet, so hot and delicious on his tongue, that would have seemed like a sacrilege.

He was so attuned to her puttering around next door that he was starting to track her movements through the house. It was therefore a start to his system when he heard her front door open and realized that she was going out. At this late hour, with the streets dark and nearly deserted nearby, what was she thinking? Grabbing his coat, glasses, and gloves with a snarl, he was out the door before he could think.

She was not hard to catch. One of his steps could account for three of hers. She made an enticing picture as she ambled down the street, swinging a little gift bag as she walked. Red coat and bright hair caught the light from the moon when it cut through the drifting clouds above. Her skirt displayed a tantalizing stripe of bare leg above a pair of black boots, and he found his mind drifting to how easy it would be to access her femoral artery in such an outfit.

Had she no idea what a tempting target she made? Quickly walking up behind her, he clamped his hand down on her shoulder and growled into her ear, careful to keep his voice as calm as possible.

"It's not wise to be out alone at this hour," he said.

She was predictably flustered by his approached, and he took a kind of pleasure in making her squirm even more. After all, she was responsible for his discomfort over the past week; it was only right she should feel a little back. He was actually rather enjoying bandying words with her, he realized, until she confessed that she was on her way to a club.

Adam could see it clearly in his mind. Her coat over some chair, she would be clad only in the short black skirt and the tight red satin top he could make out underneath. Her hips swaying as her cloud of hair moved around her, she would catch the eye of any man there. Some zombie or other was bound to come up to her, predatory and drunk most likely. His hands would roam her as they danced, on her bare leg, or sliding around her waist, brushing against her breast, her ass, pulling her close to his sweaty body as he ground against her his hardening dick.

"Ah, going to do what passes as dancing these days?" he said with an angry curl of his lip. "Grind against someone mindlessly to tuneless music?"

"Well, aren't we the old snob," she relied, rolling her eyes. "No, as a matter of fact it's a music club. Jazz and blues mostly. Small acts, lots of musicians stopping in when home from a tour, that sort of thing. Nothing fancy, but it has character."

"Really?"

That sounded... not terrible.

"Do you want to come?"

Adam opened his mouth to say no. He never went out, not to clubs or bars or any other place filled with mindless hordes of zombies. But as he looked at her, trying not to let him see how hopeful she was, something inside him softened while another part had completely the opposite reaction altogether.

"I suppose it's better than anything else I have to do."

"Wow, thank you so much."

He honestly hadn't meant to poke her with that comment. It was himself he was frustrated with, not her.

"I... I told you, I'm not good at this. I don't get out much, or see people."

"It's okay," she told him. "That's the good thing about music, you can just listen."

"Yeah."

The comment took Adam aback. That was exactly how he felt. So many people wasted time with needless babble. It was so much easier to just listen. Let the atmosphere and the music take you over and move you. Why didn't more people realize that? The thing he hated most about seeing music live were all the people who insisted on talking over it.

He had an odd moment when she hugged the doorman at that club, fighting back the urge to rip the man's throat open and soak the street in his blood. He managed to fight it back once he saw that the relationship was clearly more paternal than romantic. Not that he cared if she had romantic relationships, of course. He just felt protective over her. Because of the blood.

They entered the establishment and Adam looked around with tentative approval. It was dark, not overly crowded, and those that were there sat and listened attentively to the band playing on the stage. She led him over to the bar, where she leaned in to say hello to the woman working behind it. Evidently she knew this whole place well. Not at all where he would have pictured her hanging out.

"Hey, Ivy," she said, just loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to disturb the crowd.

"Lilly! So sorry to hear about Lillian. We all miss her around here. The usual?"

"Yeah, thanks. Oh, and Q says he's paying for it."

"Oh, big spender," the bar tender laughed. "Hi, I'm Ivy. And you are?"

"Adam," he supplied tersely.

"What can I get for you, Adam?" she asked, eyes flickering to his companion and back.

"Nothing, thank you," he answered.

Ivy moved away to make her drink and Adam sighed in relief. It would be much easier to hold himself back from fantasizing about drinking his companion's blood if she were intoxicated. He tried to not let his relief be tinted by disappointment.

"Adam?" she said, looking at him with a half smile. "That fits, I guess. I'm Lilly."

Lilly, he thought. That fit her as well. She was dainty and pretty, although it was sometimes obscured by her clumsiness. Vaguely he noticed the band had just ended a set and applauded automatically, but his attention was focused on fitting Lilly's name with her person.

"Here you go, sweet heart," Ivy interrupted, setting a pint glass filled with light pink liquid down in front of her. "Don't drink it too fast."

The women laughed and Adam raised his brow in question.

"Cranberry and seltzer," Lilly said with a grimace. "I don't drink. Doesn't interact well with my anxiety meds. I know, it makes me a bit of a drag, but -"

"No," he interrupted her. "I prefer it, actually. I don't drink either. Alcohol."

"Oh, well thanks. Or something."

She looked down shyly at her drink, playing with the straw. Adam gave himself a mental shake. She was a human. A zombie. And an annoying one at that. She had cried on him, pried into his wiring project, intruded on his music. Why was he so fascinated with her? Was it just that he longed to taste her again? But if so, then why did he imagine tasting other things than just her blood?

"My Grandmother used to sing here," she told him out of nowhere. "That's her photo over there, behind the bar. Lillian Bell. The owner was her drummer for a while back in the 60's. She would bring me here to listen to what she considered real music. She was a bit of a snob. You would have liked her."

"I'm sure I would have."

Adam scoured his memory, trying to think if he had ever heard of the woman. He thought he might have, actually. He had a vague recollection of a small woman with a big voice that looked not dissimilar to the photo she indicated.

"That's how I know music," she continued, chewing on the straw and drawing undo attention to her mouth. "I don't sing myself, or play much of anything well, but I have an excellent ear."

"Much to my gratitude," he said, realizing at that moment he did feel grateful to her for her assistance.

"Sorry about that," she turned the shade of her shirt. "It sometimes is physically painful for me to hear the wrong note. Or, I mean... not wrong wrong... I meant... oh gosh..."

Adam let her squirm for a few more minutes before putting her out of her misery. She was rather delightful twisting on her stool, looking for a way out of the trap her mouth had gotten her into. He had the feeling it was not an uncommon occurrence for her.

"It was wrong," he said at last, taking pity. "I was stubbornly trying to force a finish that didn't belong. I can be arrogant that way at times."

"No, not you!" she protested mockingly. "I never would have imagined!"

Against his usual nature and inclination, Adam felt a smile begin to raise the corners of his mouth. She was incorrigible, this woman. He could tell that she was intimidated by him, hell, he had cultivated that in her, and yet she still said whatever popped into her head, fear be damned. She was brave, and that was a rare quality it seemed to him.

"Well, if it isn't my little Lilly!"

Adam looked up to see the drummer from the last group sauntering over. Lilly jumped off of her stool and hugged him warmly, but this time Adam had no fear it was anything other than familial affection. He was ancient, if not compared to Adam than to other humans, easily in his late 80s at least. Still, he had held a steady beat. The musician in Adam had to respect that.

"Ossie, it's so good to see you!" Lilly gushed. "I'm sorry I haven't been by in so long."

"We all know why, Lil," the old man sighed. "Lillian didn't want you to see she was failing, so she made up lies to keep you away. I yelled at her for that, don't think I didn't!"

"I can only imagine," she said with a watery smile.

"And who is your young man, missy?"

Adam inwardly rolled his eyes at the moniker, not so much because it assumed they were together but that he was young.

"My friend," Lilly corrected him hastily. "Adam. He's a musician too."

"Good set," he nodded to the drummer.

"Well, I'm not sure how I feel about that," Ossie looked at him appraisingly. "You can do a lot better than one of us."

"Friend, Ossie," she stressed again. "And while you might be my almost Grandad, you are not my father!"

Adam wondered why it bothered him that she was so quick to disavow any serious connection to him. It must be his pride, he decided. She had seemed taken by him that first night on the roof, and certainly the evening he had knocked her over and she had proceeded to stare at his bare chest. He had rather liked the way her eyes lingered on his muscles, to be honest. But perhaps his churlishness had put her off. If so, good for both of them

"You watch what you are saying, Lilly," Ossie scolded her. "You know your Gran had eyes for no one but your Grandpop. When you find a love like that, you can get buried in the grief of it when it's gone, it and forget to let yourself move on. Don't make that same mistake."

"I have to fall in love once first, before I can move on to a second," she said.

Adam leaned back against the bar. Is that what he had been doing? Getting buried in his grief? Eve had made him promise to live, but was he really holding up his vow to her? It made him nervous to even think about.

"I have something for you," Lilly handed the bag to Ossie. "Open it after I'm gone, I can't deal with crying again tonight."

"You are such a sweet pea," he said. "And that reminds me, I have something for you, too! I was cleaning out my office, and I found some master tapes of one of our old recording sessions. And there's Miss Lillian, singing to make your heart break! You got an analogue player at the house? One of the old type, mind you?"

"I don't know," Lilly bit her lip. "I haven't seen one, I don't think."

"I have one," Adam offered, before he even thought about what he was saying. "We can listen to it at my place."

"Well, you might just be worth something after all," Ossie beamed at him.

Adam looked back and forth between Lilly and Ossie, both smiling at him as though he had hung the moon. Inside where his heart once beat, he felt an ever so slight easing that was almost a pain.

What, he wondered, had he gotten himself into?

#OLLA Fic #adam olla #Adam/OFC #slow burn #eventual sex #romance #anxiety #mention of anxiety medication #music #eventual smut #blood #vampire #pining #mutual pining #even if he won't admit it #grumpy adam #adam developing feels #FEELINGS #grief #death of loved one #death before start of story

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

First time Javi says I love you to his cariño 🥺🥺

This got a little darker than I was intending. Mentions of guns, blood, beating, and language. 18 + Only.

When you woke up this morning in bed alone, hurt from Javi leaving before the sun rose again, you never imagined this would happen. The cold of the gun against your forehead was unexpected from such a deadly weapon. The man holding it no more than a teenager in your eyes looks from you to your boss and presses the barrel tighter to your forehead. 

You’d seen enough telenovelas with your grandmother to know this is when the dashing hero is supposed to smash the door down and rush to save his love. But it never comes. The entrance to the office remains closed, and you can hear the sound of people passing by, none of them the wiser to the gun pressed to your temple. The boss of the two holding you hostage threatens your boss again, and his hands tremble as he unlocks the safe and starts handing over bundles of blood money into the paper bag. 

“El Patron thanks you for your service,” the older of the two smacks the blunt end of his gun into the boss’s head, and he goes out cold, bleeding onto the floor. “What do we do with her?” The younger asks and your blood turns cold as they look down at you on your knees, hands behind your head. The older leans down close to your face and smirks as you try to retreat. Grabbing a handful of your hair and pressing the barrel of his gun under your chin. “Are you going to tell anyone we were here, chica?” 

You shake your head no, a traitorous tear slipping down your cheek. “Do you think we can trust her?” his partner asks, and he laughs. “No, no, you don’t fucking trust anyone in this business. Especially putas, they are only good for pussy. Never forget that. But this one,” he roughly grabs your face, “this one is too pretty to kill. So we just make sure she never forgets who owns Columbia.” He rises to his feet and punches you hard in the jaw. Your head is snapping to the side with force and bouncing off the ground. They take turns kicking and punching you until your nothing but a broken heap on the floor. 

“Who owns Columbia, puta?” he spits on you, and you shiver before letting out a broken, “Pablo Escobar.” He smiles, and your stomach clenches before he grabs the money flicks of the lights to the office, and shuts the door behind him. You eventually pass out from your injuries, and when you come too, the whole office is dark; everyone had left for the night. 

Your hands shake, and you pull yourself up to the chair and slump over it. Everything fucking hurts, and your right eye is swollen shut. You reach toward the phone and dial Javier’s line at the embassy. Since he spent most of the time at work, it was the best chance you could have at reaching him. He picks up on the second ring with a gruff “Pena,” and you sob brokenly into the phone. 

“Who is this?” he demands, and you whisper your name, “Cariño? Where are you? What the fuck is going on? Why are you crying?” You heave as another sob wracks your body, “Javi, I’m at work in the boss’s office...Javi they came and,” He interrupts you with a quick, “Did they hurt you?” “Yes, please, Javi, please,” you beg, and you can hear him moving swiftly before he tells you not to move, and he’s on his way. The line clicks dead, and you drop the phone and try to calm down. 

Not even ten minutes later, the door is broken open, and Javi and Steve turn on the light, guns drawn. “Fuck,” Steve mutters, seeing your battered body slumped in the chair, Javier stares at you blankly, and Steve pushes him toward you, “She needs you, I’ll check on the other guy.” Javi seems to regain his senses and drops to his knees before taking your cheeks between his hands and running his eyes over your body. 

“Come on, Cariño, we need to get you to the hospital,” you violently shake your head no and grab his shirt tightly in your hands. “No, no hospital. They will ask too many questions. I told them -I told them I wouldn’t tell anyone. Please, Javi, I just need to go home.” Steve nods at him over your head, and he sighs before kissing you softly and picking you up. You lose track of time, and Javi is putting you down on his bed when you come to. 

Connie comes in a few minutes later and patches you up the best she can. Leaving with some soft words that you don’t hear. Slowly numbing to the world as you relive the trauma over and over again. The only thing that tears you from it is Javi when he slides under the cover and hovers his hands over you. “Tell me where to touch you; I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, and you intertwine his fingers with yours and turn on the pillow to stare at him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he chokes on the last word, and you furrow your brow and let out a soft why. “Because I didn’t protect you. What if they’d, what if they’d decided to kill you? What would I do in a world without you?” “Javier? What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying I love you. That I am fucking in love with you, and I couldn’t protect you. Escobar got to the one fucking good thing in my life. I failed you.” You can hear the utter devastation in his voice, and you quickly cup his cheeks and keep his eyes on you. “You didn’t fail me. Javi, those men were coming for my boss today despite anything you or I could do. I fucking love you too, and I wasn’t going to let them take me away from you.” 

He’s quiet, and it takes you a moment to register its tears sliding onto your hands, still holding his face in place. “You love me?” He whispers, and you pull him close, kissing him softly, “I do, Javier Peña, I fucking love you.” 

#Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña #Headcanons #Autumn Writes #Narcos

[jay-and-dean]

Frozen Sleep

(Dean x Reader)

This is a request by @acklesterritory​ :

So I'm just wanna take my chance and request a Dean x Reader imagination where the reader got hypothermia and Dean had to rescue her and take care of her all by himself bc there is a scary storm out there and Cas is somewhere else doing angel stuff. And all he got as help is Sammy who's arm is already broken in the last haunt. All angst and fluff. May I ask? 😍

Words :  4.4 k

Warnings : Hurt reader obviously. A hint of Angst. Fluff. Fluffy Smut.

Words : 2.4 k

Note : I wanted to do this one  because I do have a condition that makes me have hypothermias easily and so I really hate cold.

This is written both on Reader and Dean’s Pov

Want to read more => ***MASTERLIST***

____________________

Reader’s Pov

             One step after the other. One step after the other… One step…

Dean is so strong, look at him, his footsteps crush the snow like it was nothing, when it’s basically biting my legs with each movement.

           He’s holding my hand and it’s the only part of my body that is not horribly painful. The wind is made of needles, each snowflake that touches me feels like somebody was beating me up… And right now, thousands of them are harassing my body all at once, every second.

           He walks too fast… And his legs are so long, how am I supposed to follow ?

           Sam tells him something but I can’t hear it… the wind is deafening and the pain… It’s screaming in my ears.

           Dean turns toward me, but I can’t see him clearly because of that darkness everywhere, or is it in my eyes ? Even the threatening white of that harrowing snow is dark.

“Y/n ? Look at me… Less than two miles, I promise…”

I try to answer, to show him I’m strong, but no words come out of my mouth.

“I know you’re cold… We… We will make it okay ? You stay with me sweetheart.”

 Dean’s Pov

             Sam is right, she’s won’t make it to the cabin, not like that. Her eyes are slightly rolling and she’s having trouble to speak : Hypothermia.

“I know you’re cold… We… We will make it okay ? You stay with me sweetheart.”

Stay with me… Y/n stay with me I’m begging you.

           The storm is becoming worse, and walking against it seems almost impossible, but we have too. She has no one, no one but me. Our phones are dead, cold killed their batteries, and there is no service anyway. Sam is hurt, his arm in that stupid cast, his ribs broken… I don’t even know how he can still be walking without any complain.

“I will carry her” I tell him but he shakes his head.

“Dean… She’s having hypothermia, i-if you carry her… she will fall asleep.”

“Son of a bitch !” I yell, but the storm suffocates my anger.

           She’s shaking like she was going to convulse, her hand is so cold that I feel like tugging at a corpse arm.

           I’m so scared. I’m so angry. And I’m so cold.

           Y/n, she… She can’t die. I can’t lose her, and Sam knows that, that’s why he’s looking at me like someone had shoot my puppy. Dammit yesterday morning, yesterday morning I did it again…

“Y/n, you hold on, I need you to hold on” I get closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, like I could give her a little of my heat. I would give it all of it if I could. “Hold on sweetheart.”

 Reader’s Pov

             I wish I could feel him, when he wraps that strong arm around me, but I don’t feel anything but pain and we wear too much clothes anyway.

           I would give anything to feel him. To feel is skin stick to my fingers because of sweat, his muscles roll under my palms while he buries himself between my legs.

That’s where I love him the most : between my legs. And I never told him.

           I feel dizzy, and the snowflakes don’t melt on my skin anymore, so my lashes are covered in them. I can’t see clearly.

           What happens when we die ? I mean, I know what happens after… I have that privilege, -or maybe it’s a curse-. But just… dying. I know a man or two that actually lived that a few times… I could ask…them -I’m so tired-… if… that… feels… like… that…

“Y/n !” Dean’s voice make my heart beat suddenly too fast, and too strong. “Sammy, she really can’t walk… If we don’t make it to the cabin…”

His voice is different, I never heard it like that. He’s worried, scared maybe even, and I know him, he feels responsible, he always does.

           I want to tell him everything is going to be okay, but I never lied to Dean, and right now, I feel like I’m dying.

           I can’t. Dean has suffered so much, he can’t lose another friend, not in his arms, not again… Who will wake him up from nightmares ? Who will make him homemade pies ? Who will be here, when he doesn’t want to spend the night alone ? When he needs the comfort of caresses and kisses, when he needs to hide from the world deep inside of me ?

“I can w-walk” I say, the air ripping my lungs coming out of it.

But my heartbeats… They’re singing a song I don’t know.

 Dean’s Pov

             I can feel my jaw tremble and I have no idea if it’s cold, or that awful fear.

“I can w-walk” she mutters weakly, but after ten more steps, she falls on her knees in the deep snow before I can catch her. And seeing her body fail like this, it rips my heart in half.

“Y/n !”

I squat to take her in my arms, and let out a groan of effort when I lift both our bodies. I feel weak, and the cold is biting my legs, but I would carry her across the world if I had too.

           Bridal style, in my arms, she rests her head on my shoulder, but with a harsh shake of it, I make her move it, forbidding rest.

“Don’t fall asleep, talk to me. If you stop talking, I put you on the ground again, understood ?”

“Y-yes…” she whines.

I know she’s hurt, I know it’s so hard for her, and I want to cry just knowing how she must be struggling.

“I sh-shouldn’t have eaten all those pancakes f-for breakfast…” she tries to joke. “I wouldn’t be so heavy…”

“You’re as light as a feather sweetheart.”

Sam looks at us, that pained look on his face, he can see my thighs tetanize from cold and effort. He comes closer and wipes her pale face where snow is covering her quickly.

“People with hypothermia feel distracted, and tend to lose some memories, Y/n… Why don’t you try to focus on a memory, and tell us” he says kindly, blowing on her hands.

“Me-memory…” she whispers so low I wouldn’t have known if I wasn’t watching her blue lips. “I remember s-summer…” she starts.

“Of course you do” I fake a smile when she searches my face.

“That ghost in Tennessee… D-Dean was sick.”

“Damn rabbit food !” I grunt, remembering how bad that weird fruit had made me.

Sam wipes her face again, his good hand holding hers.

“I had to stay with you all night… Y-you w-were puking your guts…” she closes her eyes a little too long so I shake her a little, panic immediately electrocuting my spine.

But she doesn’t open them right away.

“Y/N !”

“A-and…” she continues like she hadn’t realize she passed out for a second. “Th-That was the first time I slept in his-your… Dean ?”

“I’m here” I state, almost choking on the frozen tears in my throat. “Keep talking beauty, we’re almost there.”

“What was I s-saying ?”

“That I got sick in Tennessee” I answer, frowning at Sam.

“Yeah… I slept next to you… and you t-took me in your arms.”

           I did. I took her in my arms that night. I had dreamed of doing it, and the night I finally overcome my fear of getting attached, I was sweating and smelled like vomit… I never stopped since then, I never stopped keeping her close. Struggling between the need of her and the fear of getting really involved, I kept snuggling up in her arms and pushing her away to protect her ; look where it got her.

“I wish I could perceive your smell… I-it always calms me… But I c-can’t smell anything. Or… maybe… the feathers are too heavy…”

“Y/n !” Sam calls. “Hey ! Look at me ! I have a memory I would like to share with you.”

He looks up at me, but his eyes are piercing me like he was praying to God knows who that this will catch her attention.

“Remember that night Dean got drunk and went out by himself ?”

I frown, and look down at her, begging my legs to make it to the cabin, counting in my head, if I can do three steps more, it means I can do ten, if I can do ten… Fuck why do my knees hurt so much, like ice was stuck on the cogs of it. Just like her, I try to focus on the story Sam is telling. She’s fighting so hard.

“I do…” she whines, like she was crying.

“Why did he left ?” Sam asks, slightly slapping her face now. The gesture makes me bite my cheek.

Stay with me, Y/n…

“He was in pain… I-I don’t remember why…”

I swallow hard. I was in pain because nothing felt right, because mom was gone, and Jack was gone… And I wanted her but I couldn’t do this anymore : Take her like she was mine, mark her body to feel like she belongs to me… And watch the hickeys from the other side of the room in the morning, while she doesn’t even try to hide them anymore.

Like yesterday morning, when I had to push her arm to get up and dress, when I saw the hurt in her eyes as she watched me leaves her again without a word…

“No need to remember why” Sam keeps talking to her. “What did you do that night ?”

What did she do ? What does he mean ?

“I… looked for a s-spell…”

“What spell ?” my brother insists.

“A spell t-to take his pain away…”

 Reader’s Pov

             My heart is not beating as usual and my legs are burning, like they were in flames… It’s been worse though, the pain is fading a little, or I’m just turning off… breathing is becoming hard. I feel like what Sam is asking is way beyond my strength. I just want to let go so bad.

“A spell t-to take his pain away…”

“Yes… Because seeing Dean suffer is unbearable, remember ? That’s what you told me that night. You were desperate to see him sad” Sam’s voice reaches me despite the wind.

I just wish Dean was here now… If I die and go to Heaven, I’m sure my Heaven will be him between my legs… I want that. I want that so bad. I let my head go back a little but I’m suddenly shaken…Wait… I open my eyes and see him just above me. My Dean. I could I forget…

“Now imagine the amount of pain he will feel if you let go right now” Sam says and I frown. “Imagine if you die in his arms now.”

I feel a sob escape my lips, but I’m not sure I’m actually crying, because my tears must have frozen.

“That’s unfair…” I whine, fighting against a cold that suddenly became more painful than it ever was, the frozen flames biting my muscles hard. “I can’t…”

“You can sweetheart” Dean says. “I need you with me.”

 Dean’s Pov

             Sam asked her to enumerate things, the seven deadly sins, the ways to kill a vampire, her favorite books… And she’s struggling, she’s so brave.

           My heart is in my throat. Y/n, she likes me a lot, I know that, I can feel it in the way she’s always trying to protect me from everything, in the way she always comes to my defense, in the way she comes so easily when I touch her, in the way she clings to me at night…

           But I don’t like her, I love her. Maybe she can feel it in the way I always push her away after having her close…

           What Sam said, what she said… If she loves me…

           I never knew that feeling. I mean, I keep on saying I am used to losing dear ones, but, one doesn’t get used to it. And, it was always so brutal, feeling someone slowly drift in my arms is different. Worse in a way.

And it’s Y/n…  

           My eyes widen and take a deep shaky breath.

“The cabin, sweetheart ! We made it !”

But she doesn’t answer.

“Y/n !” Sam calls but she’s not reacting to his little slaps. “Dean, we have to hurry.”

             When I enter the cabin, I stop counting my steps, and my legs let go. I fall heavily on my knees, felling the wood cut through my soaked jeans and frozen skin.

“Dean !” Sam calls, but all I can do is cling to her, and push her cheek with my nose.

“I’m okay” I groan. “Just close the door ! We need to warm her up !”

Sam closes the door and the wind gets trapped outside, I sigh in relief.

           With trembling hands I put her on the floor and starts taking her soaked jacket off, this wasn’t made for this weather. Underneath, her sweater is wet too, so I take it off. My own fingers are numb from that horrible cold so I struggle a little.

           Without asking anything, Sam takes the backpack I was carrying off of my back. Making me grunt at the impossibility of taking her clothes off more for a second.

“Y/n… Y/n… Don’t be in a coma… Please wake up… I’m begging you…” I keep calling her while I finally take her t-shirt off, leaving her pale body in just her pants and bra.

           I take my coat off and check my flannel, it’s not wet. Sam hands me the blanket that’s on the cabin’s bed, and I can see he hesitates to tell me to put her on the bed. I will. But right now, I’m not sure I can stand, and she needs to get rid of those damp freezing clothes as soon as possible.

           As I try to dress her with my flannel, I freak out : her inert body looks like she was already dead. My tears start to fall on her.

“Please baby… Help me with that okay…” but her arms fall like I’ve seen so many times on other people, less important people… “Please. You can’t leave me… I love you Y/n…”

           A sudden feeling of warmth wraps us with a comforting light. Sam managed to light up a fire in the old fireplace.

“Bring her here” he says.

I close the flannel on her body and let out a growl when I get up, just to make a few steps and fall on my knees again, cutting deeper in my skin, next to the fireplace. Her lips are blue. Sam checks her pulse while I wrap her in the cover, squeezing her tight against me.

“She’s here, she just fainted because her heart is slow” Sam says, sitting in a sore whine next to us.

He starts undoing her shoes and she whines a little when he tugs at it, taking her socks with it. That little sound is the first clue of her life, and my frozen heart starts to melt.

“Jesus Sam” I say when I see how blue her feet are.

I push her pants off, making sure her panties stays in place. Her legs are as blue as her feet, and bruises are forming on it from the blood not running correctly in her veins.

“You must be in so much pain, baby…” I whine, holding back my sobs.

           I cover her legs with the cover and my brother takes her feet between his thighs.

           Silence.

“She’s going to live Dean” Sam finally says in a serious frown, and only now, I notice how shaking he is, how soaked his hair.

“There are other blankets, Sammy, and pillows, look” I point at the couch with my chin, where another blanket and some dusty pillows lay. “Bring them all, take the blanket for you.”

He gets up and comes back with everything in his giant arms, even the couch’s big pillows.

“Your knees are bleeding, Dean” he says. “And you’re in your t-shirt.”

I nod, not really listening, she moved her face on my chest.

I push her hair, and notice some strands are frozen. So I bend my head, and put my lips on her forehead, determined to give her all my heat.

           Sam is trying to get things out of the bag, but his wounded body fights against him. He wants to give me water, but I won’t take my lips off her skin.

“We made the worst of it already, Dean, we’re only a few miles away from the Impala, the road and that diner where we had breakfast” Sam says. “We have food and water, so we will be okay.”

I’m not if she doesn’t wake up.

           All I can think of is all the times I didn’t enjoy waking up next to her. Now she might never come back from her frozen sleep, and I would give anything to come back to yesterday morning.

“I love her, Sam.”

“I know” he sighs.

“No I mean, I’m in love with her.”

“Yes, Dean, I know. You should tell her that. You will. Okay, Dean ? She’s not dead, she’s strong. You will tell her.”

 Reader’s Pov

             I open my eyes and the light seems to burn them in the corner. Something very warm is on my forehead, like a piece of ember, but soft.

           Little drops of water fall on my face… Where am I ?

           It suddenly comes back like a scream in my head, the storm, the pain, the snow digging holes to my flesh.

           Those drops are soft and warm. And my body still hurts so I’m not dead. I remember promising Sam I won’t, for Dean. My Dean. He’s cold too, where is he ?

“Dean…” I whisper.

“Y/n ?” the piece of soft ember moves and the smell of the man I love reaches my senses. “I’m here, Sweetheart.”

           I look up and he is here, just above me, tears on his face. He puts his forehead on mine and kiss the corner of my mouth.

           It’s night, it was not supposed to be night before a few hours…

“I can’t move” I say, still a little confused.

“Yes, you’re weak and I’m holding you close, look : You’re in a big blanket and there is a fireplace.”

“You’re shaking” I say. “And you’re in a t-shirt… Come in the cover with me.”

He chuckles, a few more tears reaching his chin.

“Don’t worry for me, Y/n…”

“I always do” I say, trying to move because I know how stubborn he is.

“Okay, okay…” he sighs.

           While he laboriously moves his body in a grunt, my mind slowly becomes clearer, and I turn my head to see Sam sleeping on the couch, with a too little blanket on his giant body.

“Is Sam okay ?” I frown.

“Yes… He’s just exhausted with those wounds and all, I gave him a strong pill for pain, it might have knocked him out, he tried to stay awake but he drifted at some point” Dean says, taking the blanket off of me to sit me between in legs. “I hope he’s not too cold, but I think the fire is keeping this room at a habitable temperature…”

I struggle to stay straight, so I let go my head back on his chest. He puts the both of us in the large blanket and wraps his arms around me. His body’s heat is like a bath, his thighs caging mine, his chin on my head. Paradoxically, I never felt so safe.

He will probably ignore me tomorrow, he will most likely suddenly act like we always were those simple friends, and make our passionate nights disappear with a friendly peck on my cheek ; but I don’t care…

           He grabs my weak legs to bend them against me, to make sure my feet are under the covers, and gently blows with his mouth wide open against my neck, to cover it with his hot breath.

           I can still fell the held back sobs against my back.

“Dean… Why are you crying ?” I dare, grabbing his hand in mine under the blanket.

He doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. I sigh and squeeze his hand in my still cold fingers, just to let him know that I am here.

“I thought you were going to die…” he whispers, his husky but smooth voice, so close to my ear. “You were frozen and… And sleeping this sleep that looks like death.”

“I’m sorry” I say, not sure what I can tell.

“Don’t be… I’m the one who brought us here.”

I can’t see him, but I feel his body contract and I know him by heart, so much I actually can picture his face in my head, with his jaw clenched, and that self-hatred darkness in his eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself…”

A dark chuckle.

“Dean… The storm wasn’t expected. And my clothes…” I sigh. “I need to buy a coat.”

“I could have given you mine” he grunts.

“Oh yeah and we both would be lying cold as ice somewhere in this forest… You saved me. Again.”

I love you.

He kisses the side of my neck and just behind my ear. His gesture is soft and pure, like it always is when he touches me, like it was meant to be…

“I’m sorry for yesterday” he says low, his lips barely grazing my ear.

Yesterday ? Is he talking about yesterday morning ? He never does, he never talks about those times we have together, almost leaving me believing they were dreams.

“I’m a coward” he sighs, and his face nuzzles in the crook of my neck.

“You’re pretty far from that, Dean.”

“When it comes to feelings, I am. You know that” he murmurs and his fingers start to play with mine. “You’re so patient and loving… Sweetheart, you know I love you, right ?”

 Dean’s Pov

             A burning feeling roams my whole body, and I know she can feel how hot I suddenly am. She was so brave, she is so brave. Fighting for her life, fighting for her friends, fighting for me when I just keep letting her down.

“Sweetheart, you know I love you, right ?”

She takes a deep breath and I hold mine, my feet bending inward, like I could cage her more.

“To be honest Dean…” she sighs and my heart falls in a loud crashing sound. “Knowing it is not easy… Sometimes I manage to convince myself of it… When you show me, when you give yourself so completely to me…”

When she says that, I close my eyes, images of her pretty thighs holding her body above me, of her teeth grazing my chest… And I feel blood rushing south.

           I kiss her jaw and she turns her head to let me reach her lips. Her skin is still not perfectly warm, but she’s not cold anymore, her body is not shaking and her lips are so cutely pink.

           When she feels my body grow on her lower back, a smile appears on her face. I know that smile.

           She suddenly starts to move, and I protest a little, wanting her to stay close to me, and away from the cold. But she just turns in my arms, pushing my legs down and straddling me, before I close the blanket around us again.

“What are you doing ?” I murmur, pecking her lips.

But she doesn’t answer with her voice. She starts opening my jeans and my eyes widen.

“Baby you just came near death” I grunt, but she grabs my cock with no more warnings or anything.

I gasp.

“Yes… I see no better reason” she smiles against my lips, before claiming my mouth with her sweet, demanding tongue.

“Y/n…” I moan when she pushes her panties to the side and rubs herself against my throbbing length. “Sam is just here…”

“So be quiet…” she whispers before sinking slowly on me, swallowing me like I was made for her. No foreplay, no games… My lady wants me.

I hide in her neck and try to muffle the moans escaping my lips, she grabs my head in both hands and her thighs start to shake ; but not that pre orgasms quake I know by heart, her legs are weak, sore…

           So I grab her waist and push her a little off me, before I bring her so close again, the tip of my cock touches her cervix.

“Dean…” she whispers, out of breath, digging her nails in my scalp, the cover falling a little without my arms to hold it. “I love you between my legs… I…” Her walls are clenching around me and she holds my head against her with both hands like it was the most precious thing. “I needed to tell you that…”

My fingers dig in her waist but I’m too tired to really thrust, so I grind. I grind hard and rub her pelvis against mine in held back groans.

           Sweat breaks through the skin of my back and the fireplace suddenly feels to be burning my jeans, making it almost painful against my legs.

           Being inside of her, even in a lost tiny crappy cabin in a haunted wood with a snow storm raging… It feels like home. Every time.

Home.

And I’m not ashamed to feel my climax built so soon, after so few efforts. Just because we were there and together, and because she needed that connection I only gave her during sex until now.

           But that will change…

“I love you…” I gasp when I cum so deep inside her, and she falls silent, wrapping her arms around my neck to hold on to me, and pulsing in a soft but long orgasm.

           She stays still, panting, and I worry I could have make her sick again, so I wrap the cover back around us.

“Y/n ?”

“Will you stay tomorrow ?” she asks putting her lips on mine in a lazy kiss and I can’t help but smile wide, her lips missing mine to meet my teeth as I do.

“I love you” I just say, knowing it contains all the answers she needs.

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

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[the-great-imagines-of-1812]

Through The Years (Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark! Reader) Pt. 2

A/N: Enjoy! As always, any feedback is appreciated! Let me know if you want to be tagged! And YES, Bucky makes his first appearance in this chapter. ;)

tags: @the-romanian-is-bae @a-girl-who-loves-disney

tw: catcalling

~~~~~~~~~~~~

LONDON ENGLAND, 1943

“Alright. Howard, Y/N. Welcome to London. In this camp, resides the 107th and 108th infantry regiments. You two will be able to set up your stuff over...”

Peggy thinks for  a second. “Ah! There. It’s Perfect.” She pointed  to a more secluded area of the camp, where you and Howard would be able to set up camp and experiment.

“Thanks, Peggy. We’ll see you later?” You said, turning to Peggy, as Howard unloaded he last of you guys’ things off the plane.

She hugs you. “Of course you will. I’ve got to go check on Steve. He’s got another USO performance tonight, one in Edinburgh, another in Glasgow, and we continue up North. It might be some time before you see me, sadly.”

You frowned. “Well, make sure to write. I couldn’t bear not hearing from you.” 

She gave you a smile and said her goodbyes as she wandered off, looking for Steve. 

“Y/N/N, care to help me with the luggage?” Howard said, already carrying a few suitcases. 

“Of course, Howwie.” As you turned to grab the suitcase the suitcase was already up in the air. 

Frozen in shock you stood there, hoping no one would see. 

“Y/N!! What was that?”

You nervously turned to Howard, ringing your hands. “What was was what, Howwie?” 

He gave you a look. “You know what I’m talking about. We’ll discuss this later.”

You sighed and grabbed the suitcase, a rucksack and another suitcase, following Howard.

~~~~~~~~

After you and Howard set up camp on the clearing, he immediately went out, in search of General Philips.

You sighed. You should’ve told him since the start.

To clear your head, you decided to take a walk a round the camp, to simply familiarize yourself with the place. To clear your head too, that would be nice. 

The men you saw all around the camp were pretty much the same. Drinking, sobbing, sleeping. Oh, and don’t forget the body odor. 

This was not what you were used to, but these men are fighting a war. The least you could do is give them a break. 

“Heyyyyyy pretty lady! C’mere.” you heard a drunker soldier slur out.

You turned and crossed your arms, scoffing. “Excuse me?”

“He said c’mere, lady!” another soldier said from behind him. 

“You is the only lady here, we could pass you around, darlin’ there’s enough of us to go around” the first soldier said.

“No thank you sir, I have enough self-respect and dignity to not be seen with the likes of you.”

The second soldier, his friend, spoke up again. “What’re ya doin’ here anyway? Are’nt you supposed to be in the kitchen?”

You were starting to become scared. “I’m an engineer.  I have no excuse for being in the kitchen.”

“All ladies belong in-”

“HEY! Leave her alone!” the soldier was cut off by a voice. You turned to see, and it was a tall, blue eyed soldier, with hazel-colored hair, and fair skin.

He was tall, he stood straight he wanted to be seen. His crystal blue eyes pierced through the room, but were focused on you. He most definitely stood out from the rest. 

Then it hit you. This man was the mysterious stranger you had seen at the Stark expo a couple of months back. 

He grabbed the soldier by his shirt. “That’s no way to treat a lady. Show some goddamn respect.” he put the soldier down and turned to you.

“I apologize on behalf of my fellow soldier, Miss.” he said, kissing your hand.

You smiled at him, a blush covering your cheeks. “I-It’s ok. I’m used to it, I guess.”

He looked you straight in the eyes this time. “No one should be used to it, Man or Woman.”

“You crossed your arms and looked up at him again; him being much taller. “You got a name, soldier?, or are you just going to remain my knight in shining armor?’

He chuckles. Damn, that laugh could brighten anyone’s day. “I’d rather remain your knight in shining armor, gorgeous. But if ya really wanna know, the name is James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky.”

“We’re friends, now?”

“I’d be surprised if we weren’t, doll-face. I think Everyone needs a friend right now.”

He pauses to scan your face. 

“How about it darlin’, you got a name?”

“Y/N. But friends call me Y/N/N.”

By this time, him and you were already walking off to the edge of the forest, not to far where he first found you. You bot sat down on a log.

“Y/N, that’s it? No last name?” he said, in a teasing tone.

You laughed. “Y/N Stark. I know what you’re going to say. I do run Stark Industries with my brother.”

“More like he runs it with you, doll-face. I was at the expo this year. I’ve seen your work. You have a talent.”

You chuckle and blush, breaking eye contact with him. “You are a charmer, Barnes. I got to give you that.”

“Ya know before I left for the war, they used to call me ‘the heart breaker of Brooklyn’” 

“No way Barnes. A guy like you? No way.”

“Yes way.”

“I don’t believe you Barnes” you feigned shock.

“You better!”

“Uh, well, how about you tell me how you became this gorgeous genius engineer, huh?”

You let out a laugh, not holding back this time. “I attended  a boarding school in London, St-martin-the-fields high school, strictly for girls, which is were i met Peggy. I later went on, against my parents wishes, I got a P.H.D in engineering from NYU; graduated early.”

He seems to look at your with pure wonder in his eyes. “Impressive.What after?”

“I became a professor of Engineering at Columbia College, also in New York. My parents didn’t like this, so they sort-of threw me out.”

“I am so sorry doll. No one deserves that, no matter how big their aspirations may be.” he said, laying his hand over yours. 

“The teaching position didn’t last long though, that’s when I lost it and moved in with Howard. And a few years back, we started what today is known as Stark Industries.”

“You continue to impress me with every passing second. What’re you doing on an army camp like this?”

“The SSR was re-tasked by President Roosevelt. We’re bringing the fight to HYDRA. Anyway, enough about me, sport. You practically know me already.”

He told you all about his childhood in Brooklyn, saving Steve from trouble at every corner. 

“Wait, wait. hold the phone. You know Steve, Barnes?”

“Y-yeah, I do. Since we were kids. How do YOU know him?” 

You let out a hearty chuckle. “That’s a story for another time.”

You two talked for hours upon hours, until the night sky got even darker, and all the soldiers had retreated to their tents. He told you about his childhood with Steve, how his mother would scold him as a child for stealing a cookie from the jar, his cherry red bike when he was a teen. He told you about his sister Rebecca, and how you two would be best friends, if you ever had the chance to meet. 

“Y/N! Where are you?” 

This startled you, and you jumped into Bucky’s arms. “Woah there, dollface, I haven’t even taken you out dancin’ yet-”

“Hands of my sister!” Howard came running and pulled you away from Bucky, shoving you behind him.

“Howard I’m fine!”

“Woah there Mr. Stark. It wasn’t-”

“If I EVER see you with her AGAIN, I will fight you on SIGHT. Let’s go, Y/N/N”

You mouthed a ‘sorry’ to Bucky as Howard dragged away from him. Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets ‘It’s okay’ with a dopey smile as he walked back to his tent.

He just hoped he would see you again. Maybe he’d take you dancing.

~~~~~~~~

Howard dragged you by the hand all the way to a bigger tent, one that wasn’t his and yours. “Where are we, Howwie?” 

“I’m taking you to see someone. Because there’s something your not telling me. How long have you been lying to me about the serum? huh? how long has it been affecting you?” He said, face morphing from anger to sadness to worry.

“Ever since... I guess there’s no use in lying to you.”

“Please, sis, I just want to help you.”

“I guess- ever since Steve received the serum? When I was shot? My best guess is that the bullet went through a tube of the serum, then into my ribs.” 

You paused.

“Ever since then, when I’m alone, I concentrate on something, let’s say a book, I can lift it with my mind. My brain just concentrates, it moves. I tell it to move forward, it does so. It’s at my command if I just focus on it. I guess that with the suitcase you told me to lift, it was just- an accident.”

Howard sighed and let go of your hand. “What you have, dear sister, what you have gained, is telekinesis is a  superpower where the user has an ability to move things at will. At it’s highest levels, dismantle the fabrics of the universe.”

“Howard, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. I’m here to help you. Come with me.”

You both walked into the tent, were General Philips was siting at his desk.

“Howard, Y/N. Finally I wan’t to talk to you both. Howard as told me about the situation of yours, Y/N, your secret is safe with me.”

“What is it, General?”

“I want you to join the 107th.”

“General! I beg your pardon-”

“Allow me to talk, Ms. Stark. The regiment needs someone like you. I know you’ve expressed your interest in the war efforts-”

“But General, the men, my brother- you can’t expect me to use telekinesis in my service-”

“You’ll still be able to work with Howard. Don’t worry about the men. They need someone to keep them in line. Without your powers. Only if and when i tell you to.”

You clutched Howard’s arm. You had never been this nervous.

The General stands up from his desk to pick up a box, which he opens, to reveal a army uniform with pins on it, including three stars, identifying your rank. 

“What I’m saying is this: Welcome to the 107th infantry regiment, Lieutenant General Y/N Stark.”

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: feedback is appreciated! :)

- Talya

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #Marvel x Y/N #Howard Stark x sister! reader #Howard stark #peggy carter x best friend! reader #peggy carter #Steve Rogers #peggy carter x reader #steve rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine

[newcaptainofsquad9]

So When Can We Tell The World?{6} Min Yoongi x black! fem! reader~Final

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Angst, Romance, Smut, Idol AU

Summary: After figuring out Yoongi’s mistake, you try to make it through the rest of the night at the Grammys away from Yoongi. However, it turns out that you needed time with Yoongi before you actually needed space from him.   

Word Count: 21, 777

Warnings: Smut in this chapter and so much angst.

Author’s Note: All right ya’ll the last part, I hope ya’ll have enjoyed this series and let me know your thoughts on it. I’ve been thinking of writing a prequel and even a sequel with this story, so let me know of your thoughts on that as well.  

Katie was able to talk me down from leaving the Staples Center early. ‘Enjoy the show’, she says. ‘Maybe you’ll win’, she tells me. I’m now seated between Taehyung and Namjoon, only after begging Jimin to switch seats with me. I would be sitting beside Yoongi right now, yet I don’t think I can bear it, at least right now. 

He told me the truth. Big Hit released a statement a few days about us, it’s all over the internet and the entirety of Twitter. For the first time in history I’m trending number one, yet my heart doesn’t feel full. It’s slumped down further against my rib-cage as I scroll through Twitter, more specifically ARMY Twitter. 

A few of the comments about Yoongi and I are fine, a little flattering even.

Some of them read:

Yoongi and Y/N looked so amazing on stage, looks like tuning in for the Grammys was worth it.

Yoongi not only collaborated with a powerful rapper and singer, he also managed to date her. Ahem Namjoon it’s your turn 😎.

Did you see the way Yoongi stares at Y/N? And ya’ll say they aren’t really dating. smh Some of ya’ll don’t know what love is and it shows. 

The more I scroll, the more hateful it becomes. Not much for Yoongi, how could they bash him? In their eyes he could do no wrong, even though he blabbered about us in front of the entire world. I swallow a heavy lump as the comments pierce me. 

They read:

Apparently this isn’t a fucking joke and Yoongi isn’t dating a Korean woman like I thought. What does Y/N Y/L/N have that a Korean woman doesn’t? 

I mean of course Yoongi would date a black woman, he is from the ghetto, it’s what he’s used to.

I’m sure Y/N’s problematic. Let’s dig something up ARMY! Maybe her address? I just wanna have a discussion with her.

“Y/N?” Namjoon asks, breaking me from my phone screen. 

I glance over to see his face clouded in concern. 

“What are you looking at?” Taehyung asks while craning his head down in my screen.

I turn the screen away before tucking it away safely in my my purse by my feet. 

“Nothing,” I whisper, “just n-nothing.” 

Namjoon nudges my shoulder. 

“I saw it Y/N,” he says, “just the haters, ignore them.”

“It’s kind of hard to Joon,” I say, “your ARMY aren’t people to play with, you of all people should know that.”

Taehyung shrugs. 

“The ones saying that aren’t true ARMY,” he notes, “we’re here for you and Yoongi hyung, ok?”

Namjoon nods sharply. 

“Enjoy the rest of the show, ok? Look, they’re about to announce the next category!” Namjoon exclaims prior to pointing up at the stage.

My eyes follow up as John Legend strolls up to the mic with an envelope in hand. He reads off the nominees for ‘Song Of The Year’ as each song, along with it’s music video flashed the huge screen behind him. 

It’s difficult to keep the tears back, however I do with power I never thought I had. Watching our video for ‘All The Crown Players’ tied the knot already in my stomach even tighter. All I want to do is leave, yet I can’t. I can’t do that to the people who helped me get here, hell I worked to get her too. Even for Yoongi. No matter how I feel about him, I can’t let him down like that. He may have done it to me, but I wouldn’t do that to him. 

“And the Grammy goes to.......’All The Crown Players!’ Y/N Y/L/N and Min Yoongi!!”

I freeze. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jin, Hoseok and Jungkook all popped up, screaming in my ear as they grab at me. Jimin does the same with Yoongi, who’s eyes are blown wide and lost. He manages to get to the aisle while Jungkook gently pushes me towards him. Yoongi forces a tiny grin as he nods up to the stage. I notice the make up around his eyes look more fresh than the spots around his cheekbones. He cried. 

“Y/N!Yoongi! Go on!” Namjoon shouts. 

On a spur I take Yoongi’s hand, surprising us both and walk towards the stage.

Once we get up there I shake hands with John and thank him. 

“Congratulations guys,” he says, “you’ve earned it.”

Yoongi shakes his hand as well then bows. We take each of Grammys respectively and step towards the mic.

“You go ahead first, Y/N,” Yoongi says. 

I nod and wave towards the audience. 

“I’d like to thank everyone who supported us! My manager Katie, my brother Kevin, my fans, ARMY! Everyone! Thank you so much for this!” I scream. 

The crowd roars and I could have sworn the guys were the loudest. Of course they were.  I pull away from the mic to let Yoongi go ahead. He flashes another small smile, pats the small of my back and goes to say what he has to. 

“Thank you ARMY! This is only the beginning! More Grammys will come, I promise my fellow members will be up here with me for it!” he declares. 

Yoongi pauses to blink through teary, reddening eyes before turning to me. 

“I-I just want to thank Y/N for working with me and-”

My heart sinks down even further as Yoongi breaks down completely while sobbing into his hand. I pull him towards me as he trembles against my chest. 

“Thank you,” I say. 

We leave the stage and move backstage. Yoongi still clings to me, saying those heart wrenching words over and over again. Even after Namjoon manages to calm him down, they still rush around my head. 

Please forgive me Y/N, I’m so sorry.

  * * *

The soft sheets of my hotel bedroom are soft, comfy and extremely accommodating, yet my mind can’t seem to unwind. Not with Yoongi’s tear stained face clogging my memory. I had to keep my phone out of sight to keep from reading Yoongi’s constant messages. I told him that I needed space before we have a proper conversation right now. My head space isn’t there yet, and I don’t think his is there either. 

Just when I start to slip under the covers and relax my phone vibrates yet again. A groan escapes me as I rise, throw the covers off and retrieve my phone from under the basket my room service nachos came in. 

What I saw wasn’t another text from Yoongi, but a missed call from Namjoon. I quickly call him back and press the phone to my ear. 

“Hello? Y/N?” Namjoon answers.

“Hey Joon, is everything all right?”

He releases a heavy sigh before answering right back.

“It’s about Yoongi, “ he says, “have you talked to him? 

My skin flares in equal parts anger and heartbreak. 

“No,” I admit, “I told him I needed space, I really haven’t read most of the messages.”

“Well, he hasn’t eaten anything, no matter how hard we try,” Namjoon says. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose as a shaky breath comes out of me. The words spill out before I can get a clamp on them. 

“Put Yoongi on the phone, please Joon,” I whisper. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Namjoon mutters. 

There’s some scratching noises, a few mumbles and footsteps. Namjoon utters something in Korean before going quiet as more loud footsteps can be heard. Yoongi lets out a deep breath, forcing me to brace myself.

“Hey,” he croaks.

His voice sounds strained, lower than it usually is. 

“You have to eat Yoongi,”  I say. 

“Ok,” he says.

He barely whispers it, worrying me even more. 

“Are you ok?”

“No, I’m not,” Yoongi says, “my head isn’t right, I can’t eat, not without thinking about how much I fucked up.”

I bite down on my bottom lip at the emotion in his voice.

“It’s ok Yoongi-”

“No, Y/N it isn’t!” he growls.

The change in his voice forces me to sit up. My mouth is already moving before I can think, the weight of what unfolded tonight makes my blood boil.

“I’m sick of this!” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Yoongi counters. 

“I’m tired of everything! The arguing, the decisions that have been made-the fans, all of it!” 

My voice cracks as tears fill my eyes again. God, it’s so hard. I love him too much, if only I was a little cold hearted, it’d be easier to do this. 

“I know,” Yoongi groans. 

“Yoongi, please eat and get some rest,” I say, “for me. I’ll meet you at your hotel to talk, that sound good?”

“Ok,” he whispers, “I’ll try.” 

There’s a pause, I expect him to say something but the call ends. 

My chest tightens as I rest my phone on the nightstand by the bed. 

He didn’t even say I love you. The tears flow on their own. 

* * *

If there’s one thing Yoongi and the guys taught me throughout our times together (well besides solidifying a strong foundation of self love within myself) it’s being incognito. Yoongi gifted me my own cool, white face mask a few years ago when I traveled to Korea to record a few songs with him and the guys. This is my third time using it since there’s hella paparazzi outside of their hotel and I don’t need anymore scandals for one week. 

Once on their floor I can’t help but hold the coffee cup in my hand tighter. There’s a strange howl. It’s got to be one of the guys, Yoongi said this floor was reversed for them, along with their managers, I hope everything's all right. I get to the door and give it a few tentative knocks. 

Jin answers it with a relieved sigh. 

“Y/N, finally someone here that has some sense,” he says. 

“Hi Jin, do you know what that howling noise was-”

I get cut off by Jungkook bellowing a deep battle cry. 

“WOOO! Told you I could swamp you Tae!”

I peek my head around the corner to see Jungkook pumping his fist in the air and Taehyung tossing his controller onto the carpet. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles as he stands. 

“Y/N, hey,” Taehyung says rather awkwardly. 

“Hey Tae-”

“Thank God you’re finally here,” Jimin groans as he strolls into the room, “please talk to Yoongi-hyung, he’s been moody all night.”

I raise an eyebrow as Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Jin, Namjoon and Hoseok all slip on their hoodies, coats and masks. 

“Where are you guys going?” I ask. 

“Out,” Hoseok says matter of factually.   

Namjoon hums. 

“You,” he points at me as he speaks, “are going to deal with Yoongi-hyung while we leave you to it.” 

Taehyung flashes me a boxy smile as he nods to the cup of coffee in my hand.

“Iced Americano?” he asks. 

I nod. 

“Well, that’s one way to start,” Jin says, “bye.” 

He’s the first one out and the others aren’t far behind. Namjoon remains. He steps towards me to rub my shoulders gently. 

“He loves you,” Namjoon says, “and I know you love him. You got this, ok?”

I nod and Namjoon grins, dimples appearing because of course they do. 

“Good luck,” he says before leaving and shutting the door in the process. 

* * *

The coffee in my hand feels frigid against my palm as I wonder around the huge hotel suite. I texted Yoongi moments after the guys left, letting him know that I’m here. He gives me no answer, left on read as I wonder around looking for him. 

“Hey,” a voice croaks. 

I turn on my heels to see Yoongi. He’s bare faced and fresh even with his slight frown. His light blonde hair sweeps across his forehead beautifully, he sports an old concert hoodie and grey sweats. Like yesterday, I want to jump into his arms, yet there’s more restrain with me today. 

“I got you your favorite,” I say and hold out the coffee towards him. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow prior to walking towards me, closing the distance between us both. 

“Iced Americano? Y/N you didn’t have to,” he grumbles. 

“No, Yoongi, I wanted to,” I say, “you look like you could use the pick me up.”

Yoongi stares at me for a moment eyes boring into my own before they sweep down to the coffee in my hand. He takes it. 

“Thank you.”

He leads me to his bedroom. 

“You can take the bed or the chair if you want,” he suggests. 

I look over the messy white sheets of his bed, but opt for the small lounging chair directly across from it. Yoongi flops on the edge of his bed, eyes drawn to the floor as he places the coffee by his foot. 

“How’s the coffee?” I ask. 

Yoongi shrugs. 

“Fine, a few extra sugars would make it better,” he says, “but it’s fine.”

“Ok,” I say, “were you able to eat at all last night?”

Yoongi’s lips quirk into a tiny smile. 

“A little,” he admits. 

I nod and play with the chair’s armrests. Silence washes over us. I can feel Yoongi’s eyes on me, why isn’t he saying anything? Why can’t I say anything? We’re here to talk, so why can’t I do that simple thing? Is it because of what happened last night? We won a Grammy last night. We should be celebrating yet, here we are lost in silence. 

“It’s being taken care of,” Yoongi blurts. 

“What is?” I ask. 

He sits up and plays with his hands in his lap. 

“The hate comments,” he says, “Big Hit can take legal action against them.”

I scoff at his words. 

“Do you know how many hate comments there are, Yoongi?”

Yoongi stands.

“I know it’s overwhelming, but it can be done,” he says.

“Yoongi-”

“Just let me fix this!” he yells, “please.”

I blink as he’s now closer, up and standing in front of me with pleading eyes. 

“You can’t fix this Yoongi,” I say, “the damage is done, and they aren’t being toxic towards you, it’s all on me.”

Yoongi kneels down in front of me, his eyes flooding with tears. 

“That doesn’t matter, you’re my girlfriend,” he says, “it affects me. Does that even matter to you?”

“Of course it does!” I growl, “all I ever did was care about what you wanted! I wasn’t comfortable with going public and I still felt bad for you! Yes I’m your girlfriend, but does my opinion even matter!”

“You know it does Y/N,”  he says.

I laugh, stand and step past him. 

“That’s hard to believe since you didn’t think about the consequences,” I say, “after I told you it wouldn’t work out as smoothly as you thought.”

“Well it’s out!” Yoongi shouts, “maybe if you just ignore the comments it wouldn’t be so bad!”

My heart hammers against my ribs as the tears roll don’t my cheeks. Is he hearing himself right now? 

“Y/N-”

“I got death threats Yoongi,” I sob, “how the fuck am I supposed to ignore that!”

His eyes soften as he approaches, wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me close. I try to push him away, yet it’s futile as his strong embrace draws me in as the sobs continue. Words bubble up in my throat, but the sobs that wrack my body defeat them as Yoongi pulls me as close as he can. 

“Shhh,” he coos, “I’ll protect you, I promise, Y/N. I promise.”

His lips brush against my forehead as he leads me towards the bed. I giggle through the tears at how messy his bed is, in this moment I don’t even know why. 

“Are you ok?” he asks.

“No, I don’t think I am.” 

Yoongi frowns before gesturing to the bed. 

“Lay down, if you want,” he says, “get comfortable, let’s talk.”

I allow myself to fall against the soft, satin sheets, eyes fluttering close at the feeling. The bed dips, Yoongi’s body shifts until I feel him right beside me. My eyes open to see his soft expression; eyes still soft, hair falling further against his forehead, almost over his eyes. His mouth stays in a fixed frown as his hand reaches out to my face. 

“C-Can I touch you?” he barely whispers. 

I nod and scoot until we’re an inch a part. Yoongi opens his mouth a few times, however he doesn’t speak. All he does is stroke my arms lovingly and stare at me. It’s nice, a change of pace from our constant arguments lately. The circumstances could be different, but in this moment I’m content. 

“Be honest with me, Y/N,” he says, “do you-”

He pauses to purse his lips as his eyes water. I hold his hand and gently stroke his knuckles. 

“Yoongi, it’s ok,” I say, “tell me.”

Yoongi sniffs, face contorting in pain as he tries to get himself together. 

My heart breaks at this, of course I’ve seen him raw and emotional before but it wasn’t at this level. He’s never broken down this hard in front of me, I can’t help but let my own tears fall because of it. 

“Y/N, d-do you want to break up with me?” he asks. 

The words slip, so does his tears. His body heaves, rocks and trembles as he buries is face into the sheets below. My hands find his back, he tenses up, then relaxes as his sobs start to lessen. He turns over with a heavy sigh, eyes red and damp once our eyes meet again. My thumbs rush up to wipe the tears for him as he chuckles lowly. 

“I-I’m sorry I’m such a fucking mess I-”

I silence his words with a kiss, forcing him to freeze before he gradually returns it. Our lips move through unwanted tears, along with soft touches until Yoongi pulls back to look at me. 

“D-Do you want us to be over?” he asks. 

I shake my head. 

“No, Yoongi, I don’t,” I declare, “we need time from each other though.”

Yoongi nods. 

“We go back to Korea tomorrow,” he says, “this might be the last time you see me for a while.”

“I-I had a feeling. Yoongi-”

“Y/N-” 

Yoongi chuckles when we cut each other off. 

“Y/N, you can go first.”

 “Yoongi, I love you, I-I just wanted you to know that. It just felt like you didn’t believe me when you asked if I wanted to break up.”

Yoongi plays with my fingers and shakes his head. 

“You know I believe you,” he says, “I just, I thought I screwed things up for us big time but I’m glad I didn’t. “ 

“Were you serious about dealing with those hate comments?”

Yoongi nods sharply. 

“Yes, and those people who wrote those things aren’t fans,” he says, “a true ARMY respects us, everything about us.”

His voice is laced with so much passion, my heart swells, in a good way this time. Our eyes stay connected as we kiss once more. Yoongi moans into it, head lulling back as his hands make their way down my sides, brushing underneath my hoodie. 

“What are you feeling for Yoongi,” I say against his lips.

Yoongi ducks his head into the crook of my neck, pulling me so that I straddle him.

“I missed you, I’m going to miss you when I leave,” he whines, “I watched you all last night in that dress, urging for your touch.”

I giggle at his words.

“But we did touch, held hands even.”

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, “only if you want to, that is?”

Yoongi pulls back with an adorable, inquisitive stare. The dryness under his eyes remains from his tears, yet the easy going, soft stare he’d usually give me is back and I can’t help but kiss him again. 

“Yes, Yoongi,” I say, “you can touch me, can I touch you?”

“Please Y/N, I’m yours.”

We kiss, bodies pressed against each other: me flushed down on Yoongi’s while he presses himself against me. My fingers move to his hoodie, he lifts it to help me get it off quickly. Underneath he smells of fine lavender, his toned chest revealed to me without a shirt. 

“No shirt?”

Yoongi shakes his head. 

“I had just finished in the shower when you got here,” he explains, “to lazy to put one on. Now come back here.”

Yoongi pulls me back towards him, lips attaching themselves to my neck as his hands gently ghost over my breasts. He groans as he bunches my hoodie up and over my head. 

“Why didn’t you take this off sooner?”

I can’t help but giggle, toss my hoodie to the side, along with my shirt and lean down to nibble his neck. His soft groans force me to continue and plant soft kisses down his chest. I gasp at the growing need in his sweats, he bites down on his lips and shudders. 

“You’re so reactive, Yoongi.” I whisper against his skin. 

“Only for you jagi,” he purrs, “c’mon, I need to feel you. All of you.”

I nod in agreement as he fiddles with the buttons of my jeans, sliding them down to my ankles. 

“No, all the way down,” he breathes, “I want you against me.”

I do what he says giddily. 

“So, this isn’t our usual quickie?”

Yoongi shakes his head while discarding his sweats, revealing nothing underneath them as well, his member springing to life. 

“Of course not, Y/N,” he mutters, “wait, didn’t we have time when we did it in my studio?”

I roll my eyes. 

“Yeah, but Namjoon interrupted us, remember.”

“Oh yeah, well just come here, please,” he groans. 

I discard my underwear and lay back down next to him. Yoongi’s quick to get on top this time, hovering over me with arms on either side of me. There’s so much admiration in his eyes, I get lost in them as my eyes begin to water again. Yoongi notices and gently cups my face. 

“Are you ok? Do you want to stop, Y/N?”

I shake my head. 

“No, I still want you Yoongi, it’s just, you look at me-the way you look at me is a little overwhelming sometimes.”

Yoongi flashes a gummy smile. 

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“I-It is, you’re too adorable for your own good sometimes,” I say, “I’m so happy my first Grammy was with you.”

Yoongi’s eyes sparkle before he kisses me, easing himself close towards my entrance.

“I’m happy too, God Y/N-”

His hitches and my back arches as he carefully slides inside me. My arms rush around his back, forcing him to groan as he settles completely inside.  

“Yoongi, ah y-you can move.”

Yoongi nods as he pulls out slowly and thrusts back in, repeating his action as his speed steadily builds. My head lulls back at how he manages to hit my sweet spot so well, over and over again. 

“Mmh, Y-Yoongi-”

He cuts me off with a low grunt and presses his lips against mine, suppressing the moan that came from low in my throat. 

“Y/N, how close are you jagi?”

My eyes barely stay open as he continues his powerful thrusts, hands holding my waist as my climax grows closer. 

“I-I’m so close Yoongi!”

“Ah, I feel it!” he groans, “I-I love you!”

My climax comes as I cling to him. Yoongi removes my arms from around his to intertwine our hands as I finally reach my high. He groans, pulls out before coming all over the sheets beside us. The sound of our breaths fill the room as we both laugh in the afterglow.

“Y-you could have grabbed a condom, nasty,” I giggle. 

Yoongi shrugs and pulls me back against him. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow anyway,” he notes, “gosh, you’re so beautiful, do you need anything before we clean up?”

I shake my head and snuggle against his chest. 

“Nothing, all I need right now is you.”

  * * *

“So, you guys won’t be back until your tour in a couple months?”

Yoongi nods. 

He’s in his studio right now, alone while we’re on facetime. 

“I know you said we need space apart, but I hope to at least grab some lunch together before tour actually starts,” he suggests, “your choice.”

I can’t help but grin against my pillow. 

“Sounds like a plan. Yoongi I-”

I’m cut off by Namjoon stepping into his studio with a notebook in hand. They must be ready to work. 

“I’ll catch you later,” I say. 

Yoongi frowns. 

“What were you going to say?” he asks. 

He’s so adorable when he frowns, the duality of this man. 

“I love you, don’t work too hard.”

Yoongi flashes that same gummy smile again. 

“I love you too.”

#bts #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts suga #bts suga x reader #suga x y/n #suga x reader #suga x you #min yoongi #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x black reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x black reader #bts x poc #bts x woc #yoongi x black reader #bts smut #black reader #black reader insert #bts idol au #bts au #bts fanfics #bts fanfic

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

I know him

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened

warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words

The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same.  Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.

In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.

Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.

It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.

Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.

June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.

The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.

Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.

She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.

‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.

Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.

Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.

With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.

Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.

The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.

She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.

A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.

‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.

The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.

She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.

‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.

Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.

‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’

Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.

The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless

When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.

‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.

For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.

‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’

‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’

At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.

‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.

‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.

‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.

‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.

‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’

Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.

‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.

Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.

‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’

When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.

A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.

Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.

The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.

She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.

-----

‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.

‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.

Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.  

Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.

This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.

Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.

She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.

The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.

Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.

Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.

‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.

‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.

A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.

Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.

‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.

The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?

The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.

Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.

‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’

‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.

Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.

Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’

She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.

The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.

‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.

Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.

‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’

No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.  

‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.

Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.

‘Where did you hear all of that?’

A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.

‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.

‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.

‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’

Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.

‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’

‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.

‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.

‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’

Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.

The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.

#reddie #reddie x daughter #My writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #Richie x Eddie #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #the loser club imagines #it chapter two imagine #mike hanlon imagine #ben hanscom #beverly march imagine #bill denbrough imagines #stanley uris #richie as a parent #richie as a dad #eddie as a parent #Eddie as a dad

[hms-chill]

Hi! It's the Henry whump anon again ^^; Thanks so much for your response ;u; Ah, from the h/c prompts I really liked either 1 or 50 (but 3, 47, 32 are also fun if you don't like those two!!) I love injury/sickness whump the best but emotional is also fine if you're more inspired for that. ... i feel like I'm placing one of those complicated coffee orders and I feel bad about it I'm sorry! Ofc these are just suggestions, no pressure, I'd read anything of yours tbh! ^ω^ Thank you for your time!

Hello! In reference to your coffee order analogy, have you ever shown up at a place like “okay so I have a $10 gift card, what’s the most I can get with that?” and had a disillusioned cashier excitedly help you get like... $9.99 of junk food and it feels like you’re part of a two-woman conspiracy to undermine Chick-Fil-A by getting as much free food as possible? Just me? Anyway that’s how I felt writing this. I had another request for number one, so I only got 50, 3, 47, and 32 in, but I was proud of that.

50. “I can’t believe I let this happen.” 

3. “Get away from me!” 

47. “You know I would never hurt you.” 

32. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Alex is late. Again. Normally it wouldn’t bother him too much; most of the people in his life have just learned to let it slide when he’s slipping into the back of a lecture or coming into a meeting in progress in a bit of a panic. But, well. This is different. This is Henry. It’s Henry and the shelter, and he’d promised to be there early to help set up, but now he’ll be lucky to be on time, and no matter how much he blames his professors or the MTA or anyone else, he knows it’s his own fault. He’d forgotten to set an alarm to make himself stop working, and he’d forgotten to watch the clock or just be on top of things. But he didn’t, and now he’s let Henry down again, and he only has himself to blame, and he feels awful.

Henry’s already on stage when Alex arrives, speaking about the importance of the youth shelter and the services it provides to a crowd who are loving it. Alex settles in, leaning against a post in the wings to listen. He loves seeing Henry like this. He’s so beautifully confident, so overwhelmingly sure of what he’s doing, so clearly passionate about the shelter. And Alex loves him so much. He’s such an amazing person, and Alex is so wrapped up in watching him shine that he doesn’t pay attention to anything else. He doesn’t hear the man coming up behind him, doesn’t realize he’s in trouble before he hears Cash shout at him to duck. He does without hesitation, dropping to the floor as a gunshot goes off above him. Henry flinches forward a bit, and people start to scream, but that doesn’t cover the sound of a second gunshot going off over Alex’s head. At that one, Henry lets out a shout, pressing a hand to his side even as he’s urging people to stay calm and not shove each other. Even as Alex watches his legs give out, Henry is clinging to the podium and begging people to look out for each other as he crumples to the ground. Alex is moving before he’s even sure what’s happening, before he can process anything. He doesn’t care, he just needs--

His eyes meet Henry’s, and in a voice far too calm for the situation, Henry says, “Alex, get away from me.”

Alex freezes in his tracks, and he watches as Henry’s eyes close, watches as Amy gets to him and picks him up, his head flopping loosely back as she carries his limp body off stage. Alex is vaguely aware of people moving around him, of shouting and running, but he can’t stop staring at the puddle of Henry’s blood at the foot of the podium. It’s a black stage, too solid to let anything soak into it. So the blood sits on the surface, reflecting the sunlight far too cheerily as it slowly dries into a slightly darker patch of stage.

Before it’s dried completely, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Cash is getting him up and into a car. Someone’s in the driver’s seat, and Cash sits in the back with Alex. The minute the door is closed behind them, the pull away, and Cash looks Alex in the eye to ask, “are you hurt?”

Alex shakes his head automatically. After a moment, Cash pulls him in for a hug, and a choked sob claws its way out of Alex’s throat. 

“I... he told me to--” he can’t repeat it. It’s been playing on repeat in his mind ever since. He can’t let himself think about what might be happening to Henry, refuses to allow himself to even imagine that Henry might not recover, so spiralling about being told to go away is somehow the safest, sanest option here.

“He wanted you safe,” Cash says. And that makes sense, but Cash hadn’t seen Henry’s face. He doesn’t know how much this event meant to Henry, how important it was that Alex was there to support him. 

Cash doesn’t know that they’d talked about the possibility of Alex turning up late. He hadn’t been there when Alex asked how important he really was to the success of the event, and how at dinner Henry had said it didn’t matter. Cash wasn’t there in bed the night before, when Alex called Henry’s bluff, and when Henry explained how he’s always felt like he had to face things like this by himself, but having Alex there makes it easier. Cash doesn’t know that having Alex nearby before an event calms Henry down enough that he can actually focus on the event, or that Alex had listened, then taken Henry’s hand and said, “why did you ever tell me I could miss things? Why didn’t you tell me all this? I’ll be there early, because I love you, I swear.”

Cash doesn’t know how badly he’d let Henry down today, and he doesn’t know how much Alex had risked just to get there late and let Henry down anyway. He doesn’t know that Alex had gotten into a subway car just as it was leaving the station, knowing that his security team would have to wait six minutes for the next one, doesn’t know that Alex had booked it to the venue instead of waiting for them like he was supposed to. Cash had been there on time, helping get things set up and probably doing Alex’s job of looking after Henry. He can’t know.

“I... it’s my fault. I was running late, so I was in a rush and I lost my team, and I... I must have picked up a tail. I forgot to watch the time. It’s all my fault, and now...”

“It’s not. It’s not your fault,” Cash says, hugging him closer. “You didn’t make him trail you, you didn’t make him want to hurt you. You didn’t let him get close enough to shoot. That... none of that was your fault. But we’re going to be at the hospital soon. Amy’s beat us here, so Henry’s in surgery. Are you alright to go into a waiting room, or would you rather drive around for a bit to calm down?”

“No, we... can we go in?” Cash nods, and when they pull up outside, he guides Alex into a waiting room. Alex processes vaguely that he’s shaking. Cash says something about his family being on their way, but it’ll take some time before they can get here.

Shaan appears, and he looks as disheveled as Alex feels. Well, the top button of his shirt is unbuttoned and he has at least four hairs out of place, but for Shaan, that’s got to be the equivalent to Alex’s shaking hands and bouncing knee. He comes to sit next to Alex, and he says it’ll be alright, but Alex can’t imagine how he knows that. 

Alex has no idea how long they sit there. At some point, he tries to make a list:

Henry told him to go away.

Henry has just been shot.

The shooter was clearly coming for Alex, and he clearly followed Alex to the event, where he then shot Henry.

Henry is currently in surgery, because he was shot, because Alex was running late and ditched his security and let a shooter tail him to an event.

“Get away from me” might be the last thing Henry ever says to him.

He stops trying to count after that. He paces instead, then gives up on that, too. Cash brings lunch, but he’s too worried to eat. He wants to search the hospital for Henry, wants to shake someone into telling him something, but that won’t do any good.

A million lifetimes later, he’s mid-pace when Cash’s hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him out of his head.

“He’s out of surgery. It’s going to take some time, but the doctor expects him to make a full recovery.”

For the second time today, Alex hugs Cash, hard. Cash hugs him back, then says, “He’s not awake yet, but we can go in if you’re ready.”

And with that, all of Alex’s other fears come crashing back into him. Henry’d said he should go away. He’d messed up. He was late, despite having promised he’d be there early to help. He’d brought a tail to the event, and he could have killed someone. It’s his fault any of this happened. And Henry had told him to get away. Maybe, Henry doesn’t want to see him anymore.

“I... maybe Shaan, but I... I’m not sure he wants me,” Alex says finally, and he knows his hands are shaking, and he realizes that maybe he’s on the verge of a panic attack, and maybe he’s been on the verge of a panic attack for a long time. Cash just hugs him, and keeps him upright when he body wants to fall into a puddle of fear on the floor of the waiting room. And Alex plants his face into Cash’s chest and tries to take deep breaths, tries not to focus on the fact that Henry might hate him, tries to ignore the fact that any choice he makes now could only make everything worse. 

He tries very, very hard to make a list. And he comes up with nothing.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to process that there’s a hand on his shoulder, but he turns just enough to see Shaan attached to it.

“He’ll want to see you,” Shaan says simply, and his tone is indisputable. So Alex nods, and they go to Henry’s room, and Alex breaks into tears again at the sight of Henry, pale as a sheet and lying on the hospital bed. Cash hugs him, and after a moment, Alex is able to pull away and let Shaan convince him that he really does deserve to sit down next to Henry’s bed. He takes Henry’s hand, but then that feels like too much and he puts it down. He’s not even sure Henry wants him here. 

But if Henry does want him, then will he be hurt if Alex isn’t holding his hand? Will it make him think Alex doesn’t care? He’s reaching for the hand again when it moves, and Alex pulls back on instinct.

“H-- Henry?” His voice is shakier than he wants it to be. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, and he’s aware that his hands are a stupid thing to be worried about right now, but he’s not sure how to make himself worry about something more important.

Henry’s head turns, and his eyes are on Alex, and Alex can’t breathe. Henry’s eyes go wide, and he’s upset. Alex feels his heart plummet from the lump in his throat to the acid in his stomach.

“I... Shaan said you’d want me here; I told them you said I should go away and you wouldn’t want me, but he.. he said-- I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t want to see me, I can’t believe I let this happen; I... I’ll go.”

“Alex, what?” Henry’s voice is a bit hoarse, but it’s enough to send a dagger through Alex’s stomach.

“You... you told me to get away, and I didn’t... I’m sorry. This is my fault; it’s my fault you were hurt, and I--” Henry takes his hand, and Alex’s mouth stops working. Apparently, he’d decided that the right place to put his hand was the side of Henry’s bed, and Henry’s taken it and started rubbing little circles in the back of it. Alex looks up at him, and he lets himself hope, maybe for the first time since Henry woke up.

“I never meant... sweetheart, I’m sorry. I... when we were growing up, they taught us to stay away from each other if anything like this happened so that we wouldn’t be a big target, and I... I’m sorry.” Henry tries to push himself up, then grimaces and says, “come here, would you? I need to hug you, but my bloody stitches won’t let me up.”

Alex is more than happy to oblige, pulling Henry into a careful hug. Henry hugs him back so tightly Alex is worried that he’ll pull his stitches anyway.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you, not on purpose. I’d never ask you to leave if it weren’t for your own good. I love you far, far too much for that.”

And if that makes Alex cry again, well, it’s been a long day. He deserves a good cry, and he deserves to climb into bed with his boyfriend so that Henry can hold him close and smooth out his hair and promise that things will be alright. He’d tried to protest, or to apologize, but Henry refused to hear any of it. So instead, Alex just lets himself be held close, drifting off to sleep with the confidence that Henry is safe and that he is loved.

#ask and answer #rwrb prompt #rwrb ficlet #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb angst #FirstPrince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

[miafic]

Fall AU (Part 14)

first ~ prev

// trigger warning for detailed suicidal behavior // it might be fun to go back and read part one of this before you start! just a little memory refresher :) 

---

Lucas spends the next few days lying on the floor in the garage with the car parked in the driveway. The man leaves it there after a while, because Lucas asks him multiple times a day to move it, and it’s easier for both of them to let it sit it outside.

Whenever Lucas is in the house, he grabs a pen and draws the garage door track. He thinks about it, talks about it, and dreams about it, but most of all, he draws it. Small and alone, but still somehow thick and dark. He scribbles it on page after page of his notebook, not straight, not always the right distance over, but close enough, the black ink rubbed so hard into the paper that it curves the page.

Sometimes he mutters to himself, a stream of words that don’t really make sense. “Step, stool, spagehtti, stove. Step, stool, spaghetti, stove.”

“You’re scaring me,” the man confesses quietly to him on the second evening, but Lucas doesn’t stop drawing, doesn’t stop whispering under his breath. It’s the only thing that makes any sense to him. And now, the answers are on the tip of his tongue.

He sees the line everywhere. He sees it in the door when he’s standing in the shower and in the leash when he’s on a walk with Baby. He sees it in the fork he’s holding while he’s eating stuffed Alfredo shells for dinner at a restaurant.

Lucas’ dad insists on paying and then leaves after the meal, headed for the airport in an Uber. Lucas kisses him on the cheek what must be a hundred times. The man kisses him on the cheek, too, but only once, and although the man cries, Lucas doesn’t feel much of anything. They hold hands in the car. As soon as they get home, Lucas lies down on the ground. 

“I'm going back to work,” the man says when he comes into the garage a few hours later. “Please don’t fall asleep out here. You need to go inside soon so you can take care of Baby, okay?”

“Kay.”

“Okay.”

Lucas leans up and kisses the man’s jaw before he can be stopped. He lays back down and looks at the line again.

The man smoothes Lucas’ messy hair down. “Don’t stay up all night,” he whispers.

“Kay.”

“Oh, I’m worried about this,” the man hums. “Maybe I should cancel-”

“I’ll be fine,” Lucas promises. “Step, stool, spaghetti, stove.”

“You call me. For anything, okay? And I’m gonna call you or text you, and I’m nervous, so I want you to answer as soon as you can.” He waits a beat while Lucas keeps talking to himself. “Lucas.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Um…”

“When I text you or call you, I need you to answer, okay?”

“Yeah.”

The man stays crouched beside him for a little bit and then says, “If I get you a blanket, will you fall asleep out here?”

Lucas nods.

“Okay, then I won’t.” He brushes his hand over Lucas’ hair again. “I love you.”

Lucas lights up. “I love you, too!”

The man kisses his own fingertips and then uses them to lightly tap Lucas’ cheek, and Lucas presses them closer. They’re warm and full of love, just like Lucas’ heart.

---

Lucas wakes in the dark, his left hand clenched into a loose fist. With his right foot, he kicks to find the thing that was there before, but he’s met only with air.

Baby lets out a sigh next to him, and he’s thankful for her warmth. The garage is freezing.

“Where is it?” he asks her, sitting up and squinting into the darkness for whatever it is that’s supposed to be there but isn’t. She makes a crying sound, and it kicks him into gear. “Are you cold? Let’s go.” Together, they walk into the house. “The door was wide open,” he tells her. “You could have just come back if you were cold.” The warmth hits him, and it feels thick and heavy around him. He can feel it pressing down on his arms.

His phone is sitting on the counter displaying six text messages from Zakk (That’s the man’s name, Lucas reminds himself), their tone increasingly worried. I’m ok, he writes back.

Did you fall asleep out there???? comes the reply, and Lucas realizes that it’s past 2 AM.

Lucas isn’t sure how to respond, so he just says, I’m going to bed now. And he does. He goes up the stairs, muttering, “Step, stool, spaghetti, stove. Step, stool, spaghetti, stove,” and gets right into bed without brushing his teeth. Baby curls up against him, and he wraps an arm around her. He closes his eyes.

---

Lucas dreams that he’s back in the garage, sitting on the floor. Baby is at his feet, chewing on a thick, tan rope. He allows it for a bit but then realizes something. “No!” he says sharply. “That’s mine.” He yanks it away from her, drapes it over his shoulders.

She whines, and he tells her, “You can’t play with this; I need it.”

She whines louder, and Lucas opens his eyes. Baby is standing at the door, begging for something with her eyes.

Oh. He hadn’t let her out before they went to bed.

He forces himself out from beneath the covers and over to the door. He lets her lead him downstairs and to the back door, which he opens for her.

“Step, stool, spaghetti, stove. Step, stool, spaghetti, stove. Step, stool, spaghetti, stove.”

He wonders if the man has a step stool. Maybe in the garage. He wanders back out to look for one. He gets distracted and stares up at the garage door track until Baby barks to be let in, and Lucas goes to get her. He pours food in a bowl, following the illustrated directions that the man has left for him, and then heads back out to the garage in search of a stepladder.

They don’t have a lot of things stored, so it only takes Lucas a second to locate it. The rope from his dream is hanging over it, and Lucas suddenly gasps for air, feeling as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He stumbles back a step as memories assault him.

---

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

He’s climbing onto the stepladder.

---

“I’m pouring from an empty cup!” he yells hoarsely at the wall. “What am I supposed to do?! I don’t have anything left! Is this what you want?! Is this what-?” He breaks off, hot tears spilling over. He surprises himself by sobbing once, twice, again and again and again, loud and open-mouthed, the noise coming straight from his chest. He is a broken man. When he became this way, he doesn’t know. It happened so slowly.

“I’m done with this shit!” he shouts, bitter and spitting. The words feel good as they leave his lips. He smears the tears on his cheeks with his sleeves. “I’m done! I have nothing left! I don’t care anymore!”

He laughs a little and repeats quietly to himself in surprise, “I’m done.” For the first time in what feels like forever, he smiles. The curve of his mouth feels foreign on his face, and he reaches up to touch it.

Smiling. Wow.

“I’m done,” he decides in a whisper, and the sentence is followed by another laugh. He crashes back against the bed, laughing and laughing. The relief is unlike anything he’s ever felt.

It only lasts a few moments, though. Now that he’s made up his mind, there are preparations that need to be made.

---

He’s looking up, up, up. It makes him a little dizzy.

---

Bags of belongings thrown away in dumpsters. Clothes donated. Papers sorted. Books sold online - if anyone knows that every penny counts, it’s Lucas, and although they’re living fairly comfortably, Zakk could use the money.

Lists are written: how and when to pay the bills, passwords for accounts, what information is in which folders (tax info, passports, the deed to the house, the wills, etc.). 

He decides not to leave a personal note to anyone, and that relieves some of the pressure.

Lucas finishes off the white grape juice from the fridge one morning and doesn’t add it to the grocery list. Zakk doesn’t like it, so if they buy more, there will be no one there to drink it. He goes shopping anyway, though, and stocks up on everything Zakk could need - as many non-perishable and long-lasting food and ingredients as he can find, multiple containers of toothpaste and laundry detergent and dishwasher tabs, mega-packs of toilet paper and napkins and paper towels. It takes him more than ten minutes to unload the car and put everything away when he gets home, but he doesn’t mind; this is his last act of service, providing Zakk with daily necessities that he can use in case he doesn’t have the strength to go out and get them himself.

Then, satisfied, he takes Baby to the dog park, where he spends the whole afternoon in a coat and a hat, watching her happily run around and dig some holes. Before they leave, they jog the trail not once but twice. Lucas doesn’t really feel up to it, but it makes her happy. He can’t bear to tell her in words that he’s leaving, so this is his goodbye.

---

He leans back, tugs hard. A test.

---

Lucas drops Baby off at home and goes back out to pick up some flowers, which he drops into Zakk’s favorite vase in the kitchen. Zakk will be home soon. Lucas is simultaneously excited to see him and dreading it.

Their last night.

The love of Lucas’ life, the sun to his moon, all he ever wanted. And he’s throwing it away.

Lucas hesitates… and then reminds himself that it’s better for both of them this way.

He goes out to the garage, looks up at the reinforced steel track, and then glances over where the stepladder is wedged. The rope is draped over it, and just seeing it makes him instantly feel better.

Zakk gets home a few minutes later. He loves the flowers, and he gives Lucas a long and much-needed hug. Lucas orders a pizza. They watch an episode of Game of Thrones and then the first several minutes of Dirty Dancing, which plays in the background while Lucas slowly fucks Zakk on the couch, focused on giving him the best orgasm of his entire life. Zakk cries out as he hits his climax, fingers digging hard into Lucas’ tan skin. Lucas cums seconds after him and lies down right there on his chest. Zakk rubs his back and kisses his head. Lucas holds onto Zakk’s middle, praying that Zakk won’t be too upset when, in less than twenty-four hours, he finds out that they’ll never see each other again.

They fall asleep in the usual way, with Lucas curled around Zakk’s body, and in a blink, the night is over. Lucas wakes in the morning with Zakk’s alarm like he often does to make Zakk a cup of coffee while Zakk gets ready for work. By the time Zakk comes downstairs, the coffee is piping hot and ready to go, and Lucas spends a few minutes asking about the plan for the day and telling him he loves him and wishing him a nice time at Peace and Purpose.

“You doing okay?” Zakk asks him, the same question he asked the night before.

“Yeah.”

Zakk nods and then smiles a little. Hesitantly, he offers, “I can tell you’re getting better.”

Lucas has to stop himself from laughing. He’s less than an hour away from death, but to someone who’s not privy to his darkest thoughts, yeah, Lucas looks a hell of a lot better than he did a week or so ago.

They share one last, sweet kiss, and Zakk is out the door.

Lucas feels empty.

Lucas wants to scream and sob.

Lucas feels relief.

He uses the restroom in hopes of making things better for the people who will inevitably come deal with his corpse, and then he fills Baby’s water bowl to the brim. He calls for her and forces a smile as she comes rushing up to him, tail wagging. He scoops her up, all fifty pounds of her, and holds her for a long time, just breathing in her smell and petting her soft hair. Trying to memorize the feeling of how content she is to be with him. 

At least she won’t understand what happened. She’ll forget him soon enough, and so will everyone else. The world doesn’t stop for anyone. 

“I love you, Baby. Take care of Zakk for me. And… find me when it’s your turn,” Lucas whispers to her, the same words he’d had to restrain himself from whispering to Zakk that morning. He kisses her head, sets her back down, and slips into the garage, trying to ignore her pouty face when he closes the door so that she can’t follow.

On autopilot, he backs his car into the driveway and gets the stepladder, which he opens and secures but doesn’t climb onto.

Baby scratches at the door for a bit but then gives up.

Lucas still just stands there, thinking. He grows dizzy, and his body feels hot.

“What am I doing?” he finally whispers. All he can think of is some cop showing up at Peace and Purpose and asking for Zakk and telling him what happened-

“What the hell am I doing?” he asks again, a little louder.

He goes back inside, heart pounding. Baby stays beside him as he walks to the couch, and when he sits down, she climbs up next to him. Uncharacteristically, she walks onto his lap and takes a seat on top of him. He presses his face into her chest, loosely hugging her.

“Get me through til Zakk comes home,” he pleads.

She is silent, but she doesn’t budge. He doesn’t think that she knows what was going to happen, but he can tell that she knows something is wrong.

And something is wrong.

---

It’s not right. Further…

---

Zakk texts in the afternoon asking if Lucas wouldn’t mind making a pasta casserole for dinner. Lucas is glad to have a task to complete, something to offer Zakk as an apology for what he’d almost done to himself, to both of them. He makes the casserole, and he’s so fucked up from that morning that he completely forgets the salt, which he only realizes after the thing’s been baking in the oven for several minutes with cheese melting on top. He has time and ingredients, though, so he just scrapes the noodles out and rinses the dishes he’d used and makes the whole thing over again.

When Zakk gets home, he throws together a little salad for them to split and tells him that the pasta casserole is delicious. Lucas can tell that he means it. He feels a little better.

---

Lucas leans.

---

They have sex that night in a way that Lucas could only describe as making love. He does the thing that Zakk adores where he whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in time with their movements right before it ends, and when they’re done, Zakk lies on Lucas’ chest and listens to his heartbeat until he falls asleep. Lucas stays up, staring at the ceiling and thinking hard until he decides to go through with his original plan. He gave himself the extra day that he needed to come to terms with things, and now he’s ready. 

Lucas makes Zakk a big cup of coffee again in the morning and bids him a good day, telling him twice that he loves him. It doesn’t feel final the way it had the day before. It doesn’t feel real at all.

Zakk leaves, and Lucas goes out to the garage, where he moves his car and positions the stepladder back beneath the track.

The door to the house is open, and Baby stands anxiously in the archway, staring. Lucas doesn’t mind; he’s not doing anything violent right now. There are a few more things he needs to take care of first, like using the bathroom and changing into the clothes he picked out and filling Baby’s water bowl and making sure that all the doors are locked.

He climbs onto the first platform of the stepladder and swings the rope up over the track, uses both hands to give it a tug. It seems fine. 

Lucas shifts his weight forward, climbing up to the next step. He swiftly fashions the rope into the right knot - the one he’s looked at on and off online for years - and slips his arm through it to test it. He puts some pressure on the rope, and it holds. More pressure… it holds, but the track creaks.

“Hm,” Lucas mutters, and he undoes the rope and leans back on the stepladder, wanting to center it more. He can reach the middle if he just leans back a bit… Okay, a little more… He should probably move the stepladder, but it’s fine, it’s close enough. He just needs to reach another inch or two-

---

Lucas falls.

---

Lucas wakes on the floor in a world of pain. He came out here at seven AM, but now the sun is sinking, and he wonders confusedly what’s going on, how he got here. He stares, for what feels like hours, straight up at the garage door track until the image of the vertical line it makes on the ceiling is burned into his brain.

After a while, he becomes aware that Baby is on his left with one of her paws resting on his stomach. He sits up slightly and groans from the intense ache in his head. The world is spinning, and Lucas wonders briefly if he might vomit, but he doesn’t.

The rope is still clenched in his left hand. Baby has the other end of the rope between her teeth.

Lucas gets to his feet, accidentally kicking the stepladder in the process. The rattling it makes as it slides a few inches across the floor hurts his head, which makes him grit his teeth, which hurts his head more, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the cycle of pain. He pushes it away, though, and mindlessly puts the rope and stepladder back where they’d been, drives the car back into the garage, goes inside the house, and takes four Advil at once. Zakk gets home not too long after.

Lucas takes a nap and wakes up not knowing his name.

---

PRESENT

With a gasp, Lucas pulls back to himself.

“Oh, my god,” he breathes. He looks down at Baby with wide eyes. “What the hell have I done?”

#lucas #zakk #fall au #baby #tw

[chelsfic]

Chapter 11 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula 2020 fanfic

A/N: Hi guys. Thanks again to everyone who has commented and liked and reblogged and interacted with this fic and with me! It means the world. Here is the promised smutty reunion! I think that Chapter 12 is probably going to wrap this up as the final part. I’m sure there are some who would prefer that the story keep going and going and going, but I’ve always intended to finish this with the Count turning Emilie. So depending on how it paces out I’ll have one more chapter to post after this one and *possibly* an epilogue, but we’ll see. I have at least two other plot bunnies scampering around my head right now just begging to be written.

Summary: The Count’s visit with Emilie turns fluffy and then distinctly raunchy!

Rating: Explicit!!! 

Count Dracula, in his flowing dark cape and richly tailored suit, looked positively exotic sitting in the worn chintz armchair surrounded by the Andrews family’s aggressively feminine decor. The parlor was a charming mix of floral patterns, old lace, china knick knacks and displays of the girls’ various attempts at pastoral landscape watercolors. Dracula, with his long, lithe form and aura of dark monstrosity, tucked into the little chair and looking about himself with an expression of polite curiosity was enough to break through the miasma of Emilie’s sadness. She giggled in delight at the picture he made.

Dracula raised his eyebrows at her laughter and smiled softly. It was strange to see him here in her family home. But it felt so pleasant and natural to see him looking at her with that crooked smile on his face.

“Shall I make tea?” Emilie asked automatically, shifting into hostess mode in the absence of her mother and sister who were both already asleep upstairs.

Dracula huffed a laugh as he replied, “If you like.”

Emilie felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment almost as soon as the words had left her mouth.

She stammered an excuse, “Oh--I...sorry, force of habit. I think I will make some for myself if that’s not terribly rude?”

Dracula waved a hand dismissively and Emilie vanished into the kitchen where she could privately melt at her own stupidity while she waited for the water to boil.

When she reentered the parlor she found Dracula standing with his hands folded behind his back, inspecting a brightly hued watercolor hanging over the mantle. She set down the tea service tray and went to stand beside him.

“My sister, Anna, painted this one,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the brilliant splashes of red, orange and violet. The painting showed a line of birch trees on the horizon, a little village nestled safely in the foreground as the sun rose into a crisp, blue sky.

“It’s wonderful,” Dracula whispered in a tone of sincere awe. Emilie looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes moving over the image as if to memorize every detail. She felt her heart clench at the look of boyish longing on his face.

“You miss it?” she asked hesitantly. “The sun?” 

She was unsure of how familiar she was allowed to be with him now. Was he here as her friend? Her lover? Her employer...her landlord? She pushed her insecurities away, unwilling to lose this moment of connection with him after she’d so longed to see him again.

Dracula tore his eyes away from the canvas and looked down at her, a sad smile crinkling his eyes, “Yes, very much so. Appreciate her, Emilie, while you have her.”

They moved away from the mantle and took their seats. Emilie pondered his words as she poured herself a cup of tea. She supposed he referred to her mortality, the limited number of days she would spend under the sun. After his anger, his rejection, she couldn’t assume he meant anything else. Even if she’d come to think...to hope...he meant to take her as his dark wife. That was all over now.

She sat back in her seat and cradled the cup of tea in her scarred hands, taking comfort in its warmth, “She is radiant and lovely. And I’ve seen her in a new way since...well, since you showed me how. But...you know, I did come to love the night. For a while…”

She held her breath and felt her heart beat in her throat as she watched his face for a reaction to her words. Dracula’s expression was a mask of stoicism but his eyes burned as he leaned forward and reached toward her, cupping his hands around hers over the tea cup. His gaze fixed on the red, cracked skin of her fingers and he let out a sympathetic hiss.

“My Emilie. Your poor hands. What have you done to yourself?”

Emilie stared down at their joined hands for a moment, transfixed, before answering in a firm tone, “Only what I had to do. For my family.”

Dracula came fully forward, kneeling before her to stay at eye-level. He clasped his hands around her too-thin waist and looked up at her in silence for a moment. Emilie could feel his emotions through their bond. She felt his fear, his shame, his anger...and love. She still felt the bright jewel of his love shining out at her and it felt better than the warmth of the sun ever had. 

“Emilie,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, “I have not forsaken you. Or your family. I won’t let you starve or turn you out of this house. Do you understand? You don’t need to work yourself into ill health. Please...don’t.”

Emilie choked back a sob at his words. She felt relief, gratitude, adoration...but also the echoing pain of betrayal and rejection. Only a few weeks ago Vlad had turned his monstrous cruelty against her. He’d hurt her and insulted her because she had the audacity to make him feel vulnerable. And now here he knelt before her like a supplicant, avowing his devotion and loyalty? She’d dreamed of this, but the actual event felt like being suddenly knocked about. She couldn’t keep hold of her emotions.

“What was I supposed to do, Vlad? How was I to know if you would continue to support us after...after…”

She couldn’t speak the words to evoke the final scene between them at Carfax. It was too painful a memory. 

“I’m sorry, Emilie,” Dracula whispered. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her cheeks, laying chaste kisses across her face, each one a plea for her forgiveness. “I was afraid, Emilie. I’ve never...I wanted to make you my bride. You knew that, didn’t you? I wanted to make you like me and I’d never come so close to succeeding before. I was afraid...I am afraid that I’ll fail. I never planned to get so attached...for there was always the risk that you might not come back...in the end. And when I felt that you had finally staked a true claim on me--on my heart and soul--I panicked and I was...unforgivably cruel to you. I--I love you, Emilie. I’d forgotten that I was capable of the emotion…”

Emilie set down the teacup and took his face in her hands, leaning forward to press her lips to his and letting her tears finally fall to stain his cheeks as well as hers. She was passionate and energetic, finally allowing herself to let go of the hurt and mourning she’d been carrying these past few weeks. She nipped his lower lip and delighted in his deep, rumbling purr of pleasure. Her fingers twined in the hair at the nape of his neck. Every detail was vivid and arousing with her heightened senses: the feel of his soft lips gradually warming from the heat of her own, the restrained strength in his hands wrapped around her waist and pulling her closer, each silken thread of hair brushing through her fingers. She broke away from him, panting and clinging to the collar of his cape with all her might.

Dracula let out an intentional breath and stared up at her, capturing her with the deep pools of his liquid eyes with ease, “Emilie, I want you to understand what this means. You’ve belonged to me since before you even realized it. I own you: your soul, your blood, your life. But...you own me, too. I’m yours, Emilie. Now and always.”

Emilie breathed heavily, overwhelmed by lust and emotion. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she responded, “In that case...I think I’ll take you to my bed, Count Dracula.”

They crept soundlessly up the stairway and down the short hall to Emilie’s bedroom. She led him by the hand over the threshold and shut the door delicately behind him. Count Dracula, her dark lover, her master, her slave, was standing in her childhood bedroom. The contrast of his presence in this sacred space was deeply compelling to her. She stalked forward, standing before him and reaching up to unclasp the cape from his shoulders. In a stroke of playfulness she wrapped it around her own shoulders and smirked up at him.

“You know...this is where my sister and I would whisper stories to each other at night. About the terrifying Count Dracula and his dark powers.”

He reached up and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, gradually revealing his dark chest hair and starkly pale skin. 

“Is that so?” he asked in a tone of bland curiosity.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, dropping the cape to the floor and reaching around her back to loosen the fastenings of her dress and slowly let the material drop over her shoulders. “I’d have nightmares about the evil creature I would one day serve. His devil horns, his cloven feet….his power to transform into a wolf at will!”

Emilie’s soft laughter was interrupted by a sheepish look from the Count, “Well...yes that last one is true, I’m afraid.”

Emilie’s mouth dropped open in shock, “You can turn into a wolf!?”

Dracula suppressed a smug smile as he discarded his shirt and undid the buttons of his fly, “Does that frighten you, Emilie? Or excite you?”

He stepped out of his trousers and moved forward with inhuman speed, grabbing the waist of her petticoat and slipping it over her hips so she stood naked and exposed before him. 

“I don’t know...maybe both,” she whispered, leaning forward so the points of her nipples brushed against the taught skin of his stomach. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, reveling in the perfect feel of his naked skin against hers. 

“My big, bad wolf,” she grinned and pulled him toward the bed. 

She fell backward and tugged him down with her onto the tiny mattress. He had to curl his legs up in order to fit but he was happy to wrap himself around her little body. He enveloped her in his arms and ran his hands down her back and over the rounded flesh of her buttocks, squeezing gently and eliciting a squeak of surprised pleasure from Emilie.

“Shhh, little one,” he admonished bringing a finger to her lips and then pressing it forward, dipping his long digit into her mouth and watching with hooded, lusty eyes as she sucked obediently. “Do you need me to keep you quiet?”

Emilie’s eyes fluttered shut at the suggestion, envisioning her master taking her on her childhood bed as he gagged her with his own fingers. She felt herself nodding in response to the question, still sucking his finger and laving it with her tongue.

Dracula smirked and added another finger, pressing down on her tongue and watching as saliva pooled and spilled over her lips. He ran his other hand over her breasts, playing with her nipples and teasing them with his sharp nails.

“Good girl,” he praised her as she stayed perfectly silent, muffling her little sounds of pleasure by wrapping her lips around his digits. “I’ll always take care of you, sweet Emilie.”

He continued his attentions to her breasts, flicking, licking, biting and teasing until Emilie was near tears at the over stimulation. She struggled to form words around his fingers and he finally relented, pulling them out and looking down at her with brows furrowed inquisitively, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath and nearly sobbed her words, “Please, Vlad, I need you now.”

Dracula’s lips spread in a leering grin and he crawled over her, caging her with his body, “I’m yours to command, sweet Emilie. Always.”

He palmed her hips and lowered himself until he was just waiting at her entrance, teasing her by running the thick tip of his member through her soaking folds over and over again. He looked up at her, expectantly.

“Vlad!” she admonished him, unable to form much more in the way of coherent words. He took pity on her and plunged forward, thrusting himself inside her and hissing at the beautiful, tight, hot feel of her wrapped around him. 

Emilie cried in joy and relief as he finally entered her. The sound was jarring in the silent house and Vlad whipped a hand up to her mouth, pressing his palm over her lips to keep her quiet as he pounded inside of her. He ramped up to an inhuman tempo that Emilie was powerless to match. She could only arch upward in needy wantonness, seeking to maximize the friction and deepen his reach inside her. If he’d planned this at all he would have taken her slowly, tenderly, injecting his devotion and apology into every movement of his hips, his hands, his mouth. But he was just as powerless as Emilie in the face of his reaction to her. His blood sang at their closeness as if it flowed in sync with hers. He could read her feelings in the touch of her skin. Her love, her passion, her wanting. It was everything that he felt and more. 

He surrendered himself over to her, pushing his intent through their connection and dipping down to bury his head in the crook of her neck, laying sweet kisses over her jugular. He wouldn’t bite her. The next time he gave her his vampire’s kiss it would be her last. The joy and terror of his decision coursed through him as he felt his hips stutter chaotically as his orgasm washed over him. Emilie threw her head back and bit into his fingers as the sensation of his pleasure reached her through their bond and pushed her over into her own climax. Her legs shivered and trembled around his hips as they both relaxed their bodies and clung together. 

***

The next morning Mrs. Andrews entered the dining room to find two sealed letters sitting on the table. One was from Emilie and it was a goodbye. The words were simple but heartfelt. The Count had proposed marriage and she had accepted. They would be away for some time...honeymooning.

The second letter was written in the Count’s own severe hand. It explained that his solicitor, Mr. Renfield, would be in touch to discuss the transfer of ownership of Carfax Abbey, along with a substantial sum, to Mrs. Andrews.

A/N: P.S. The “I own you and you own me” thing--I’ve used that little idea in fics before and it’s entirely owed to the sexy negotiation between Claire and Jamie in Outlander when they finally reconcile after he physically punishes her for putting the clansmen in danger. 

Tags:

@girlonfireice​ @charlesdances​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @dracula-s-bride​ @haleyea​ @irrelevantwriter​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @festering-queen​ @kaddis-world​ @leah-halliwell92​

#dracula x ofc #dracula x oc #dracula imagine #claes bang imagine #dracula thirst squad #count dracula x oc #count dracula x ofc #dracula fanfic #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #dracula 2020 #chelsfic

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author:  Ketchup

Prompt:  dancing in the rain

Group: E

-

Dancing in the Rain

Belle sat in her unmoving carriage and sighed. It had been over a half hour now since the carriage’s wheel had broken from its axle. The coachman had taken one of the horses to the nearest village and gone for help, leaving poor Belle stranded with only her young footman who looked barely old enough to be working such a job in the first place.

She, at first, had been waiting outside with the boy, but she could tell by his body language that she was making him nervous, so she stuffed herself and her huge yellow dress back inside and counted the minutes pass her by. She just couldn’t miss Prince Gaston’s ball! She just couldn’t; not when the future of her life, her kingdom, and the lives of her countrymen were on the line! There had been a rumour that this was the night he was supposed to ask her hand in marriage, if she missed tonight, missed the ball, he might rescind his offer. This was absolutely the worst time for a wheel to break! Though there wasn’t much she could do about her current situation, she felt helpless and panicked.  She waited and ten more minutes passed.

A knock came at her carriage door from the young footman. “Miss, pardon the interruption,” he said. “I think I found a solution to your problem.”

“What is it?” Belle immediately came out of the carriage. “What is it, Baelfire?”

“Well,” the boy said sheepishly, as he pointed to another vehicle parked right besides them. “This man here is my Papa, his name is Rumplestiltskin. He just happened to be passing this very road with some of his yarn for sale. He’s headed over to the next kingdom to sell it at market tomorrow morning. He said he can give you a ride if you wish it.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, yes,” Belle said, immediately as she hurried toward the small cart. The man in front of her, the footman’s father, looked somewhat similar to the boy but with straggly long brown hair and tired eyes. He bowed upon receiving her.

“If I can be of service, I’d love to help serve the crown,” he said. Belle thanked him again and both he and his son helped Belle and her poofy dress get situated in the cart after seconds of shoving, lifting, and manoeuvring. She felt ridiculous with all the room she took up, but the man said he didn’t mind.

“I think I’ll stay here, Miss. In case the driver comes back, I think it’s important he knows you're safe. I’ll trust my Papa to take good care of you.”

They nodded and continued on. The journey was taking longer than she hoped. The man’s single mule was no match for the thoroughbred horses that pulled her carriage. They made slow time and soon darkness and clouds started to creep into the sky. The man didn’t say much and seemed equally as nervous as his son had been in her presence as they rode on together. He finally broke the silence after he too noticed the clouds rolling in. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

“Oh, please don’t say that. That would almost be worse than the carriage breaking down.!”

As if on cue it began to sprinkle. She heard the man spit out a mild curse before his eyes widened, realizing what he had done in the presence of this kingdom’s royalty. “Oh, I beg forgiveness princess, it’s just, if this rain keeps up, my yarn’s going to be spoiled for market.”

“It will likely ruin the silk on my dress too. It seems like we both are rooting against the rain.”

“We’re nearly there. Not much further. I think there’s a tarp in the back you might be able to use to keep a little dry, but after the rain soaks through it, it won’t be much help. We can keep traveling or we can try to find some cover by the trees, what do you want me to do?”

Belle quickly weighed her options. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to press on. It’s imperative for our kingdom’s future that I go to this ball before it ends. If it does rain, I can compensate you triple for your loss of product, not to mention compensation for helping a princess in severe distress.” He nodded.

Everything was looking up. She can see the outskirts of the city; they were nearly there but the ball was almost over by now. If she could make at least the last hour of the event, her bad luck would certainly change for the better. Just as they entered the city gates the rain started picking up significantly, but it wasn’t too bad, there was still a chance they could make it. She could tell that Rumplestiltskin was determined, he pushed his mule hard the closer they got to the castle as the rain really began to start pouring down.

“Oh no, no, we can’t let you two take the main road into the castle’s entrance,” said the gatekeeper. “You lot are far too unsightly for the royal types to see you.”

“But I’m the princess of the neighboring kingdom. You saw my invitation, I have with me I’m an honoured guest, please...”

“Doesn't matter. I’ll get a whipping if I let you through the main gate in that musty cart. You can take the service and staff road where they park the carriages. I’ll send one of my men ahead of you to let you in through the staff’s quarters. We’ll inform the master that you have arrived.”

“Thank you,” Belle said. While she wanted to argue, they were getting more wet the longer they were outside. Hopefully her dress would make it through the last leg of the journey. Up to then she'd been using the flimsy tarp Rumplestiltskin had given her and even some of the yarn itself to try and stay dry. It seemed to be doing the trick, but she wouldn’t know how she fared until she had to get out of the wagon. She feared the worst.

The sound of lively music and laughter filled her ears as they got closer towards the castle’s staff entrance. Rumplestiltskin was in the process of helping Belle out of the wagon when Gaston himself walked out and stayed under the protection of the awning, just shy of the rain.

“I can’t have you coming in like that, Princess.”

“What, but I’m hardly even wet!” She had just finished getting out of the cart, while Rumple helped her keep her dress away from the mud.

“But you are still wet. Your hair and makeup are a mess, not to mention your dress’s covered in all that filth. It absolutely won’t do. I must ask that you not enter the building. You can wait till the rain lets up, if you must, before you leave.” Gaston went back inside without another word. 

“What is wrong with that brute!” Belle screamed out loud, letting her dress fall in the mud as she rushed to follow after Gaston into the castle, banging at the door for a few moments before giving up. She returned to Rumplestiltskin who was just standing there in the middle of the rain. “I tried and I failed. I’m so sorry. The future of our kingdom is-” She clutched onto the unsuspecting Rumplestiltskin and sobbed deeply into his chest. Her tears mixed with the heavy rainfall as her sobs grew deeper.

It was just her and him, the sound of the rain, her cries, and the music in the background. They stood in the middle of the rain soaked to the bone.  After she finished crying all her tears, the sound of the rain and the party, just a wall away remained. It was such a lovely song playing now, it was her favorite one. She sobbed once more, then looked up at him.

“May I have this dance?”

The two began softly swaying to the music as the rain continued on.

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #rumbelle fic #Round One entry #author: ketchup

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Part 3

For the entire series and the summary, click here

Is anyone reading this? If so, please give me a sign! This is my first time posting a story and I'd love some feedback

Disclaimer: characters, world etc. belong to Sarah j. Maas

----

There is another desert. Great. Simply great. Sometimes, Miryam wonders if fate hates her.

But in a small town on the edge of the sand, a Fae female with a bad cough that she is treating tells her about the human rebels who have set up their camp just on the other side of the sand. The female means it as a warning, but Miryam has to lower her head to hide her smile.

"I mean it", the female insists, "You may be part human, but you are also half Fae and these people won't like that."

This worries Miryam more than she wants to admit. But she swore a vow to save her people and another one to be kind, to help others - and for both, she needs the rebellion.

So she spends her last coins on a camel and sets off.

On the first day, she runs into a pack of Martax and almost gets eaten (again). On the second day, there is a stabbing pain in her lower body. Closer inspection reveals that she is, apparently, on her period. (Of course. Of course she gets her first bleeding while stuck in the middle of a desert. It`s just typical.)

On the third day, she runs out of water. She was supposed to reach an oasis that day, but it is dried out. She guesses it is a side effect of thirst (or maybe of the heat) when she starts seeing strings of light, running through the air and over the ground. She blinks and they are gone.

On the fourth day, she falls asleep in the shadow of a sand dune and wakes up in a small cabin. Miryam jumps to her feet - and slams into a wall of hard air. Around her, there is are symbols drawn on the wooden panels. Forming a perfect circle and trapping her within.

Miryam has seen those symbols before. For a moment, she thinks that she`s still asleep and this is another nightmare. But something tells her this is very real.

"You know", a voice drawls behind her, "this would have been much easier for you if you had stayed unconscious.

Miryam spins around and comes face to face with a High Fae female. In her hands, she holds an ancient-looking book bound in black leather.

The female is a witch

Fear shoots through Miryam. This can't be happening. Not when she was so close to reaching the rebellion. For a moment, Miryam thinks that she sees the strings of light again, wrapping around the witch, running through the air. But they vanish as quickly as they appeared

The witch raises her hands and smiles at Miryam. "You should consider it an honour, girl. Your life will be used for something greater."

Miryam doesn't beg for mercy. She knows there won't be any and spent her entire life on her knees - she won't die that way, too.

The witch begins chanting

Miryam can feel the magic, wrapping around her body. Burning, searing. (This is what her mother must have felt in her last moments). She raises her hands, like she might ward of the looming death.

The lights are back. Strings of light, wrapping around her. Miryam pushes against them and something inside her rises up, up, up.

Burning pain.

Her body is on fire. It hurts. Hurts so badly she thinks she may be dying. She leans to the sides and retches up blood.

Somehow, she manages to sit up.

Around her, the house is reduced to cinders. Where the witch stood, there is nothing but a pile of ashes on the ground. The book is still there, untouched, but everything else is destroyed. But the strings of light are still there, fainter but clearly visible.

It is impossible. Miryam should be dead - worse than dead.

She wants to laugh, but she only manages a broken sob. She knows enough about witches from her time in Ravenia's court to understand what it means that the female is dead and she is still alive. What those strings of light mean and why they appeared just when she bled for the first time.

Miryam is a witch.

It has to be some kind of sick joke by whoever decides these things - maybe the Cauldron. She has seen such unspeakable horrors inflicted by witches and witchers - on humans, on her people - and she...

Stumbling, Miryam gets to her feet. She doesn’t know why, but she takes the book when she staggers outside. (Maybe she knows it is too dangerous to just be left lying around. Or maybe some small part of her understands that she will still need it.)

Through some stroke of luck, the stable is still standing and inside, she finds her camel standing next to two horses. The animals look up when she enters. They stand frozen, staring at her.

She puts the book into the saddle bag next to the one on healing. It feels wrong, death and life together. The animals still watch at her, without an inch of fear. It`s not natural. But Miryam once heard that witches can talk to animals. Maybe it is true, after all. She unties the horses.

"Go north", she tells them, "that's the way out of the desert." Then, she climbs into her camel's saddle.

She decides right then and there that those powers might be evil, but she is not. And she won't use them. Not now and not ever. So she locks them away, right alongside all that pain and the memories she cannot face, the past she chose to leave behind

(Years later, Miryam will look back and wonder what would have happened if she had chosen differently. If it would have saved her all the pain that later came with realising that there is no way to lock away parts of yourself forever - or if it would have broken her to face these things right there.)

During the following days, she begins to understand that choosing that she doesn't want to be a witch doesn't mean that she stops being one. The strings are everywhere. She doesn't understand what they mean, but they. Drive. Her. Crazy. Then, there are the animals. Snakes, hares, even bugs - all of them suddenly approach her without an inch of fear.

"Go away!", Miryam yells at them, "I don't want this!" But if they do understand, they certainly don't listen.

Finally, burning sand gives way to soft grass and trees. Miryam ties her camel to a tree and runs her fingers through the grass. She smiles. Now, she just has to find the rebellion, then everything will be fine.

She takes the rest of her food out of the saddle bag and sits down, back leaning against a boulder. Just as she is about to take a bite of the hard cheese, the forest around her goes silent. Miryam is on her feet, knife in her hand, in a second. Quickly, she climbs onto the boulder.

Three Naga burst into the clearing. There is a dark shimmer around them, like an aura. The first Naga takes a step forward - and collapses, the tip of an arrow pointing out of his throat. An Ash arrow.

Another arrow goes flying and hits a second Naga in the shoulder. The faeries whirl, snarling, just as three people appear out of the bushes. Two men, one woman.

And all of them human.

The Naga, surprisingly, don't stand a chance. A few seconds and they are all dead. One of the human men, old enough that his blond hair is already streaked with gray, is down as well with a nasty slice over his stomach. His companion, brown-haired and handsome, kneels next to him, while the woman now has an arrow pointed at Miryam

"What is a pretty little faerie like you doing here?", she asks sharply.

But the brown-haired man looks up. His eyes slide from Miryam's face to her arm, where here sleeve slid up to reveal the brand on her arm. His eyes widen slightly, but his tone is light as he says: "You know, Tia, sometimes you can be shockingly blind. Can't you see that she is partially human?"

He stands up und jerks his head at the woman - Tia - who lowers her bow and takes his place at the injured man's side.

"Are you going to come down from that rock, or do you need me to help you?", he asks mockingly.

Miryam scowls at him and clims down. Her camel is pulling at its rope, but as soon as she puts a hand on its side, it calms down.

"Thank you. For your help", she says.

"You`re welcome. Although I do wonder what you are doing here. This isn't the safest region." He is younger than Miryam thought at first, five years older than her at most

"I survived worse”, she says.

The man glances at the brand on her arm again. "I can imagine."

But Miryam's attention goes to the injured man, who is now groaning in pain. "Someone needs to take care of that wound or he won't live another hour”, she says and starts searching her saddle back for her supplies

"You know anything of it?", Tia asks, but her eyes are full of hope

Miryam nods and kneels next to the injured, inspecting the wound. "I need some water", she says and Tia goes running

"I was looking for the rebellion", Miryam adds, in answer to the man's earlier question, "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, I most certainly do. I just happen to be the leader of this particular group." He sketches a mocking bow. "Jurian, at your service."

----

Note: Like I said, more action this time. Miryam being a witch (or having any power at all) is not canon, but this headcanon is a particular favourite of mine and it doesn't contradict any of the information we have on her. Actually, there are some hints about her having certain abilities that I might just do a post on later

The next part will be about the beginnings of the War in other places: In the Night Court, Rhysand's father visits his son in the Illyrian camps for the first time in centuries and on the Continent, tensins are running high while Prince Drakon tries to deal with the fallout of his broken engagement

Edit: It just occurred to me that I don't think I ever specify Jurian's age later on (kind of forgot, oops), so I just wanted to make it clear here that he is NOT actually five years older than Miryam. I thought they'd have an age gap of 1.5-2 years, no more.

#miryam #drakon #jurian #morrigan #mor #before the wall #the war

[mersuperwholocked-lowlife]

10 Hours

Word Count: 1,456

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sister!Winchester, some random demon

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Enjoy!

Masterlist

You stood there by the crossroads, alone. No Sam, no Dean. All alone, standing there, freezing as tears streamed down your face. How could this have happened?

3 Months Ago……

You ran into the bunker, trying to get to your room. You knew what was about to happen.

“Stop right there.”, Dean spoke coldly.

You froze in your steps.

“Dean.”, Sam warned.

“No. Tell me, (Y/N), what happened out there.”, Dean asked.

You hesitated, feeling your body heat up.

“I-I missed my shot. A-And the victim’s d-dead.”, you stuttered quietly.

“(Y/N), you can go to your room, we can talk about this tomorrow.”, Sam interrupted.

“No! We do this now. (Y/N), you screwed up. This entire thing is all your fault. And now the victim is dead. All because you missed your shot.”, Dean said.

You looked down to your feet, not wanting to look up. Not wanting your brother's to see your face.

“(Y/N), look at me.”, Dean said.

You continued to look down.

“(Y/F/N) Winchester! Look at me when I talk to you!”, Dean yelled at you, causing you to jump back.

“Dean! Enough! (Y/N), it wasn’t your fault. It happens.”, Sam tried to calm Dean down.

“I-I know I screwed up.”, you said.

“How could you be so fucking stupid, (Y/N)?! All you ever do is just screw up everything, ket people killed, what the fuck is your problem?! Why are you such a burden!?”, he yelled at you.

Your eyes started watering, but you quickly wiped them away.

“Dean! Don’t act like you’re so perfect either! We’ve all screwed up before!”, Sam yelled at Dean.

You were tired of this. All of this. Dean constantly yelling at you, Sam always having to calm him down. It was a constant cycle. It seemed like the last time you were al happy was years ago.

“(Y/N), I raised you to be better than this.”, Dean spat, ignoring Sam.

Those words hit you. Memories of John yelling at you, hurting you, abandoning you. Dean said he would always be there for you, kinda hard to believe now.

“I know, Dean. I screwed up! Like I always do! It’s my specialty now, right?”, you said back, voice shaky.

“(Y/N), that’s not true. Dean’s just mad, We’re all tired and upset right now. Okay? Let’s all just take a minute to cool off.” Sam tried again, to calm down Dean, failing. It seemed to only make him madder.

“No, Sammy. Dean’s right. Maybe I just need to stop hunting for some time.”, you said.

“Stop hunting?! You should be training harder!”, Dean yelled at you.

“No. That’s it.”, you said, exhaling.

“What do you mean, that’s it? You’re not gonna give up!”, Dean yelled once more.

“No! That’s it! I’m tired of this! All of this! I’m leaving, okay? I’ll leave, then you and Sam can finally get rid of your burden.”, you yelled.

“Fine. Leave. Door’s right there.”, Dean motioned to the door.

“What? No! (Y/N), don’t leave. We can figure something out.”, Sam tried to make you stay.

Ignoring him and Dean, you grabbed walked to the door.

“(Y/N), please. Don’t go.”, Sam begged.

“Bye.”, you said shakily, shutting the door behind you.

-----

Present time

“Come on, demon bitch! I’m right here! Come on!”, you yelled at the air.

“Might wanna quiet down, Winchester, people might hear you.”, you heard a female voice from behind you, who flashed their eye’s black.

“Where’s Crowley?”, you asked.

“The king isn’t just your puppet that you can play with. You summoned a demon, a demon you have.”, she curtsied in front of you.

“Save Dean.”, you said.

“No.”, she replied.

“No? What do you mean, no!? You’re supposed to be here to fulfill my services!”, you yelled.

“Normally, yeah, But you’re a Winchester. And you’re asking me to save a Winchester? That kinda puts a dent in my reputation.”, she smirked.

“Please. I’ll give you anything.10 years? You can have me. Please.”, you begged.

“10 years?! That’ll be enough for you Winchesters to sneak your way out of our deal. No.”, she said simply.

“10 months!?”, you begged.

“Nope.”

“10 days?!”, you begged again.

“My, my! You must be desperate. What could’ve happened?!”, the demon asked.

------

3 Days ago

“Sammy, why are you calling me?”, you picked up your phone, annoyed.

It had been nearly 3 months since you left your brothers. You were practically on the verge of surviving.

“(Y/N), we need your help on a hunt,” Sam said.

“No. Sammy, I don’t hunt anymore,” you replied.

“(Y/N), please! We really need you!”, he exclaimed.

“Really, I thought I was just a burden.”, you said back.

“That was Dean talking, not me. Just, please. Help us.”, Sam begged.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to say no.

“Ughm fine! Where is it anyway?”, you asked.

“Erm, about 30 minutes away from you…”, Sam’s voice drifted off.

“30 minutes?! You’ve been tracking me!? Sammy!”, you yelled in frustration.

“Well, I’m sorry for not wanting my baby sister to be lost in the world! I’ve been worried sick about you.”, Sam said.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. I’ll be there soon.”, you hung up, grabbing your bags.

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

2 Hours Ago

“No! Dean!”, Sam’s yells echoed throughout the warehouse.

He turned at shot the gun into the wolves heart.

You watched him as he collapsed to the ground.

The two of you ran to him.

“Dean, stay with us.”, Sam held his body tightly.

“Sammy, we need to get him to the hospital. Now. Look at his injuries. He won’t make it.”, you said, eyes watering.

“O-Okay, let’s go.”, he said.

“No, you go. I’ll come after. I need to clean up all of this.”, you said.

“Okay.”, was all he could say, running off with your brother.

You didn’t want this to happen. You knew Dean wasn’t okay. You knew he was mad at you, but that didn’t matter. He was still your big brother, and you still loved him. You knew what you needed to do.

-----------

Present time

“I’ll give you 10 hours.”, she said.

“10 hours!?”, you yelled in disbelief.

“10 hours! Take it or leave it, Winchester.

You froze. You knew you would never forgive yourself if Dean died.

“O-Okay, Deal.”, you said quietly.

“Good, now, let’s seal the deal.”, she smirked.

---------

You ran to the hospital as quick as you could.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m looking for my brothers, Sam and Dean?”, you asked.

“Sure, just checked in, down the hall.”, the doctor led you.

You quickly ran to them.

“Dean.”, you exhaled, relieved to see your brother okay.

“(Y/N), what the hell did you do?!”, he yelled.

“Dean, can we just take a moment? You’re okay!”, you said, eyes watering.

“(Y/N), answer me.”, he said softly.

You looked down.

“No, not this again. Please, (Y/N), please.”, you said, holding his shoulders.

You looked up at him, crying.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”, you said shakily.

“(Y/N), how long do you have left?” Sam asked. You could tell he was crying.

“9 more…”, you voice faded, as you held back a sob.

“9 what, (Y/N)? Years? Months?”, Sam asked, holding back a sob.

“H-Hours.”, you sobbed, you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“N-No.” Dean cried.

“I-I’m sorry, D-Dean.”, you cried.

“(Y/N), I’m the one who should be sorry. I was so terrible to you.”, Dean chocked.

“I-I just wanted you to be okay.”, you said in between sobs.

“(Y/N), we can’t live without you.”, Sam cried.

“And I can’t live without you either! I can’t be alive when you guys aren’t!”, you cried.

“(Y/N), we’ll figure something out, like we always do. We’ll summon Crowley. Or Cas. They’ll know what to you.”, Dean said.

“No, It’s too late. Dean, these are my last hours with you guys. Please. Let’s go do something. Anything. Just not here.”, you begged.

The three of you left, all still crying, never letting go of each other.

They stayed next to you all night. Never letting you go.

When it was time, they let you go. You slowly walked out of the bunker. You could hear the barking.

“(Y-Y/N) stay with us.”, Dean cried.

“Please, Dean. I don’t want you to see this. Please.”. You cried.

You left both of them at the bunker, walking away.

You could hear the barking increase,

“Goodbye, Sammy, Goodbye, Dean. I love you.”, you said as you waited for the wolves to come.

“I love you, (Y/N).”, Dean said, waiting by the bunker, crying.

“D-Dean, we’re gonna fix this. We’re gonna being (Y/N) back.”, Sam said.

“We’re gonna bring her back.”

(Posted at 9:59 PM on May 1, 2019)

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural family #SUPERNATURAL SPOILERS #supernatural angst #SPN #spn fic #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfic #spn angst #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!Reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester angst #sam winchester imagine #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister!Reader #sister winchester #winchester sister #spn sister winchester angst #angst #sister!winchester

[emospritelet]

Prompt: Dark Heart AU where Belle calls Gold and tells him she's pregnant

I knew I had this prompt somewhere! Okay so this has been sitting in my inbox since June 2018. Imagine the past timeline in the original story deviating around chapter 25 into this one. Hopefully that means they’ll sort their crap out more quickly.

Please send me a prompt from this list (I already have prompts 7, 13, 27, 31, 48 and 78) or this list (I have prompts 8, 11, 14, 22, 24, 39 and 45) 

[AO3 link]

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Storybrooke in March was gloomy and cold, the sky iron-grey and oppressive with snow giving way to sleet and drizzle, and the sidewalks just icy enough to be treacherous underfoot. It meant that few people ventured out unless they were working, or grocery-shopping. It also meant that no one was likely to come to the pawn shop unless they were particularly punctual with rent payments. That suited Alexander Gold just fine; he wasn’t in the mood for company. It was unlikely that he ever would be. And so he spent his days holed up in the back room of the shop, cleaning and restoring antiques with meticulous care. Anything to keep his mind from present pain and past regrets.

The heavy ticking of clocks was drifting through from the shop as he sat there, hunched over his workbench like a hideous imp concocting an evil spell. The silver music box sitting on a square of chamois leather was a new acquisition, bought as a job lot in an estate sale and pulled from the bottom of a box of mismatched crockery, the newspaper around it showing a date of forty-odd years ago. It must have lain unwanted and unloved for decades, awaiting the attention of one who could see its value. He pressed a gentle fingertip against the dusky pink velvet inside, stroking softly. It was tarnished and broken, but he could see the beauty there, waiting to be revealed with time and tender touches. Once cleaned up and cared for, it would be a breathtaking piece.

He straightened up, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up before using his sleeve garters to push the black silk shirt further up his wrists and out of the way. The leather apron hanging by the bench went on next, hands tying it behind as he studied the music box, mentally running through his plan for the restoration. The buzz of the phone in his pocket made him frown, and he stepped back on one foot and fished it out, brows lowering at an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence.

“Hello?” he repeated, more tersely.

Nothing. Gold’s frown deepened, and he checked the number. No one he knew. He opened his mouth to speak again, and there was a click as the line cut out, making him shrug. Probably one of those stupid robot calls trying to sell him legal services. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, sitting back down and gently pulling the music box towards him.

He barely noticed the day passing, caught up in the delicate nature of his task, long steel tweezers gently prising apart the workings to remove a broken screw and a damaged cog that had been preventing the mechanism from turning. He smiled to himself as the cog came loose, lifting it gently aside and laying it on the chamois. Looking it over with an eyeglass, he could see where three of the teeth bent inwards, and where one had broken off completely. It would take time and patience to fix, and his smile widened. This was turning into exactly the sort of project he had hoped for.

By six p.m. it was already dusk, and Gold locked up his shop, walking to his car with his usual steady, limping stride. The wind was trying to get through his overcoat, and he shivered a little, pushing his chin down into his collar. The cold seeped into his leg, too, the old injury to his ankle causing him enough agony to steal his rest and sap his strength and patience. He supposed it was a reminder of what little humanity he had left, a painful shard of reality cutting through the numbing cloak of bitterness he wrapped around himself. At least he hadn’t completely forgotten how to feel.

His phone buzzed again, making him roll his eyes, but he tugged at the fingers of his leather glove with his teeth, stuffing the glove in his pocket and retrieving the phone before swiping the screen to answer it.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence. Gold frowned, glancing at the screen as he reached the Cadillac. An unfamiliar number, and one which he thought had called earlier that day.

“Hello?” he said impatiently. “Is someone there?”

Nothing but a doleful click as the caller hung up. He growled under his breath, shoving the phone back in his pocket and wrenching at the car door. Either a telemarketer or some local kids deciding it would be fun to prank him. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood. He drove home, the relative calm he had experienced in his shop evaporating and leaving him as hollow and cold as he had been when he woke up that morning.

He passed the florist’s shop on the way, the usual buckets of bright blooms locked inside, the lights off and the shutters down. Moe French never stayed open past five-thirty. Not since Belle had left town. His jaw clenched as a memory of her pushed its way into his mind. Beautiful blue eyes smiling up at him, dark hair spread out on his pillows. Soft red lips begging to be kissed. The memory changed, her sweet, inviting smile turning into something flat and emotionless, her eyes as cold and hard as a frozen lake as she mouthed the words that came to him over and over as he lay sleepless in the dark of night. You’re a disappointment. And I wish I’d never met you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, snapping them open again as he remembered he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the road. The sky was almost fully dark now, Rain had begun to fall, the front end of a storm blowing up from the south. He wondered if it had passed through Boston. If it had passed over Belle.

The rain was just turning to sleet as he pulled into his driveway, and he made his way carefully up the steps and into the house, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth rolled over him. The house was silent but for the ticking of clocks, and he took off his coat and hurried to the lounge to put on some music. It was strange how the house was too quiet now. Once he would have revelled in the fact that he would be alone and undisturbed, able to concentrate on a good book and an excellent glass of wine and be assured of no visitors to disturb his peace. When had that changed? When had solitude become loneliness?

Realising that he knew the answer to that question, right down to the hour, he decided to distract himself with a glass of wine and the preparation of dinner. After inspecting the contents of his fridge and discounting a number of ideas, he took some mushrooms, along with a carton of cream, and began peeling some garlic. The buzzing of his phone made him sigh, and he dropped the garlic cloves and wiped his fingers on his apron before pulling the phone from his pocket. His eyes narrowed at the number on the screen.

“Hello?”

Yet again, there was silence. Gold was losing patience.

“Hello?” he snapped.

More silence, and he sighed in frustration.

“Look, who is this?” he demanded. “Might I say that this silent treatment is extremely tedious? Any stalker worth their salt would at least try some fucking heavy breathing, or something.”

There was a whisper of sound then, a noise so small and brief he wasn’t sure he had heard it. A muffled noise, as though someone had put a hand over their own mouth. He licked his lips, his heart thumping as something that was equal parts hope and terror flared inside him.

“Belle?”

He breathed her name, barely audible as it ghosted from his lips, not believing she would answer. There had been all too many dreams in which she had returned, after all. Too many nights when he had rewritten their last meeting in his head, when he had not pushed her away like the coward he was, when he had not broken her heart along with his own.

There was no further sound on the end of the line, and his eyes closed, bitter disappointment flooding through him. Of course it isn’t her. Why would it be her? You wanted her to leave and not return, and you were as vicious as you could be in order to make that happen. What the fuck did you expect?

He opened his eyes, swallowing down a brief, tearing spike of pain and letting cold flood through him once more, numbing him from within. It was probably just kids messing around. The sound of a breath catching, as though the caller was trying not to laugh, made his eyes narrow.

“I’ve made a note of the number that comes up on my phone,” he said coldly. “I don’t know why the hell you’re calling me, but—”

“I had to!”

Her voice, high and frightened, made his mouth fall open.

“Belle?” he whispered. A sob burst from her and was quickly stifled. “Belle, is that you?”

“Yes!”

The word was tiny, squeaked out and cut off, as though she was afraid of him. Afraid of his reaction. He licked his lips, his heart racing.

“Are you - are you in trouble?”

She laughed at that, but there was no mirth in the sound, only a high-pitched sort of desperation.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “God, I don’t even know why I’m calling you. It’s not like you care, you made that very clear!”

“Then why are you calling?” he asked, trying for coldness again. “I was pretty sure we’d said everything there was to say.”

“God, you’re such a bastard!” she wept. “Why did this have to happen to me? Why did it happen with you?”

“Why did what happen?” he snapped.

“I’m pregnant!” she shouted.

It was as though someone had punched him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, his heart a heavy, solid ball of pain in the middle of his chest.

“What?” he whispered, and she began crying again.

“I’m pregnant,” she whimpered.

Gold sat down on one of the kitchen chairs with a thump. Music was still playing in the lounge, the sound of strings and woodwinds drifting through, their calming strains in direct contrast to the thumping of his heart and the ringing in his ears.

“It’s been months,” he said numbly.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking, unsteady. “The baby’s due on May fifth.”

His mind did a hurried calculation from their last encounter. From the time he had fucked her in his shop with all the rage and passion he could muster. From the time she had destroyed him with cutting words and utter disdain. He swallowed hard, his throat sticking, dry and painful.

“And you’re sure it’s mine, are you?”

There was a moment of tense, awful silence. She had stopped crying.

“How dare you,” she said coldly, and hung up.

His jaw tightened, and he glared at the phone screen, bringing up the call history to find her number and dialling it. The phone rang, but went to voicemail, and he felt his nostrils flare. He tried twice more, but wherever Belle was, she wasn’t picking up. Not for him, anyway. He sent a text message, a curt one-liner asking her to call, and ran a hand over his face, thinking hard. Pregnant. She’s pregnant. What the hell are you gonna do now, you fucking idiot?

“Fuck!” he growled, slamming a fist into his thigh and relishing the brief pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It had been seven months since they had broken up, seven months in which he had retreated into the darkness, buried himself in work and tried not to think about what he had lost. She had left for college in Boston, left with a handsome young man in a shining red sports car, and he had assumed that would be the last he saw of her. Oh, he had grown nervous around Christmas time, thinking that perhaps she would return to visit her father, and had avoided the florist’s shop as much as he could, dreading the prospect of seeing her on the arm of her boyfriend, happy and radiant and out of his reach. To his knowledge, though, she had not come. He hadn’t had the courage to question her father about it when he came to pay the rent, but Moe French had nonetheless let slip some snide comment about how happy she was with her new lover. He had tried not to let the words pierce his soul. It was what he had wanted, after all. It was what she deserved.

Pushing to his feet, he retrieved his glass of wine and abandoned the cooking, heading for his study and turning on his computer. He doubted she would say the baby was his without being sure of it, but he needed certainty. He had been burned before, had failed to claim what was his with devastating results, and he would never make the same mistake again. There was no way he would let this child slip through his fingers, which meant that he would need to see Belle again. It meant that he would have to swallow what remained of his pride and his shattered heart and build a bridge between them, however difficult that might be. It meant a trip to Boston.

#prissyhalliwell #fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle