#charlie rose ten fingers ten toes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angstyaches · 3 years

Note

okay but i’m in love with the concept of bamf! Charlie and vulnerable! Shayne could i have some of that please?? 🍄

WHoa, look who finally got back to posting fics. I edited it SO MUCH, so there are probably inconsistencies, but I literally cannot look at it anymore.

Takes place a few days after Frost/Bite.

CW: nausea, panic, supernatural elements, possession, body sharing, slight possessiveness (maybe? could be interpreted like that?)

Shayne gulped and tried to breathe, tried to situate himself properly in his surroundings. He hadn’t imagined he would reunite with Charlie in a place like this; an abandoned section of railway ten minutes outside of the town, where Elliott said Nancy often came out to practice enchantments and where Ryan sometimes took the boys to practice combat and hunting techniques. In a way, it was like the Aldridge’s backyard, despite being nowhere near the townhouse itself.

He hadn’t imagined reuniting with Charlie much at all, really, since the idea alone was enough to make his lungs feel like they were collapsing. And now that the time had come, his stomach was twisting, and his body was trembling and cold, and there was no room left in him for anything else.

“You doing okay, buddy?” Felix asked.

Shayne groaned and kicked the toe of his boot against the metal railing at the edge of the train track. Flakes of rust dropped away into the frost.

“You’re excited to see your friend, right?”

“Excited?” Shayne looked up, searching Felix’s face for any hint of sarcasm. “Should I be excited?”

“Sure? Maybe?” Felix glanced at Elliott, whose face made it clear that he didn’t intend to get involved. Felix’s own face made it clear that he regretted opening his mouth at all. “You want to see Charlie, right?”

“Yeah.” Shayne swallowed and shifted his feet in the icy grass. “I just – I feel sick, more than anything else.”

“Well, what did you devour a demon for, when you knew you were gonna be seeing Charlie soon?” Elliott snapped, losing hold of his stoic silence. “Is there a brain in that head of yours, or is it just vapours?”

Shayne gulped and tried not to visualise the entity’s soul that was currently being squeezed into the other dimension by his insides. He spent most of his waking hours trying not to visualise this, but anxiety and panic made it harder to distract himself. He’d hunted that demon in preparation for this specific day, but now, the pain – coupled with the apprehension – was rendering him unbearably nauseous, and he was starting to wonder if it had even been worth the effort.

“I don’t know what to say to him, after – after everything that’s happened.”

Elliott hummed pointedly. “I’d start by apologising for that shit you said outside his house, when you didn’t know he was listening.”

“I don’t think anything you’re saying is helpful, Elli,” Felix grimaced.

“I also tried to eat him.”

Felix cleared his throat. “I’m sorry; what?”

“Mmhmm, twice.” Shayne paced back and forth in front of the two of them, slowing when the frantic movement made his stomach cramp. “Once as Charlie Two, and once as just Charlie.”

“Hey, that…” Felix chuckled. “I’m sure that sounds worse than it –”

“I tried to chew off his hand.”

“O-kay,” Felix sang, drawing out the O as he mashed his gloved palms together.

“Either way, I think he just pulled up,” Elliott pointed out, nodding towards the slope in the hill. Next to the Aldridge’s car was Trevor Waters’ green Fiat.

And in the end, everything happened too fast.

Shayne wished he could remember the moment he saw Charlie get out of his car and come towards him. If his heart skipped a beat upon being scooped into an embrace, he couldn’t recall. All he knew was that suddenly he had a face full of Charlie’s jacket, and a head full of the smell of him, and a hollow clawing in his stomach that he couldn’t quite put a name to.

At least he was sure it wasn’t hunger this time.

After what could have been moments or hours, Charlie pulled back to look at Shayne’s face. He hadn’t gelled his hair up, so it was hanging like a clump of soft yellow feathers across his forehead.

His eyes, though, were darkened by something, and that initial haziness fell away as quickly as snow sliding from a tree branch. Shayne swallowed and lowered his gaze to the collar of Charlie’s denim jacket, to the coating of artificial fur inside his hood.

“Something’s wrong,” Charlie breathed. “Isn’t it? Look at me.”

Shayne flinched at the feeling of a hand on his cheek. The jolt of fear was followed by hot, scalding anger; all he’d done for months was long for Charlie to be close to him, and now that he was, his body was doing nothing but betraying him. He shut his eyes, feeling close to tears, but he didn’t know if they would be tears of relief or fear or frustration.

“Shayne, please.”

His gaze flicked up for just a second, before he glanced away again. The temperature of Charlie’s hand seemed to drop, and his hold tightened.

“I’m – Charlie, I’m fine –”

“Shayne.”

Gulping against the second swell of fear in as many moments, Shayne felt his face guided again by Charlie’s grasp. Charlie’s eyes moved back and forth between his; what Shayne saw in them was not the softness he’d come to recognise, but an abject kind of fear.

Like Charlie was staring down something from one of his own night terrors.

“You devoured a demon?”

It was barely a question.

Shayne swore that a deep shadow – a shadow with its own face and its own voice and its own touch – slithered across Charlie’s face, settling in the iris of his left eye, spreading like an oil spill in the dazzling blue.

Charlie’s fingers began to slip the longer Shayne didn’t reply, didn’t deny what he’d been accused of. He practically flung Shayne’s face out of his grip.

“You – you’re still devouring demons? You’ve been…”

Shayne felt his lips start to tremble; all he wanted in the world was for Charlie to stop, to just please stop looking at me like I’m a monster –

“You came here to – I mean, I thought you came here to get away from all that.”

“I-I did, I –”

“You took yourself out of school, away from Mulberry, away from… everything.” Charlie laid a hand on his own chest at this; the back of his hand was pocked with the shadows of darkened veins, of something else coming through. “I thought it was so you wouldn’t have to do this anymore?”

The nausea Shayne had been fighting so hard to keep under control suddenly had a dark, burning grip. The look on Charlie’s face was enough for Shayne to be sure that his stomach was going to turn. He was used to being the object of someone else’s disgust, but he’d never prepared himself for this, for Charlie to –

“Charlie…” As he said the name, Shayne saw that shadowy chasm in Charlie’s left eye deepen. The fear finally churned Shayne’s stomach and made his hair bristle. “C-CT,” he stammered.

“Was it you two?” Charlie demanded, turning on Elliott and Felix. “Was it you two, or your foster parents? Motherfucking bloodsuckers, who did this? Fucking answer me!”

Stop, Shayne needed to say. He needed to tell Charlie that this was all on him, he’d made the decision himself, that the Aldridges weren’t to blame. But the words caught in his throat, the dread felt like a weight in his stomach, and the tormenting thoughts came in like a wave.

Doesn’t he know? This is what I am.

This is what I’m for.

This is all I’ll ever –

It wasn’t until a trembling started, in the ground and in his bones, that Shayne snapped himself out of it and realised what was happening. The tracks groaned under the pressure suddenly being shot through the wood and metal, as though an invisible train was suddenly hurtling towards them.

“Charlie,” Felix was saying softly, proceeding with his palms outstretched in front of Elliott, whose fists were tightly drawn by his sides. “Listen, we – we care about Shayne just as much as –”

“Quiet,” came a steady cry that seemed to penetrate the logic of regular sound and reverberate through the air. “You bastards only see him as a tool, don’t you? Just like the Devines.”

“N-no,” Felix blurted out, never taking his widening eyes off of Charlie. “That’s not – that’s not true at all…”

The ground beneath Charlie’s feet swirled with sickeningly black darkness. The fingers of his left hand curled outward like chipped, grey branches, clutching at the air as though they were directly gripping something.

A sharp crack made Shayne jump, made his knees tremble, and he realised a plank of wood built into the train tracks had splintered and buckled upwards. Felix seemed to notice it too, and he took another step back, drawing Elliott with him. Shayne’s breath quivered as he sidestepped another plank as it warped and snapped, until he finally knocked the heel of his boot on the rusted iron rail and sent himself stumbling.

He almost caught himself, but then his legs finally sagged and he let himself sink to the ground, clutching the railing with one hand and his stomach with the other.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t your body. This isn’t –

“I took him to the forest so he could devour a demon.”

Shayne’s eyes widened as he heard Elliott speak up. He looked up to see that Charlie’s attention had snapped around to focus on the taller of the Aldridges. Felix’s body sagged slightly, and he lightly clutched at Elliott’s arm.

“Speak,” Charlie and CT snapped, and a wisp of their deep grey fog rose in front of Elliott’s face.

“I took him out to the forest the day before yesterday,” Elliott went on. His face deepened into a frown as his neck and shoulders rolled lightly, mirroring the twist of CT’s curved fingers. His eyes met Shayne’s briefly. “So he could hunt. I also took blood from him.”

Shayne physically flinched on the ground; he couldn’t think of a single reason to reveal that to Charlie, especially at this particular moment. He hugged his stomach, saliva building in his mouth as cold sweat coated his skin.

“You took his blood?” Charlie’s voice trembled with anger and surprise. “You really have no idea how afraid you should be of me, bloodsucker. You have no idea how far I will go to keep him safe from abominations like you.”

“I needed to,” Elliott grunted, his voice heightening. “To… to get us back home. The snow had gotten us lost and I was so weak, and he was – he was in pain and he was freezing, and I could barely keep my head up. I was so dizzy, and he was so –”

Elliott was spilling out the explanation with seemingly little-to-no control, for someone who usually liked to get right to the point.

“He… he needed my help, and I needed his,” Elliott choked out weakly.

Shayne realised it must have been Charlie forcing the truth out of him. Usually, even using his telekinesis around other people made Charlie nervous. And yet, this…

This.

This was his Charlie.

“Ch-Charlie, stop,” Shayne whimpered. His heart clenched and his stomach flipped over again as that gaze was turned on him, CT’s eye burning like black coals leaking smoke, and Charlie’s eye weeping furious tears.

Both, he realised, were prepared to kill for him.

“Elliott, he – he didn’t… I asked him to take me out there,” Shayne whimpered, barely resisting the urge to curl in on himself. “It was m-my decision, and it was – it was probably a stupid one, but that’s the truth.”

His heart pounded as Charlie considered him. Shayne was practically cowering on the ground, but he had the feeling Charlie was taller than he usually was. CT’s demonic fingers were still twitching and curling by his side, causing the pressure in the ground to come through the metal railing and into Shayne’s spine.

“I don’t believe you,” Charlie said. “I can’t believe you.”

Cold fear coursed through Shayne’s gut. “It’s the truth,” he whispered again.

“Why – why would you?” Charlie’s voice almost back at the same level as it always was. Slowly, the black flames began to lick a little higher around his legs, the sunken form of CT’s skull seeping through to the left side of his face.

“I-I –”

Charlie dropped to a crouch and clutched the opposite railing with his branch-like fingers. The metal creaked and the wood began to warp again, closing in around Shayne’s legs like weathered, splintering snakes.

“How could you?”

“I –”

“You left me behind,” Charlie growled, “so you wouldn’t have to do that, unless you LEFT ME BEHIND FOR NOTHING –”

“No.” Shayne found himself shrinking back, arms wrapped around his waist, trembling with the fear of what was inside him; of what he was to the creature standing in front of him. “The last – last time we were alone together, I – I almost hurt you.”

Shayne felt like the rest of the world was being warped as Charlie leaned forward, pressing down on the tracks with both hands now.

“You devoured a demon before seeing me,” Charlie said, “so you wouldn’t be tempted. So you wouldn’t hurt me?”

The irony was not lost on Shayne as he attempted to hold himself together, feeling like his entire body could shatter under the intensity of that gaze.

The darkness spiked up through Charlie’s face, dragging his hair back with it. “Shayne, when you hurt yourself, you hurt me. That’s how this works.”

“How...” Shayne’s teeth chattered, his breath hitched. “How what works?”

The tracks stopped groaning, and the shadows sank back from Charlie’s eye sockets.

“When you love someone, asshole.”

Shayne’s chest ached as though he’d just been punched, no room left in his lungs for air. His stomach twisted into a knot that only eased up slightly when he felt the first tears start to roll down his face.

“I… I-I love… I love you, too.”

Charlie blinked, the chasm of CT’s control retreating again as his hair fell softly over his forehead. “Shayne…”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Charlie,” Shayne whimpered. “All I wanted to do was keep you safe and this was the only thing I could think of – I’m sorry that this is all I am, this is all I’m ever going to be good for, and it’s the only thing I can do…”

Shayne was shivering as he curled in on his own body. He was so focused on trying to breathe deeply enough for his lungs to stop aching, that he didn’t realise he’d sunk forward, pressing his forehead against the wooden tracks that no longer vibrated with demonic energy. Over the sound of the sobs that were catching in his throat, he heard words being exchanged.

“Shayne, I’m – oh my god, shit. Um, hey, it’s okay…”

“This - this is - this is all I can do,” Shayne choked out between hitched breaths, no longer sure if he was telling Charlie, or himself.

“It’s alright, man, it’s not just you,” Elliott muttered. “He’s been a fucking wreck the last few days.”

“You, um, need a hand, getting him to your car?” Felix asked.

“No, I’ve got him.” Charlie’s voice soft and careful. A hand - soft, warm, human - rested on the back of Shayne’s head, fingers combing through his hair. “Just give us a minute.”

“I’m sorry,” Shayne whispered through clenched teeth, shivering as Charlie’s touch sent warm shivers over his skin. He nudged his head against the hand, eventually following it upwards so that he was looking Charlie in the eye again. He was dizzy and even more nauseous than before, but he forced himself to focus as Charlie brushed a thumb against his cheek.

“Hi,” Charlie whispered.

“Hey.” Shayne directed his breathless, trembling energy into a half-smile, which made Charlie’s blue eyes light up.

“Miss me?” Charlie let out a self-conscious chuckle as he asked the question, but it hit Shayne in the gut.

He winced and leaned his cheek into Charlie’s hand again. “Every fucking day.”

#Swallow the World #Shayne #Charlie #idk how to tag this #whump #nausea #plot #sickfic #kind of #fantasy sickfic #angst fic #shayne being a dumbass #Charlie Two #demonic possession

39 notes · View notes

queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Good to be Back

Oh, look. Callie started talking. Because I’ve never had over-eager muses before. :P Just a little something about her favorite hobby until I’m more familiar with the lore ;)

---

Normally coming home was a relief. The promise of quiet after one of their missions, having time for the adrenaline to fade and her heart rate settle back to normal was a good thing. But today Callie couldn’t stop pacing.

And there was no outlet around the house for all her lingering nervous energy; they hadn’t been gone long enough for anything to need fixing. She bit her lip and looked at Delia. Her sister was asleep on the couch, half covered in a woven dusky rose throw blanket, with Charlie sprawled protectively on the floor in front of her. If history was any indicator, Delia wouldn’t move a muscle for at least four hours, forget waking up.

Callie looked down to catch Charlie’s eye. “You gonna watch her for me?”

The answering “wuff” sounded like it came from under the couch--or maybe out in the kitchen? But it was good enough.

“Great.”Callie darted upstairs to change, stuck a note--”Bouldering :)”--to the blanket over Delia’s chest with masking tape when she came down, and was out the door with one final “Good boy” nod to Charlie. Time for the one thing that could reliably clear her head.

---

It wasn’t far to her favorite spot, a handful of knobby boulders that ranged from nine to fifteen feet tall and back again, some jutting relatively straight up, others tilted at varying angles. Some days there were other climbers, solo or in pairs, but it looked like she was truly solo today.

Delia’ll kill me if she finds out I did this alone alone, Callie thought with a wry smile. Even though I know this one like the back of my hand.

She eyed her usual target out of the bunch, a wide, sloping, moderately difficult specimen nicknamed Widow’s Peak--more for its resemblance to the hairline than any particular danger in climbing it. There were no obvious changes to the familiar ridges and crevices that pocked the surface, and she really did know this one well enough she could probably climb it blindfolded(she wouldn’t, not alone, but she could).

Callie cracked her knuckles, stretched a bit, and started up. All her jittery abundance of energy instantly swung into focus on finding her next grip, another toehold, moving up the rock face with practiced speed. Just because she knew it well was no excuse to get sloppy. It’s good to be back.

One foot slipped from its perch halfway up, the split second shock all it took for her other foot to dislodge as well. Callie looked at the crash pad six feet below, grit her teeth, and curled her legs back in. Her left foot found purchase easily, her right scrabbled for a minute before landing on a small protrusion.

Same place every damn time, Callie groused silently, then huffed hair out of her eyes and continued climbing.

It didn’t take long to complete the well-versed climb and mantle up over the edge. She plunked down on the bumpy rock with a triumphant grin and braced her feet against a large ridge in the boulder’s surface as she took in the view while catching her breath.

Same gorgeous trees, same quaint houses, same barely visible shadow of city life on the horizon. It never really changed, and she was settled by the familiarity of it. The breeze picked up, chillier than down below, and a shiver crawled up her spine. Looked like t-shirt instead of tank top had been a good call. Goosebumps still prickled her forearms, but it wasn’t unbearable. She ran her fingers through her hair to comb it back from her face and exhaled a slow breath.

It had been a real close call this time, circumventing what Delia Saw. Not as close as some, but probably in their top five. Top ten, for sure. It really wasn’t any wonder Delia had passed out from exhaustion on the couch--at least she made it as far as the couch. But they’d done it, and the dryad from Delia’s vision was still alive and well(even if her tree was down a smaller branch or two).

“All’s well that ends well,” Callie muttered to a passing bird, flicking a pebble off the edge with the toe of her show. That was what to focus on. Not the getting lost in an apple orchard or rabid werewolf or skin-of-their-teeth rescue; the happy ending She was still allowed to need a decompression climb with a success.

“Here’s hoping the next one involves a little less mortal peril, all the same,” she sighed into the growing breeze, followed by a soft snort at the low odds her request would be granted. She knew how this life went.

The breeze gusted strong enough to pull at her clothes and Callie shivered as she held her hair back. Probably a good idea to climb down now...

Or... she countered the little voice, glancing at the next boulder in line; a two foot gap she’d have to jump and then three more feet she could go up before making her way down.

That sounded more fun. So that’s what she did. She didn’t mantle at the top, just smacked a hand over the edge to count as ‘done’ to herself, then started down. This boulder was a less familiar climb, which took longer and called for more concentration, but that was a good thing. Distraction was one of the reasons she was out here, after all. Burning up leftover adrenaline. And there were few better ways to do that than bouldering down a semi-familiar rock she hadn’t gone up in a couple months. She banged her knee twice--skinned it the second time, she could tell--and almost lost her grip once just high enough to be a problem.

It definitely did the trick. By the time she dropped the last couple feet to the crash pad, Callie was free of any adrenaline let-down jitters and had replaced them with a deep sense of contentment that seemed to curl around her bones as it settled.

Almost as good as sex, she smirked, giving the rock an affectionate pat before she walked away.

---

She stopped at The Kettle on the way home, bought a white mocha to top off the good climb. After a moment’s hesitation, she added an apple tea for Delia. Even if she was still asleep when Callie got home, she could reheat it. It wouldn’t be as good, but hopefully could still minimize any concerned scolding headed Callie’s way for her choice of stress release activity.

Delia was indeed still asleep when she got home. Callie smiled as she set her sister’s drink on one of the end tables that flanked the couch. Between Delia’s Rip van Winkle impersonation and her own insomnia after the finished a job, looked like the Cole girls were headed for another round of ‘What’s a Normal Sleep Cycle? Bingo. Joy.

Nothing to be done about it now. The month’s worth of mail Azalea had been nice enough to neatly pile on the dining room table, however, she could do something about. Taking a sip of her coffee, Callie settled in to start sorting junk mail from the important stuff.

It was the little things that really made it good to be back.

#queens fic #callie cole #delia cole #speaker #speaker game #and now maybe callie will release trinne and let me finish owap xD

16 notes · View notes

cheekysos · 4 years

Note

excuse me ANNA how DARE you build up my trust and hopes and dreams with that adorable Luke road trip fic and then TEAR IT ALL AWAY with a SINGLE SENTENCE oh my GOD (i obviously loved it but damn girl hit me where it hurts why don't you)

Kara 😭 You are too sweet! Thank you so much for taking the time to read. I’m sorry to leave it like that but I can’t resist a good cliff hanger! Consider this payback for what you did to my ovaries with Charlie Rose ten fingers ten toes 😂

#kara is literally the sweetest ever and so incredibly talented #karajaynetoday

4 notes · View notes

theawkwardterrier · 4 years

Text

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 39

AO3 link here

He’s gotten pretty settled in with his coworkers at Stark Industries a month into the job, and it’s absolutely stunningly hot, like the air’s drenched, woolen, nearly physical as it fills every little space, but Bucky finds himself going out for lunch. That happens to him sometimes, the need to not be around people, forced to make conversation, to joke and be fine. Because sometimes, still, he isn’t fine; he came home with a weight on his shoulders that can be lighter certain days and heavier others but which is always there, and he’s trying, still, to be okay with that.

He usually eats on the later side, so the afternoon concert is already nearing its close though the music is still apparent from the spot he’s chosen. The file he’s brought with him is only a prop. He keeps it open on the bench beside him but doesn’t really look at it, staring around instead as he unwraps the sandwich he bought.

He’ll try to remember to call Steve tonight, because his best friend made him promise to phone when he feels like this, but he already feels a little guilty about it. He knows that Steve’s got his back, the same way he’ll always have Steve’s, but the Carters are working on adopting their little girl next month - Rose is her name, Steve said - and he can tell that the two of them are stretched pretty thin so he doesn’t want to add on. He has an appointment with his shrink next week, and he could probably make it sooner if he needed it, but this feels like the sort of thing he should be able to handle by himself.

Despite the time that’s passed - six years since Steve and Peggy brought him back, more than ten since whatever happened down in that lab - he hasn’t quite grown used to the ways in which he came home different. If anything, he’s reached a point of annoyance with himself that he’s had all this time and all this help, and nevertheless can find himself overcome by something as simple as a crowd, a noisy room. He remembers by now being the life of the party, ready with a quick remark, lighting girls’ cigarettes with a flick of his wrist and a flash of a grin. He remembers following Steve’s good-hearted, hairbrained schemes throughout their childhood, coming up with schemes of his own, talking their way out of trouble with teachers or the cops on the beat (even if he had to rest his whole weight on Steve’s toes to keep his big mouth closed). But that doesn’t feel like him anymore, and it grates on him that he can’t figure out how to make it be.

He shakes his head at himself, picking a couple of fallen scraps of roast beef from the sandwich wrappings before balling up the wax paper. If he still feels like this at the end of the day, he has the number that Charlie Gibbs gave him before he left Washington, the one answered by a man Charlie describes as “someone who saw a thing or two over there” and who can gather more like them to drink a beer and talk things over if they need to.

In the meantime, there’s still fifteen minutes before he has to get back to the office, and he tips his face upward, limbs sprawling out a little in relaxation as he soaks in the sun. It always makes him feel sort of stupid to have these sorts of moments, the overwhelming of his mind, during the summer, as if the sunshine and freedom should drive them away. But the warmth feels so good, too, that he tries not to think about that, tries to just lean back and enjoy.

When he brings his chin down again, his gaze catches on the bench across the plaza from his. The woman there - one hand holding open a book, the other her own sandwich, a thumb that he can’t quite track wiping away a drip of mustard from the corner of her mouth - is familiar. He stares awkwardly for a moment, trying to place her. She glances up as she tries to flip a page with a thumb (he assumes her clean one) and gives a slight raise of her sandwich in his direction in recognition.

He can picture, like a photograph, the smile he might have given her before the war, cocky, glinting sideways and a bit suggestive. Now he settles for a nod and a tip of his hat, tucks his hands in his pockets and starts walking back.

It’s only as he pushes through the glass doors into the Stark Industries building that he remembers where he’s seen her before: lab coat and safety glasses on, silky dark hair (longer than was truly fashionable) pinned back, in one of the labs during his tour of the building. “The chem fellas, for what they’re worth,” said the guy showing him around, swaggering onward with barely a glance. But Bucky had looked back, caught a glimpse of a raised middle finger.

He sort of wants to ask her whether it was for the “fellas” when she was clearly standing right there, or if she just feels that strongly about chemistry.

She’s there again the next day, sitting on the same bench, holding a different book, Frances Parkinson Keyes’s The Royal Box. He’s actually read this one at Peggy’s recommendation, but he doesn’t say anything, just touches the brim of his hat when he stands. She’s wearing a hat today too, a wide tan straw thing that shades her face, and she touches her brim back at him.

He finds himself grinning as he stuff his hands into his pockets and starts heading back.

He’s actually feeling better on the third day after a night out with Charlie Gibbs’s friends (well, they might even be his friends at this point) and an invitation from Becca to come over to her place for dinner Saturday. He’d wondered when he moved back if being around his family, especially the new generation and their energy, might be too much. But it’s actually invigorating to be around them, to be used as a climbing structure, given random hugs and sticky kisses to his cheeks. He never laughs as hard as he does when Jimmy tells some story about the indignations of his school day or Baby falls unconsciously into an impression of her grandmother. And the youngest is nearly four months now, and Becca swears he smiles all the time, so that’ll be nice to see.

So there’s no real reason he strolls out into the July heat instead of staying in his office, no reason his feet lead him once again to Bryant Park. No reason he stops for only a second, then keeps walking over when he sees a familiar figure sitting not on her regular bench, which is empty across the path, but instead on his.

“I thought that if we were going to keep meeting like this, we should at least know each other’s names,” she says, squinting up past him as he stands over her. Her voice is even, confident, but not strictly businesslike; there’s a smile at the edge of her words. She extends her hand to him. “Layla Mansour.”

He shakes, sits down beside her. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Really?” she says, so dubiously that he actually laughs.

“It’s the name I’ve got.”

“I seriously doubt it,” she says, “but there’ll be time for me to figure out the truth later.” And with that she unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite.

Three weeks later, Peggy requests that Howard send over a chemical engineer and a mechanical engineer to SHIELD headquarters at Camp Lehigh. Bucky’s an easy pick for the mechie considering they won’t even have to go through any extra security rigamarole, and when he hears they’re looking for someone else, he knows right away who to recommend.

Bucky’s never learned to drive, never had to and at some point decided he never really wanted to, so he’s particularly impressed by the ease with which Layla directs the borrowed Stark Industries sedan. She brought gloves with her, a crisp pair, white with bleach, but they’re draped over her handbag in the backseat. Her fingers on the wheel are not long, but they’re easily capable, with short, even nails.

“Where are you from?” he asks like clearing his throat, because he has the feeling that staring at her hands is not an entirely normal thing to do, and because he realizes that he actually doesn’t know. They’ve been talking over lunch for weeks now, but it’s been about preferred sandwich spots and the best things on the menu there, about work, and about her endless books. (She brings a new one nearly every day, and he has no idea how she’s able to read them all. Her library card gets more of a workout than anyone else’s he knows.)

Her mouth tucks in at the corners for just a second, then she says, too brightly even for her, “My grandparents were from Syria. Well, I suppose it would probably be Lebanon now, though, what with the borders shifting and all. And at the time that whole area the Ottoman Empire, but...Now you have the general idea of it, I imagine.”

“Oh,” he says. “No.” Not that he hasn’t noticed her dark, dark hair and intense eyes, but… “I meant, not too many people learn to drive in the city. And um—” He glances out the window, taps a finger on his knee, tries not to mumble. “You have a little bit of an accent. Only sometimes. You drop your r’s, and you’re the only person I’ve ever heard pronounce the number four the way that you do.”

A laugh startles out of her. “I’m from just outside of Boston. Watertown.”

“Don’t know it,” he says, shrugging, turning over in his head the way she says it: Watatown, Watuhtown. “The only thing I know about Boston is the Red Sox.”

Again, he’s impressed as she manages to execute a smooth turn off the main street even while eyeing him sharply. “Be careful what you say. I might live in New York now, but I’ve been going to games at Fenway since I was a kid.”

Bucky lifts his hands in defense. “Hey, they might not be here anymore, but I’m still for the Dodgers. We can hate on the Yanks together.”

“Excellent,” she says, with a grin. “That’s all I ever need,” and she pulls up to the guardhouse at the edge of the base.

He’d expected to be directed to whichever scientist they’d be working with, but Peggy’s actually there to greet them herself.

“We’re honored,” Bucky says, leaning to kiss her cheek.

“You had better be,” she responds. “Good to see you, Barnes.”

“You too, Carter.” He hasn’t seen them in probably a month and the reason why is written in the exhausted lines of her face. It strikes Bucky as a little odd that he hasn’t gotten to meet his friends’ child yet, doesn’t even know what she looks like, but it’s easy to tell how overwhelmed all the Carters are - perhaps the newest one most of all - so it just hasn’t been the right time. They hadn’t even made it into the city for Bucky’s mother’s Labor Day dinner, and Bucky knows how Steve feels about Labor Day and Winifred Barnes. That same exhaustion from Peggy’s face is obvious in Steve’s voice when they talk on the phone these days, catching up late at night when Steve has a minute between cleaning up whatever messes Rose had made during the day. Bucky hadn’t thought Steve could get tired like that since the serum, but apparently kids really do a number on you, or maybe it’s just Rose.

As evidence, when Peggy turns to introduce herself to Layla, Bucky spots a small patch of oatmeal dried onto the shoulder of her blouse. It’s just a little thing, the cream of it blending into her shirt anyway, but it’s large on Peggy Carter; he doesn’t know that he’s ever found her so disheveled, and he’s seen her in the middle of battle and during the frigid center of the winter and after days without a real bath. He’ll point it out to her later - hopefully she’ll have enough brainpower to care.

Still, when she puts out a hand and says, “Peggy Carter,” it’s with that familiar firmness.

“Dr. Layla Mansour.” He can see that Peggy appreciates that she doesn’t shy away from using the title she’s earned, or from shaking back with an equally firm hand. “What can we help with?”

Bucky likes that, himself. Still, when Steve calls that night and waits a whole five minutes before asking casually about Bucky’s new friend that Peggy told him about, Bucky pretends not to know what he’s talking about.

“We just eat lunch together sometimes,” he deflects, and decides he’ll overlook the way Steve’s “hmmm” sounds knowing and just a bit suggestive.

And they do eat lunch together, two or three times a week, sometimes more. As the autumn grows cooler, glancing quickly around before they bring up their favorite and least favorite colleagues, the projects that they’re working on, what they’re most excited about starting next. Inside the newly opened diner down the street during the winter, talking about what brought them to the careers they have now, finding out that Layla went to CCNY too but only for her PhD and a couple years ahead of Bucky - they never came across each other there.

(“Lucky thing we met each other now,” she says around the bite of chocolate cake she is pretending she hasn’t just stolen from him. He smiles, sideways and then more, and echoes, “Lucky thing.”)

They continue into the spring, eating as they walk beside each other in the blossoming warmth, trading stories about how things were for them growing up, about their families, about how home doesn’t feel quite the same when you come back all grown up. Hearing her talk about Ted Williams and Jackie Jensen, her hands flying as if she might snag a baseball out of the air at any moment while he grins at her side, he actually has to hold himself back from gaining some affection for the Red Sox.

(Once, in May, he asks her about her weekend plans and she says briefly that her mother's set her up with a date, the son of a friend of a friend, before turning to toss her bread crust to a couple of squirrels. He doesn't ask more, or mention that the few times his own mother has urged him to go out with nice girls from church or the daughters of her sewing circle friends, he's walked away thinking that somehow they were perfectly nice and normal and somehow not quite right. The next week, she tells him, a bit pointedly, that she's going to see 12 Angry Men over the weekend with some of the other girls from her rooming house.)

He brings her to Steve and Peggy’s for dinner in July. Though he’d seen her not even two weeks ago, at the barbecue that was allegedly for Independence Day (Steve was meant to have a different birthday now), Rosie drags him into the house as soon as they arrive, then squints at Layla, coming through the door behind him.

“Who is that?” she asks, not quietly. “Who are you?”

“We told you that Miss Layla would be coming,” Steve says, striding over, drying his hands on a towel. “Be polite, Rose.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Rose.” Layla steps forward, puts out a hand, doesn’t waver as she is eyed suspiciously and for a nearly uncomfortably long time. Finally, Rose shakes briefly before darting back off into the dining room.

Steve sighs. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I’m certainly happy to finally meet you.” His polite smile turns somewhat more broader and more youthful, teasing, as he catches Bucky’s glare that means don’t say something like—

“Bucky talks about you all the time,” Steve finishes angelically.

Layla looks over her shoulder at Bucky. “All the time, hmm, James?”

Her hair, normally worn back, is down around her face for dinner, set and curled up at the bottom. Bucky shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. He can’t count very well.”

“Perhaps you should move this conversation toward the table,” Peggy calls. “I think Rose is about to dig into this delicious meal herself, and I might join her.”

Steve and Bucky, mannered as they are, both gesture Layla ahead of them. Once she’s passed, Bucky punches Steve in the shoulder, hard enough that it might even bruise.

All the time? he mouths. Jackass.

Steve tucks his hand in his pockets, raising an eyebrow and mouthing back James?, grinning as they walk in together.

They don’t leave until nearly eleven, after they’ve eaten Steve’s delicious dinner (seriously, when did Steve learn to cook? Bucky can remember when he could practically only boil water, though that might have been because there was barely more in the house than that) and the absurdly rich chocolate mousse tart he made for dessert, after Rose had tucked herself into the chair in the living room where she could still listen to them and fallen asleep, after Steve’s told half a dozen stories to embarrass Bucky and Bucky had given just as good back and Peggy had topped them both.

Layla’s laugh is even lower than her speaking voice, Bucky’s noticed. He can recognize the start of it now, when it’s still a barely audible chuckle, and it makes him smile.

It’s a good night. He’s feeling good, even as he shifts the muscles of his back and shoulder a little. The arm isn’t as heavy as most, and it supports itself pretty well, has control nearly the way a flesh and blood one would, doesn’t just hang from his sleeve as a placeholder - Howard actually started a medical technology division after he worked with it. Still, when he wears it for this long, the discomfort becomes more and more obvious in the later hours.

“You can take it off, if you’d like,” says Layla.

He hadn’t even realized she’d noticed that little movement. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized she’d noticed the arm at all, which is stupid - she’s got two perfectly good eyes, she sees him nearly every day, but she’s never stared or asked prying questions or even looked purposefully away, making unwavering eye contact the way some people do to avoid seeming rude.

There had been that first day they were working at Lehigh, when one of the others on the team was walking across the lab to show them a delicate instrument, holding it carefully and eyeing Bucky’s hand where it was visible past his shirt cuff. “You sure you can handle this?” he’d said, like Bucky was going to thank him for his concern, before he’d crashed to the ground right as he passed where Layla was standing. Even Bucky’s eyes hadn’t tracked her foot flicking out across the floor, just catching the very end of the movement as she set it innocently back where it had been. “Goodness,” she’d said, tilting her head in pity. “Are you certain that you can handle it?” But that’s the only acknowledgement that she’s ever given.

“I’m fine,” he tells her now. “It’s fine.”

She makes a low hmmm sort of sound. “Maybe,” she says. “But it’s also fine to sometimes not be fine.”

“Not for me, it isn’t,” he says, the words out before he can check them. He’s been doing pretty well in the months that he’s known her, talking to Steve and Peggy and the shrink and guys who served, spending time with his family, getting good sleep when he can and taking long walks in the night air when, however increasingly rarely, the nightmares mean he can’t. He doesn’t take time off from work if he can help it, and he’s mostly been able to help it. But he knows that his healing is a slow process, inches and years, that he has to do his best to keep a good face through it all.

He doesn’t know how to explain that to her, really, to tell her that the version of him that she’s spending time with...it hasn’t been a show, but it hasn’t been all of him, either.

“All of us,” she says with conviction, as if she can read his mind, as if she already knows, as if he’s already told her everything and she doesn’t care. “All people are allowed to not be fine sometimes. And you count in that too, whatever you might think of yourself.”

And as she drives them back, soft darkness and the sounds of crickets around them, he tries to let himself believe her.

She gets promoted late in October, which she’s proud of but also finds irritating - it means a lot of extra paperwork and administrative duties. They don’t get to eat lunch together as often now that she has a heavier schedule of meetings. He takes to staying a couple hours later, turning up by her desk around 7 to make sure that she wraps up for the day. They usually go out to supper together after, sometimes even a picture if there’s something good playing.

One frigid night in February, Bucky holds Layla’s coat out for her, trying to douse his nerves by listening to her complain grouchily once again about how the new position means that she’s down to reading a book every two days or even every three.

“The librarians probably have you in their prayers,” says Bucky once again as they wave to their favorite waitress and head toward the door. Before Layla can push it open, Bucky puts a hand to her arm.

“Wait,” he says. “I just wanted to—Well, it’s Valentine’s and you’ve been working hard so I—Here.” He pulls from his coat pocket the little pink case, watches her pop it open to examine the pink rose inside nestled amidst baby’s breath and a sprig of greenery. She’s practical, doesn’t really go for elaborate things, but he’s seen the little flashes of prettiness in the glint of jeweled pins and flowered clips when she has her hair pulled back or up, the various necklaces he’s only caught glimpses of, hidden as they are beneath the necklines of her dresses and blouses. He thought she would like this, and he doesn’t tuck his head but instead watches as she smiles, removes the flower and takes in the scent, runs a gentle finger over the petals.

“Thank you,” she says, tucking it back inside and closing the little case with care. “It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad,” he says, letting out a quiet little breath. He’d searched around during his lunch hour for something remaining at the florist in good shape and kept it in one of the cool rooms at work, waiting for the right chance to give it to her. Feeling lighter, he reaches for the door, only to have her stop him this time, a hand on his forearm.

“Are you ever,” she says, “going to ask me on an actual date?”

“Oh.” For all the nights he lay with his hands behind his head and imagined saying those words, he finds that he can’t manage them now, not right away. He almost wants to look away, to gather his head, but he breathes deeply, watches the calm in her brown eyes, the patience there.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he finally says. “Fair Game’s at the Longacre; we can see if there are tickets. Or West Side Story, if you’d rather. Or The Music Man - that’s supposed to be good too, if they’re not sold out.”

“Marian the Librarian?” He can hear that sound, the very beginning of her laughter. “I’ll see if I’m available.”

“You will, huh?”

“I think I can probably make the time,” she says archly. “For you.” And she holds out a hand to him, waiting as he secures his fingers gently between hers, before opening the door.

More chapters here

#things left behind fic #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #oof home stretch for this fic

14 notes · View notes

starssayhello · 5 years

Text

Gone - Bucky Barnes (1)

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: sadness?? NO ENDGAME SPOILERS. This takes place during the Captain America movies, starting in First Avenger.

This is for @prettyyoungtragedy 10k challenge. It’s been so long since I worked on it and now I finally have time to write again so I thought I would finalize my drafts. My prompt was “Don’t say that to me...not you of all people”

Masterlist

A/N: This is part 1 of I’m not sure how many. The prompt doesn’t appear until later. Also yes I realize it is May the Fourth and the appropriate post would be SW related but here’s this instead. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)

The gentle breeze whispered through the crack in the window of the Brooklyn apartment. Spring arrived earlier than planned but it was much welcomed after the cruel winter. A girl, young and carefree, paced the floor of the apartment, awaiting the news that would change the near future. She tripped over the small black and brown puppy curled up in a patch of sunlight and cursed. The puppy lifted its head, curious at the girl’s outburst.

Kneeling down, the girl cupped the puppy’s muzzle in her hand. Her h/c hair fell into her eyes but she swept it away with an annoyed wave of her hand. “Everything will be different soon, Copper.” The puppy wagged its tail, staring joyfully up at her with its big brown eyes. She sighed. Even the dog couldn’t understand what she might be losing.

A gentle knock sounded from the door and a moment later, a man stepped in. The crisp uniform and hat accented his already perfect stance. Usually bright blue eyes appeared dim in the afternoon sunshine. The girl rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “So?”

“Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, ship out first thing tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but quickly decided against it. “I’m proud, Bucky.” The man, Bucky, frowned and moved to stand in front of her.

Gripping her elbows, he said, “Hey, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” She pulled back slightly, tucking her arms around herself.

Bucky sighed. “You know what I’m talking about, Y/N. Say what you were going to say.”

Y/N inhaled deeply before meeting his eyes, bracing herself for the look that would make her tell all. Bucky’s deep blue eyes stared back intently. “You promised me.” Bucky’s gaze fell to the necklace resting against her collarbone. A promise of their future and a reminder that there would be one.

“I know, doll. But this is out of my control, you know that.” He took her hands and tipped his head to look at her straight on. “You and I both know this was gonna happen eventually. It was only a matter of time.”

She sniffed. “Do you have to go so soon?” Y/N choked back the tears threatening to fall. “We barely got two years together.”

“And that’s more than you can say for most people around here,” Bucky pointed out. “I’ve known you my whole life, Y/N, and I intend to spend the rest of it with you, but I can’t do that until this damn war ends.”

Y/N slid a hand up to his face, the other gripping the tie around his neck. “It’s so soon.”

“Then we better make it count.” Bucky dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers for a quick kiss. “We’ll do something tonight. Go out, cause some trouble. And then I’ll be back before you know it!”

Bucky grinned at Y/N, eyes sparkling with mischief. Slowly, her head nodded. A smile twisted her lips up when she thought of an idea. Pulling away from Bucky, she skipped over to the kitchen table and grabbed the newspaper laying haphazardly on the corner. She presented the front page, teeth flashing in the sun. Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached for the paper. “The Expo?”

Y/N nodded excitedly. “Please, Buck, I’ve been dying to go. And who knows when there’ll be another one since Stark is leaving for the war,” she pleaded, eyes filling with hope.

Bucky dropped his head in defeat, grinning. “Alright. We’ll go.”

“Yay! Thank you thank you thank you!” Y/N dropped the paper and rushed at him, throwing her arms over his shoulders. He spun her around, laughing delightedly at his girl.

One thing he admired most about Y/N was her curiosity. Even as a little girl, she was always trailing after Bucky, Steve, and her big brother Charlie, preferring the boys’ games to braiding hair or playing dolls with the neighbor girls. She wore trousers and mud, bare feet and a dirt-stained face. Tomboy at heart is what her mother always said. When Charlie left for school, Y/N stayed with Bucky and Steve, a friendship built out of loyalty. And now, ten years later at age twenty-five, she was still the boys’ closest friend. Though she and Bucky grew to be more, the trust gained in the early years of their lives remained the foundation of their relationship.

“Anything for you, doll,” he whispered in her hair.

----

“Steve!” Y/N waved down the blond, tugging on Bucky’s hand to get to the entrance faster. Steve smiled at her anxiously, pulling on his jacket sleeve. “Stop that.” Y/N slapped his hand away. “I just fixed it for you.”

Bucky’s eyes flipped from his two friends to the entrance. “We going in or what?” Y/N bounced on her toes happily. Bucky kissed her cheek quickly before striding off to the ticket booth. She and Steve followed behind.

“How are you holding up?” Steve asked. Y/N’s smile fell slightly. Her eyes found Bucky as he gestured for them to follow. She shrugged, slipping an arm through Steve’s so as not to lose him in the crowd.

“I can’t believe he’s leaving. I knew it was always an option but…”

“Didn’t seem real until he had the uniform?” Steve supplied. Y/N nodded. “Me too. I can’t picture a time without him.”

“We never had to,” Y/N responded. She rolled her shoulders back. “Let’s just forget tomorrow. Tonight is all that matters.”

Steve nodded and echoed, “Tonight.”

Strolling through the Expo, Y/N’s eyes filled with wonder. “It’s like magic, Buck,” she exclaimed.

He shook his head, looking around in awe. “Ain’t magic, doll,” he mumbled. “Science.” Y/N giggled at him. Bucky turned back to his conversation with Steve, his eyes trailed on Y/N. “I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.”

“You know, there are three and a half million women here,” Y/N supplied, lacing her fingers with Bucky’s again.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, well I’d settle for just one”

Y/N giggled. “Good thing we took care of that,” she responded, waving down a woman standing by a statue.

The woman waved back, and Y/N pulled away from the boys to greet her friend. “What’d you tell her about me?” Steve questioned.

“Only the good stuff.”

Y/N hugged her friend tightly. “Maggie, thank you for coming!” She smiled happily at one of her few girl friends.

Margaret, or Maggie, nodded shortly. “I just hope this doesn’t become disastrous. You know how I am with men.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “It will be fine. Just trust me on this.”

----

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky glanced around for his friend. Y/N glanced at Maggie, who shrugged in confusion. “Ah, man.” Y/N followed Bucky’s line of vision. The enlistment building. Of course. “Come on, doll, let’s go get ‘im.” Bucky wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, tucking her close so as not to be separated in the crowd. Maggie trailed behind, weaving in and out of groups, just barely keeping up. When they finally spotted Steve, Y/N held back with Maggie, shoving Bucky towards his best friend.

Maggie looped an arm through Y/N’s. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I thought we were going dancing.”

Y/N shook her head fondly. “We were, but Bucky wanted to appease my fantasy.” Maggie giggled. “We can go as soon as he’s done talking to Steve.”

“How are you doing?” Maggie asked out of the blue. Though the question seemed one for passing, Y/N knew she was asking more than just the common greeting.

Y/N shrugged. How was she doing? Bucky was leaving the next morning. He and Y/N had spent the afternoon packing a bag with the most important things he needed. Clothes, uniform, his journal, a photograph of the two of them, another one of him and Steve. The essentials. Y/N had nearly broken down when he took out his watch and wrapped her fingers around it. “So you always have a piece of me with you.” When she pressed the button, the top had popped open, revealing the face of the watch and a picture identical to one folded neatly into Bucky’s pocket. Him presenting her with a flower on their very first date.

Her mother had always been an enthusiastic photographer and spent much of their savings on film and parts to fix up her camera. Some of her favorite subject matters were Y/N and Charlie, and most pictures also included Bucky and Steve. Of course, when Bucky showed up at their front doorstep with a blushing pink tulip plucked from his mother’s garden, it only made sense that the beautiful moment be captured in time.

“Bucky,” Y/N had protested. “I can’t-”

“Don’t, Y/N/N. I want you to have it.” Bucky had stared at her intensely, hoping she understood how much he truly wanted her to have a piece of him, even when he knew it was not enough. Her sparkling eyes had found his and she inhaled slowly. In that moment, she had fallen in love with him all over again. His charm, his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his caring nature, how gentle he could be while still holding an air of authority, his protectiveness, but most importantly how deeply he loved. Not just her, but Steve and his mother and sisters and the friends he had known for a fraction of his life. Never once did Bucky meet someone and immediately think the worst of them. Until they showed him they didn’t deserve his respect, he gave them his whole heart. Y/N loved how deep his love flowed, how naturally it came to him.

“Okay,” she had whispered, softer than the breeze that tickled the back of her neck. Bucky’s arms had come up to frame her body. He tugged her gently into his chest, encircling her with his arms. His chin rested on top of her hair, tucking her head to his neck. Y/N’s arms had slowly wrapped around Bucky, pulling him closer to her. Peace had filled the silence, the muffled sound of the streets below the only noise needed.

Fading out of her memory of the afternoon, Y/N finally answered Maggie. “I’ll miss him.”

Maggie frowned. “You know that’s not what I asked.” She pulled her friend into a hug. “I’m always here for you.”

“I know,” Y/N mumbled into her shoulder. Pulling back, she swiped away the single tear that fell down her cheek. “Now, what about the rest of our night?”

Maggie smiled. “You’re not getting out of this conversation that easily but… dancing sounds wonderful.”

“Well, miss, your wish is my command.” She and Maggie giggled and then she called, “Hey Sarge! We going dancing?”

Bucky twisted, holding out his arms. “Yes, we are.” He shot Y/N a grin before turning back to Steve. They hugged quickly and as Bucky was walking away, Steve called out, “Don’t win the war ‘til I get there.” Bucky saluted him before turning back and smiling at Y/N.

“Come on, girls,” he took her arm, “They’re playing our song.”

----

“Don't go.” Her arms held tight around his neck. “Please don't go.”

Bucky hugged her closer. “I have to doll. You know I have to.” He tucked his face into her neck, pressing a kiss to the soft skin. “You know I have to go.”

These words had been repeated over and over for the past hour. They rested on Y/N’s lips as she slept uncomfortably in the night. Bucky had pulled her close and rocked her back and forth as the tears stained the collar of his shirt. Copper had climbed into bed with them, despite being too large to be a lapdog, and curled around Y/N, an added comfort to that of Bucky’s arms.

Nothing would make it easier. Especially not watching him walk away.

Y/N shook her head in protest. “Please.” Bucky pulled back, cupping her face between his hands. His lips brushed her hairline delicately before dropping down to her lips and melding over them. The kiss was long and sweet. A promise of better times to come.

“I love you. I love you so much,” Bucky whispered. “More than life itself.”

Y/N gripped his wrists, his hands still holding her face. “I love you every second of every day.” She pressed another kiss to his lips, only parting when the train whistle blew. Her fingers found the chain of the pocket watch and they held it tight. She watched as Bucky gave Steve a hug, as he made his way to the train, rucksack slung over his shoulder.

Steve's arm draped over Y/N's shoulder, pulling her to his side. They waved the train off, watching until the last car disappeared from sight. Steve squeezed the girl's shoulder and led her out of the station.

----

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon.”

“I don't have a choice, Y/N.”

“Yes, you do Steve. The fact that you think you don't is what makes this so much harder.”

“Look, they wanted me and this is something I need to do. For myself. I'm all alone now.”

“You have me.”

Steve brushed a strand of hair out of Y/N's face. Smiling, he said, “Yeah, I have you.”

A/N: There will be a part 2 :)

75 notes · View notes

bohorhap · 5 years

Text

DAMN ROGER TAYLOR AND HIS PRETTY FACE (FIRST PART)

Hello everyone! So I’m posting my first imagine all in english written. English is not my first language so please be nice. I hope you’ll like it!

You swung the bottle of vodka, the liquid burning your throat, before releasing a gasp and open your eyes. Your gaze fixed on your roomate, the person you know the most in this room.

"Okay humm... truth or dare?" you asked bluntly as you type two fingers on your chin, trying to put your thougts in order.

The blonde female grinned and took a second, thinking of the best answer before answering: "Truth! I'm careful with you."

You chuckled, taking a seat on an armchair nearby, the bottle of vodka still in your hand.

"Alright then," you responded, your eyes not leaving the blonde. "Is it true that you have a crush ooon..." People in the room started to drum with their hands on tables, chairs or whatever they could find after you started to do it yourself. "Mr. Brian May, the clever kiddo who also has a rock side."

Satisfied by your question, you took another sip of the bottle between your hands, a smirk on your face.

This was a normal thursday night. You were all college kids that wanted to have a good time during smooth periods of the year. The exams being a week ago, you could all cheer that you succeed or thought so. Student life was nothing close to what you thought it would be. It was actually pretty cool. Your parents couldn't afford a flat for you in this brand new city in your life so you had to share a studio with a certain blonde girl in a student residence. You soon became really close to that girl named Charlie, and spent almost every thursday night throwing a party in the residence. It was a tradition in this building. But tonight was special: the residence keepers being really nice and aware that your exams were done, decided to leave the building and give it to you for the night. Everyone was there, even people who didn’t live in the residence.

Charlie was a blushing mess in front of you, everybody in the room teasing her about the question.

"Shut up y'all! Come on, we all have a secret crush on someone in this building so let's be noice and let her answer the question." Your attention went back to Charlie.

"I-uh... Yeah, it's true that I... kind of have a little crush on him..." she let out.

Everyone applaused and screamed at her response. You, on the other hand, wanted to have another sip of your drink but found out that the bottle was now empty. Arching an eyebrow, frustrated, you got on your feet and made your way out of the room.

Regardless of your unclear state, you managed to walk to the kitchen where empty bottles of alcohol were all over the place. You tiptoed through people and furnitures to finally be in front of the fridge. Opening it, you were glad to find two bottles of different alcohol. Not bothering to even read what it was that you were about to let into your body, you take them both out of there and close the fridge behind you.

Standing up and turning your back to the fridge, you find yourself facing a blonde boy with a cigarette between his lips, eyeing you from head to toe. You bit your lip lightly before avoiding his eyes on you.

"Y'gonna drink all of that, love?" his husky voice asked, sending you goosebumps.

God, that was so cliché. You were ridiculous. Having a crush on this guy? Already seen a hundreds of times before. This gorgeous boy takes women for granted and you knew it. That's why you never told anyone about you liking him.

"Yeah, does it bother you? That I get to put my lips on this bottle?" Surprised at this sudden stream of confidence, you lightly bit your tongue.

This owed the blonde a smirk. Puffing a cloud of smoke out of his mouth, he took the cigarette between his fingers.

"Well, now that you're asking..." he leaned closer to you, his smirk still on his face. "I would prefer them to be somewhere else."

Roger Taylor. The drummer of a band called Smile. Never seen without a girl around him. So what he said didn't quite shock you. That man knew how to put a girl in his bed. And when he attended a party at which you were too, you secretly wished that the girl he would take home would be you. But no, it never happened. In fact, this was the first real conversation you had with him. You've always exchanged some glance with him and had a kind of conversation before but nothing too elaborated.

"So are you gonna hand that bottle to me or not?" he asked, pointing at one of the bottles that you had in hands. That sent you back to reality.

"In your dreams Taylor, these are mine. Go find someone else to sudmit to you," you scoffed, pushing past him and making your way back to the room where the truth or dare was still going on. Seeing you arriving in the room, Charlie smiled and patted the place next to her to make you sit there, which you did. Opening one of the bottles, you quickly took a sip before your attention was caught by somebody that had said your name. You turned your head to a dark haired guy and he asked you the following question: "Truth or dare?"

"Dare, darling. I'm feeling in the mood for facing whatever risk to which you expose me."

"What about you spend the night with... Roger Taylor! I've heard you had a soft spot for blondes."

Charlie's jaw opened wide, ready to take your defence.

"Oh my God, Blake, you asshole, could you not be more predictable? Plus, my friend here has some self esteem, thank you very m-"

She was cut short by you.

"Alright, I'll do it."

Charlie rolled her eyes at your statement, lifting her hands in the air. She mumbled a "of course" before she took a sip of alcohol herself.

You got on your feet, taking in a few gulps of your bottle to give you more confidence before putting it down on the floor.

"If you please, I have a man to seduce right now," you said leaving gracefully the room.

What the hell did you put yourself into?

You began to search for a blonde head in the building, sometimes stumbling over people that were laying on the floor like corpses. You searched in the kitchen, on the second, first then third storey but the male was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," you thought "he didn't go home, did he?"

Leaning against a wall, you took a moment to take a deep breath as you felt yourself nauseous. Your head was spinning like crazy and all you could think of was throwing up. You rushed to the bathroom of the third floor and put some water over your face. Taking another deep breath, you leaned your hands against the sink and rose your head to take a look at yourself in the mirror. There, right there in the mirror was not only the reflection of your shitfaced head but also a blonde boy not far behind you, smirking at your awful state.

"Look who needs a break from alcohol. You really should've give me these bottles, love."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Well, at least you had find him, didn't you? You only hoped you had find him in a better state, not on the edge of throwing up.

"You need a smoke. Let's get some fresh air."

Opening your eyes again, you saw in the mirror that Roger had approched you and was now handing you a cigarette, another one already between his lips. After a beat you took it and turned around to face your target. With a head move, Roger led the way to the stairs where there was a place reserved for people who wanted to smoke. It was outside of the building, kind of like a balcony, but still was a part of the staircase. It actuallly looked like a cell. No one was there except from the two of you. This calmed you a bit.

Roger turned to you and lit his lighter in your direction. You put your hands around it and lean to light your own cigarette after the blonde had lit his. Stepping aside, you puffed on your cig, letting smoke escape your lips.

"Better?" Roger asked, to wich you nodded, taking another breath of smoke.

"Yes, thank you."

Roger nodded and gazed at the horizon which could be seen from where you two were.

It was a chilly night and you could feel the breeze in your neck. You had not much clothes on you, you only wore a really big size shirt and a pair of shorts. You wanted to wear something comfortable for this night and did not bother to put either socks or shoes on. You didn't mind, though. It was refreshing and you were enjoying the cool night.

"So," you decided to break the silence, "how come you ain't surrounded by a pretty girl tonight?"

The blue-eyed boy's attention returned on you.

"Oh, I am," he said, pointing at you.

You were thankful the light in here was dim enough to hide your blush. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself or appear as a shy girl. Instead, you raised an eyebrow.

"Well tonight I must say that you are surrounded by a gorgeous one."

Roger chuckled and took another breath of his cigarette. He turned around to face you and walked over to you. You were now getting quite unsure of yourself, seeing him so close. He stopped right in front of you.

"What looks alike goes with one another."

"Pretty confident, huh?" you huffed, putting a hand on your hip, finding steadiness God knows where.

"You seem pretty confident too, yourself. I've seen you in other parties and I must say that you must've drank ten whole bottles of gin to even get the nerve to talk to me like this."

This had taken you aback. You were confused and started to get angry at the same time.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you asked after throwing your cigarette away. You pushed one finger on his torso, taking a step closer to him, making him take one away from you. "Judging people because they have a lack of self confidence. Bro, who gave you the right? Just because you're drop dead gorgeous doesn't mean you can make people feel fucking uncomfortable. Mother Nature was good to you, well man I'm happy for you, but don't you dare using your good looks to make people feel bad for not being as spoiled by beauty as you are."

Oh boy, where did you get that from?

"This is the most strange thing someone's ever said to me," he said taking another step away from you. He turned his back to you and bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, love. That wasn't my intention."

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever. I'm cold, can we go back inside?"

"Actually..." He paused, turning around once again. "Don't you want to get out of here? This party is dying and we're almost out of drinks."

Dumbfounded, you stayed still: eyes on him, a confused look on your face. He smiled at you and moved closer but this time you weren't intimidated.

"I would like to know more about you."

(part two here)

#queen #queen fandom #roger taylor #roger x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen fanfiction #queen band #brian may #gwylim lee #imagine

207 notes · View notes

chuffyfan87 · 5 years

Text

Hiding. Part 17a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

It had been twelve hours since Duffy almost died during the birth of their daughter. Charlie spent his time between both of them, he hadn’t rested. He hadn’t dared to sleep in case he got bad news about either. Suddenly one of the monitors next to Duffy's bed started to sound an alarm. He called out for help.

Two doctors ran in and began checking Duffy over. "There's a problem with her airway."

Charlie’s head began to whirl. He was so exhausted! “A problem? What kind of problem?!”

"It appears to be blocked. I'm going to extubate and then reintubate."

Charlie simply nodded. He didn’t say anything else, just moved out of the way whilst the Doctors were in the room.

The doctor removed the tube from Duffy's throat. He was about to grab a fresh tube from his colleague when she began to choke.

Shit, was she waking up?

"Suction." The doctor instructed. He struggled to use it effectively however as Duffy had begun to thrash against the hold he had on her chin.

That’s when Charlie intervened. He gently stroked her cheek. “Baby, calm down. Please. Just relax, you’re safe.”

Her movements slowed in their ferocity but she still fought against the hold.

The second doctor reached for her canulated hand, a syringe in his other hand.

“Duffy, listen to me? You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you. I promise.”

"If she doesn't stop we'll have to sedate her again." The doctor insisted.

Duffy suddenly pulled her hand away from the doctor's grip.

“Sweetheart, please just relax” He gently ran his fingertips against her cheek and stroked her hair.

"Ch... Ch..." She mumbled inbetween incoherent groans.

“I’m here darling, I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes briefly fluttered open, her pupils unfocused.

He kissed her forehead. “You should be asleep.” He said quietly.

She started to gag, pulling her head to one side.

“Let it out,” He encouraged gently.

She coughed and then began to vomit.

He managed to get the sick bowl to her in time.

She began to slip backwards, her breathing changing. The doctor grabbed the suction tube and placed it in her mouth, afraid that she was going to aspirate in her semi conscious state.

He threw away the sick bowl and moved aside to let the doctor use the suction on her.

Having cleared her airway the doctor turned to Charlie. "I don't think it would be wise to reintubate incase she vomits again. I think she might have had a reaction to one of the medications." He turned to his colleague. "We're going to need to roll her onto her side to protect her airway."

“Do you think she’ll come out of this again, soon?” Charlie asked anxiously.

"Either that or she'll slip deeper."

“And if she slips deeper, what will happen?”

"Then you should prepare yourself for the fact that she might not come out of it at all."

“She might not ever wake up?”

"You should prepare for that eventuality yes."

He swallowed and nodded. “Thank you for being honest.” He glanced at Duffy.

"We'll leave you alone for a while." The doctors then left the room.

“Thank you.” He said again. As the doctors left, Charlie took Duffy’s hand in his.

His touch seemed to calm her.

He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You should see the baby.” He smiled, “She's so beautiful Duffy, just like her mum is!”

The steady beat of the monitors was all the response he got.

“We need you. Me, the children. We need you to keep us in check.”

A couple of hours later Charlie suddenly jerked awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep!

“Baby?” He whispered. He was still so tired. It took him a few moments for his eyes to focus but when they did the first thing they saw was green... “Duffy?” He said gently.

She smiled softly.

He closed his eyes and reopened them again.

A soft giggle escaped Duffy's lips.

That sound was so beautiful, how he’d missed it. “You’re awake? You’re alive?”

Her right eyebrow rose as she shot him a look.

“You’re ok?”

She nodded.

“Promise?” He paused. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

She giggled once more. "You idiot!"

He pinched himself hard.

She shifted her fingers slightly in his hand and stuck a nail firmly into his palm.

Why didn’t he wake up? Why was he still asleep?

"Where am I?" She asked, trying to focus his attention.

“Hospital.”

She shot him a look that mocked the obviousness of his answer.

“Why can’t I wake up?” He asked. “Or is that because I’m already awake? And this is real?”

Quickly becoming frustrated with Charlie's confusion Duffy attempted to sit up.

“What are you doing? You can’t get out of bed.”

"Need... Explain..." She groaned as she fought to move.

“Explain what? What’s going on?”

"What happened?"

“What do you remember?”

"I was elsewhere..."

“You died.” He paused, “Clinically speaking, you were dead for a while.”

"How?" She allowed him to ease her back down onto the bed.

“When you were giving birth to our daughter, your heart stopped.”

Panic filled her eyes. "Is she OK?"

“Small... Really small. But it appears she has the same genes as her mum and has inherited her stubbornness and spirit.”

"I want to see her." Her voice was growing weaker despite her fighting to stay awake, exhaustion beginning to win the battle.

“When you’ve had a sleep, you can.” Charlie reassured before he placed a delicate kiss to her lips. “I love you.” He said quietly.

"Describe her." She whispered as her eyelids began to droop.

“Tiny, cute button nose. Green eyes. Ten fingers, ten toes. A little bit of hair.”

"How tiny?" She mumbled.

“2lbs.”

Her words were becoming incoherent again as she slipped into sleep but a single tear slid from the corner of her eye.

He gently wiped away the tear.

She turned into his touch as she drifted off to sleep.

He smiled sadly. He stayed awake for a while, just watching her sleep before going to see their daughter and then returning.

It was a few hours later when Duffy awoke again. She smiled at the sight of Charlie snoring in the chair, his head lolled back and what looked like a piece of paper in his hand. Curious, she tried to reach out for it but the movement caused her muscles to complain and she couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips.

He was flat out, utterly exhausted. It had been a tough day. On the paper was a list of girl's names.

Looking closer she realised the paper had words written on it so wasn't what she had hoped it was.

Charlie began to stir, sensing she was awake.

Duffy lay back down, everything hurt more now. She guessed that was because the painkillers were beginning to wear off slightly.

“Morning gorgeous.” He mumbled.

She blushed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He smiled as he opened his eyes, “You didn’t.”

"You look exhausted."

“I am. I haven’t slept great. I couldn’t, you know, in case something happened to you both.”

"Oh Charlie, you need to rest. You'll make yourself ill if you don't." Her hand was rubbing at her ribcage as she spoke.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked, watching her rub her ribcage.

"I was expecting to be sore but not for my ribs to hurt." She started to remember something he'd told her earlier. "Did they..?"

“They broke your rib when giving you CPR. I heard the crack.”

Duffy gasped, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of what Charlie had gone through in the last 24 hours. "I'm sorry."

He moved from the chair at the side of the bed to the bed, sitting facing her. “It’s ok. I won’t lie, I was terrified. They came so close to giving up on you... You weren’t responding.”

"But you wouldn't let them?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“I told them they had to keep going. They couldn’t stop. They had to bring you back to me! To us!”

"Thank you for fighting for me." She whispered.

“I’ll always fight. I’m not doing this alone.” He replied. “I love you too much.”

"I love you too." She smiled before lapsing into a comfortable quiet for a few minutes.

“It would seem our daughter has inherited her mother’s genes.”

"Oh?"

“Stubbornness and resilience.”

"You can't blame those solely on me!" Sadness filled her features once more. "I really want to see her." She sighed, knowing that the doctors wouldn't agree to her moving for some time yet.

He laughed gently, “Why can’t I?” He sighed, “I know honey.”

"She probably thinks I've abandoned her."

“I’ve told her you’ll see her as soon as you can, but that you’re poorly yourself. She relaxed at the sound of your name.”

"I miss her. I feel like I let her down."

“You haven’t let her down.” He reassured as he stroked her cheek and was silent for a moment, “Did you wake up earlier?”

"When?" A lot of the last couple of days was hazy for her, she couldn't be entirely sure what had happened when.

“A couple of hours ago.” He replied. “I could’ve been dreaming though.”

"I was awake, you weren't dreaming." She paused, chewing at her bottom lip. "There was another time though... Its just sounds... Voices..." She sighed, frustrated at the confused jumble in her head.

“You woke up. You choked on the tube that was helping you to breathe. You were fighting. I was trying to talk to you, get you to calm down.” He smiled sadly.

"That explains why my throat hurts."

“You threw up too. They think you had a reaction to the medication.”

"Just my luck." She sighed. She was starting to feel sleepy again.

He placed a delicate kiss to her lips, “I love you.”

She mumbled her reply as she began to slip back to sleep once more.

As she went to sleep, Charlie stayed awake, once again pondering the name of their daughter. He also tried to think of a way for Duffy to see their daughter despite knowing the doctors wouldn't allow either of them to be moved any time soon. Pictures! That was the only way. Leaving Duffy to sleep he went to contact Josh to set the wheels in motion on his plan.

Less than an hour later Josh met up with Charlie outside the neonatal unit, his camera bag over his shoulder.

“Thank you. It was the only thing I could think of.”

"Of course." He handed over the bag. "I'll wait out here til you're finished and then I'll run them into town to be developed."

Charlie took the bag. He went into the neonatal unit and began to take photographs of their daughter. She was doing well, she really did have Duffy’s genes.

A couple of minutes later Josh accepted the camera back from Charlie. "I'll be about 2 hours. I have a friend in the shop on Smith Street and she'll do them as a priority job."

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

2 notes · View notes

nowitsdarkfic · 5 years

Text

chapter ten (the house of grey)

“We're all alone in the city, My hands are stoned with pity, I could get by or get high with fifty [yeah] And I don't feel pretty... today.” -Otep, “House of Secrets”

The Man in Black kept his distance from my dreams all the way to the sunrise. I had figured it was because of the extra presence within the House of Grey down the block, but I also have my doubts about that, given the fact he follows me to wherever he damn well pleases. There was also one time I stayed overnight with the Greys and the Man in Black lingered in the deepest corners of the awning covering my front porch. He lingered there like a spider monkey, down and out towards me with his spidery fingers extended out to my face. I had to back up and then hold my breath before I even stepped in the house, and at that point, it felt as though my lungs would explode on me.

Every time I saw the Man in Black from thence forth, I have this pervading feeling that he’s going to reach down my throat and yank out my lungs. I only saw him in his full apparition form twice more after that but it was enough for me to be wary of him.

But nevertheless, I can’t truly say if it’s the fact Maya’s over there now or something else. I was fresh meat to him once: maybe she’s new prey for him, I can’t say, I’m only speculating here.

The first time I encountered the Man in Black was when I first joined Anthrax, and in such a fashion that is forever etched into my memory bank. We were down in the City making arrangements and I had to be there: I had just learned that Scott, Danny, Frankie, and Charlie had been bunking in a small three bedroom flat on the edge between the Bronx and Yonkers, that one part of town that’s mostly white people and yet they managed to find that place; and yet they invited me to spend the next couple of nights with them. I was also reminded that Metallica had been staying with them as well and this was how I began knowing about Metallica and of Lars’ name in particular. They were all two nights from flying out west to California to meet up with the boys from Guns N’ Roses.

On my second evening in that apartment, and the night before we all had to leave, I had some time to myself: Scott and Frankie had just left the room, and I had no idea where Charlie and Danny had scampered off to, which meant I had the room left to me and thus I could have a moment alone. There was nothing more in that room than a dusty old olive green couch with cushions so lumpy I thought I would sink into one side if I sat down wrong, and a singular bare light bulb suspended from the ceiling overhead: I don’t think the power was even on then, and this was in late September so the night began falling upon us much sooner than before.

But I took a seat there on the right side of the sofa and crossed my legs right as James Hetfield stepped into the room right before me. He towered over me with his long lanky legs and lengthy golden blond wavy hair, but he greeted me with the biggest most beaming smile I had ever seen on a man.

“The new guy, right?” he asked me.

“Yeah. I’m Joey. I also go by just Joe, too.”

“Okay, just Joe,” he smartly said. “Mind if I have a seat next to you here?”

“Not at all.”

He took a seat next to me and it felt as though I was lifting off of the cushion. I asked him how he and Metallica had found their way to New York City, and this was how I learned about their tape No Life ‘Til Leather and Jonny circulating it about the area.

I had often heard about James from a few fans and even from Scott and Charlie, in how he always kept a brave, oft stern face, and it always seemed like such an insurmountable task to even so much as pry a smile much less a few words from him. So for me to be immersed in this was almost shocking for me. At the same time, I wanted everyone to witness this James, this side of him that seemed more than happy to be with me there on the couch in this little apartment that had no power or running water. At peace, and without a care in the world. Not the taciturn James I was warned about before: he kept a smile upon his face and let out a twinkling little chuckle every time I had a filthy quip to throw out at every chance I got.

In fact I felt so comfortable with him that I leaned in closer to him; that beckoned a crossing of his legs and a slight unzipping of his jacket.

Once the shadows had grown so long there in the room all around us, and the darkness covered half of his face while the remaining twilight reflected onto him so he resembled to the Phantom of the Opera, he offered me something to drink. I was a few weeks from turning twenty-four, but I still resisted because I also knew about Metallica’s nickname. I shook my head in refusal.

He insisted. And yet I still resisted. I didn’t want to be around that. After I refused a fourth time, he fell silent. It was that moment I witnessed that stone cold face. The shadow casting over him wasn’t helping matters, either. That cold steely look was etched into my memory bank.

And then out of the corner of my eye, from the shadows next to his head, something bent off to the side and over the back of the sofa and onto the wall. I couldn’t tell if it was my eyes playing tricks on me or the shadow increasing up against the fading light, but it was a significant movement. And it was significant enough to cause the hair on my arms to stand on end, my heart to pound away inside my chest, and my stomach to fly right up into my throat. I leaned back away from him; worse, his expression never changed as the shadows coalesced and sank behind the back of the sofa.

He never brought it up again, and I never told anyone about it, either. In fact, I never saw it again, especially once the couch and the apartment themselves fell out of the picture for the time being. But when I moved to the complex in the nicer part of Oswego to be closer to my friends, I recognized that very sofa in the living room in the House of Grey. The house itself has two rooms, one for the each of them, the tiniest living room I’ve ever seen, a kitchenette which also serves as the dining room and the laundry room; across from Billy’s room is the bathroom and a closet with four shelves. Then downstairs in the basement is a back up generator for whenever the power goes out during a blizzard. I don’t really know how it works but I do know it involves three inches of hydrogen plasma and the winds from the lake effect storms. And when the power does go out, it shines this eerie bluish green glow through the cracks in the floorboards.

I’ll never forget seeing the couch for the first time right there in the living room: I could tell they had cleaned it up before bringing it into the house. When I took a seat there on one of the cushions, it again felt like I was about to sink into it. The sole differences were cleaning it took some of the olive color and left behind this funky, aged sausage color in its wake, and I got a really uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach sitting there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, either. But Billy insisted it was fine, even though I dared not tell them about that evening in the City wherein I watched part of James’ shadow splinter off and disappear behind the couch. It was there I started to wonder what had happened to this couch in that two year frame.

In fact, when I spent the night there the next week, and the power had gone out during a snowstorm, my curiosity festered and expanded. I think that was also the first time I ever referred to their place as the House of Grey, and not just from that inconspicuous gray on the outside. It was a hockey night, taking place right after my spending time with Anthrax in the studio for Spreading the Disease, and I kind of knew I would feel too tired once the time warranted it: so I took my pillow with me to the City and then back to the House of Grey.

Since I felt exhausted from two straight days of ass-whooping, I lay down there on that ugly sofa and fell asleep once my head hit the pillow. In circumstances like that, I would’ve slept all the way through the night; but at some point during the night, I awoke to an icy tingling sensation on the soles of my feet, like they fell asleep. But when I regained consciousness, the feeling spread all over my toes and the tops of my feet and up my ankles, like I waded through nearly frozen water. I could hardly breathe, either: it felt like someone sitting upon my chest. I finally opened my eyes and glanced down at my legs, and caught sight of him.

The light from the generator downstairs shone over him so I caught a good look of him. He resembled to James with his long stringy black and silver hair down past his shoulders, and his long narrow body and face, but his eyes were vacant and soulless, machine like in fact, and the tattered black clothes cloaking his body floated back from him like he was underwater. He floated over me like a low cloud of fog, and he reached out to me. His hand and his fingers crept out towards my face, and I started to gag at the unholy feeling of his smoky fingers brushing over me.

I didn’t know what he wanted from me, especially when the sallow skin on his face melted away to reveal the bones beneath. I ducked underneath the blankets and rolled onto my side so I wouldn’t have to see him again. In hindsight, it was a miracle I managed to fall back asleep because I kept seeing those black eyes and then their melting into mere sockets. I also had a dream so horrifying that I can’t even recall it. I awoke the next morning trembling and five seconds from pissing myself. In one hand, I’m glad I didn’t tell Barney and Billy about that night because I knew right away they wouldn’t believe me for a hot minute.

“Oh, come off of it, Joe!” I pictured Barney saying with a slap of the knee and a hoot of laughter. “You were probably just dreaming!”

Yeah, I pictured Barney saying that, always the more open-minded of the two brothers. Then again, the very next day, Barney and I talked about the Man in Black over lunch: he even went so far to call it the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life.

“Where could it have come from?” he asked me, and all I could do was shrug in response. I had no idea how, or why, the Man in Black showed up there at the house. Barney later told Billy, and as figured, he scoffed at the very notion; but I believed him all the way.

And ever since then, every time I swing by the House of Grey, I’ll stride past that sofa and I’ll feel that chill again, that same icy sensation on the soles of my feet, but all over, from my stomach and all the way into my bones. Sometimes, during the summertime and the spring, they lug out their porch swing, and I’ll stand on the porch, and have a glimpse at it. That blocky wooden bench suspended from a pair of silver chains, quietly swaying in the gentle breeze, and I’ll feel him there. Glaring at me, wanting the breath from my lungs, or so I think. I don’t know what he wants from me. It’s a nagging, persisting feeling that eats at me every time I even so much as think of spending the night at the House of Grey.

Barney gets it but Billy always lends an eye roll accompanied with a scoff.

“Who is this Man in Black?” he always demands from us.

“We wouldn’t really know,” Barney always confesses.

“Yeah, we can’t really say if he’s a ghost or a shadow or what,” I add to it.

“You guys know ghosts aren’t real and shadows can’t detach from entities, right?” He likes to throw that one out to us.

“This is very real, Bill,” Barney vows.

“It really is!” I exclaim. “He even reached for me!”

“Yeah, but it was dark, though. You could’ve been seeing things, Joe. You know how your eyes mess with you in total darkness.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t totally dark, though. He was practically glowing from the generator.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

And after that, Barney pulled me aside and took my hand for a shake, and whispered, “what happens here stays here. No going around and telling anyone about it.”

But ever since then, I not only let one slip once in a while but I never sleep too far away from my dream catcher. The Man in Black’s impending presence and the feeling of him inside my mind when I sleep is enough for me to not take any chances. And yet, I still wonder about Maya and if she saw what I saw that night, and if she’s in good spirits there in the House of Grey.

And if anyone is going to blame anyone for not speaking up about it, they can blame me.

#after the watershed #now it’s dark #chapter 10 #new chapter #joey belladonna #anthrax #james hetfield #fanfic #fanfiction #thrash metal #heavy metal fanfiction #noir au #dark sci-fi #ghost stories #nanowrimo #amwriting #text #cyberpunk #gothic horror

1 note · View note

kurokoros · 6 years

Text

Faking It || Chapter One (SPxOC)

Title: Faking It

Rated: T | Warnings: cliches abound, language, possible future violence.

Words: 6,134

Pairing: Sweet Pea x OC

Summary: “A fake kiss. A Contract. And a mutual want to piss off Reggie Mantle. That’s all it was supposed to be. Rosie and Sweet Pea never meant to fall in love in the process.”

AN: This is twice as long as it was supposed to be and I hope you enjoy it. This was loosely inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before and @starryeyedauthor encouraging me to write this monster, so here it is!

Canon has been ignored. Midge is alive. The Black Hood wasn’t Hal. Reggie, Sweet Pea, and Cheryl are all Seniors at Riverdale. idk a Riverdale S3.

The Hayes house is unusually quite for a Wednesday morning.

It’s not that they’re a particularly crazy family, especially when compared to other families in Riverdale, but there are five of them living in a house that’s just a little too small for all of them, with two bathrooms meant to situate two teenage girls, a preteen that thinks she’s a teenager, a sassy eight year old that likes to sing in the shower, and their personal accountant father that also likes to sing in the shower. Loudly and very out of tune. To hits from the eighties.

It’s already seven in the morning and Rosie hasn’t heard so much as a word from upstairs, which would be understandable given the time on most Wednesday mornings, aside from the fact that today happens to be the first day of Riverdale’s fall school semester. The fight for the bathrooms should have started over an hour ago, but so far she’s the only one awake, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of them.

Morning showers are going to be a massacre.

The stairs creak behind Rosie, gaining her attention as her father comes down the stairs and frowns when he sees her already awake and dressed on the couch. “Morning,” she calls over to him, turning back to the book perched in her lap, fingers drumming against the hardcover absently.

“Mornin’.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, yawning and rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “How long have you been up, Rose?” he asks, looking at her in something akin to confusion, which is understandable. Rosie never has been much of a morning person, usually thriving in the dark. Usually it’s a struggle to get her out of bed anytime before ten o’clock, so her being out f bed without a fight is a clear sign that something isn’t right.

She’s always had trouble sleeping when there’s something on her mind. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed over the summer.

Rosie just shrugs in response, setting her book down on the coffee table as she stretches out her legs, sock-clad toes brushing against the cat sleeping at the other end of the couch. “About an hour,” she replies, nonchalant, glancing at the orange tabby cat sleeping at her feet. Charlie’s tail flicks against the couch cushion, the cat ignore the humans in the room easily as he curls up into a ball.

“First day jitters?” her dad asks, glancing at the cat by her feet as well, Rosie refusing to meet his eyes.

Hesitating, Rosie bites her lower lip. “Yeah, something like that,” she says after a beat, not wanting to disclose why she’s so nervous about going to school today. She’s managed to avoid Reggie for the last month since their breakup, but she won’t be able to do that once school officially starts, no matter how much she wishes she could.

He’s a hard person to ignore, among other things.

Her dad sighs, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, still hovering at the bottom of the steps. “I can’t believe it’s already your last year in high school,” he mumbles, stepping further into the room and walking around the couch to plop down on his favorite chair. He stares at Rosie with narrowed eyes, deep in thought about something she doesn’t really understand.

She quirks a brow at him, sitting up on the couch and crossing her legs underneath her, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re not going to go all empty nest syndrome already are you?” she jokes, setting her book aside and resting her chin in the palm of one of her hands, amusement flickering across her face. “You still have ten more years of sending kids off to school, Dad.”

Daisy, being the baby of the family, won’t be graduating for at least ten more years before going off to college and officially abandoning the nest. By then the rest of them will be done with college and living lives of their own, which is strange to think about sometimes. The ten year gap between Rosie and Daisy is odd. Just another product of their parents trying and inevitably failing to save their marriage.

He snorts, grinning at her, oblivious to her thoughts. There’s something almost wistful in his eyes, but it’s gone before she can really recognize what it is. “You kids just grow up so fast,” he mumbles, so softly that Rosie almost doesn’t hear him. “I suppose I better get started on breakfast before your sisters come down. You know how Laurel gets when she doesn’t eat.” He moves to stand from the chair, but Rosie rolls her eyes, hopping to her feet before he can.

“Sit down, Old Man,” she jokes, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’ll handle the food. You make sure everyone is awake.” She has nothing better to do for the next hour until school starts anyway, already ready for the day and then some. And she’d much rather do the cooking than try to wake up Iris, who gets cranky in the morning. She flashes him a smile over her shoulder as she heads for the kitchen. “Besides, my hash browns are better than yours.” Rosie ducks away before he can say anything in his defense, snickering to herself as she thinks about what to make for breakfast.

By the time Rosie decides on making omelets in an old pan, the rest of the Hayes family is awake, or at least mostly awake. Iris is the only one perched at the island behind her, the others still getting ready for the day as she squints down at the script for whatever performance Riverdale High will be doing for the winter play. Tryouts are Friday and Rosie knows that Iris is gunning for a major role, even if she is just a Sophomore. She’s always been good at acting, so much so that sometimes Rosie isn’t sure if Iris ever really stops.

Behind her, Iris wrinkles her nose as she flips to the next page, frowning at whatever she sees on the page. “So I’m thinking about trying out for the Vixens this year,” she says casually, tapping her fingers against the counter top as she swings her legs back and forth, long hair pulled back in a loose bun.

“Yeah?” Rosie hums in response, glancing at Iris over her shoulder as she raises a brow. Cheerleading was never really Rosie’s thing when high school rolled around, but Iris has a talent for being good at anything she does, having a certain knack for anything with a dramatic flare. “I’m sure you’ll be good at it.”

Iris only shrugs in response. “Kelsey said she’d try out, too, but she’s…” she trails off, waving her hands in front of her awkwardly, unsure how to phrase it.

“Terrified of Cheryl?” Rosie finishes for her sister as Laurel walks into the room, the eleven year old lighting up when she sees food being made. “Tell her not to worry. Cheryl runs a tight ship, but she’s more bark than bite.” Rosie would know. While she was never a Vixen, she did use to help Cheryl with choreography back when they were both in their earlier years of high school. Before Riverdale went to shit for their Junior year.

Iris is about to respond, but she’s cut off by a sudden shrieking sound as a wild blur of red hair rushes into the kitchen and practically tackles Rosie to the ground, Daisy a mess of limbs as the eight year old wraps herself around her oldest sister’s legs, nearly knocking the pan right out of her hands. “Rosie!” the youngest Hayes girl shouts, voice muffled against Rosie’s leg.

“Daisy!” Rosie greets in return, laughing to herself as Daisy peeks up at her with big green eyes alight with humor. “Look at you,” she coos down at the little girl, Daisy wearing a pretty blue dress, “all ready for your first day back at school.”

Daisy shoots her a wide smile, tugging lightly at her shorts to gain her attention. “Can you braid my hair?” she asks politely, tilting her head to one side cutely as she waits for an answer from the oldest Hayes.

“Of course I can!” Rosie agrees, reaching down for Daisy’s hand, the little girl tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Iris,” she says, turning to the fifteen year old, “serve up the eggs.”

Iris gives a lazy two-finger salute, still flipping through her script. “Aye, aye Captain.”

Dropping off her sisters for the day is almost as big of a hassle as it is trying to get ready in the morning, if only because of how many schools there are in Riverdale.

For what’s supposed to be such a small town, Rosie is always a little baffled by how many school buildings there are, and how spaced out they are, for that matter. Riverdale Elementary is closer to the local park then the other schools, which makes sense, though it is annoying to have to drive Daisy clear across town from where the rest of them need to go. Riverdale Middle School is, thankfully, located just across from Riverdale high, making things less of a scramble for the oldest Hayes sisters.

And that doesn’t even include the middle school located on the Southside of Riverdale, still standing despite the high school being closed down during the previous spring semester. It’s strange, having two separate high schools located in the same town, but Rosie has never been one to question the way Riverdale works. Going along with the town’s nonsense and simply ignoring the oddities makes her life easier.

Pulling into Riverdale High’s parking lot is about as easy as expected. The lot is crowded between the amount of flashy Northside cars and Serpent bikes, and Rosie half expects to get into a fender-bender only minutes after arriving at the school. Because that’s exactly what she needs on the first day back at school.

Between potentially having to interact with her douche bag ex and trying to find a free space in the parking lot from Hell, Rosie can already tell it’s going to be a great day.

Rosie parks her car in the high school lot, carefully wedging the old Impala between a beat up truck and an ugly powder blue jeep nearly parked over the line separating the parking spaces. “I swear, the parking jobs get shittier every year,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes at the blue jeep to her right. She’d think that by now people would learn how to park and not be an asshole, but maybe that’s asking too much from dumbass high school students. Rosie catches Laurel’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, making the younger girl giggle.

“All right, everybody out,” she says, shutting off the ignition and throwing her door open, mindful of how close the other cars are. Iris follows suit without a word, grimacing when she’s unable to fully open the passenger door because of how close the next car is. Laurel slips out the same side as Rosie, grinning as she drags her bag out behind her, practically bouncing in place as she glances at the Middle School just across the road.

Sighing, Rosie tosses her bag over her shoulder, locking the car with a click as the three of them pile out. Iris pulls out her phone as she walks around the car to come stand beside her sisters, paying them no attention as Rosie turns to Laurel, the eleven year old smiling back as she fixes her glasses, excited for her first day of middle school. “Ready, Kiddo?” she asks, the question more rhetorical than anything. Laurel blinks back at her with wide green eyes, nodding rapidly and sending her curly hair flying around her face. “Okay, remember what I told you?” Rosie lifts her to-go cup to her lips, quirking a brow at her sister.

Laurel’s expression turns serious for a moment, her brows furrowing as she tries to recall Rosie’s advice on surviving middle school. “Stay away from the cafeteria food and if a boy touches me inappropriately, punch him in the throat,” she recounts gleefully, clapping her hands together in front of her.

Rosie chokes on her coffee slightly at the unexpected statement, and behind Laurel, Iris snorts, shaking her head slightly before going back to typing out a message to one of her friends. Blinking down at Laurel, Rosie opens her mouth to chastise her, but closes it again a moment later, shrugging. “Not what I meant, but fair enough.” That’s the kind of advice she would have liked in middle school. “Stay out of trouble and I’ll see you after class.”

With a salute and a megawatt smile, Laurel is gone, practically running to the crosswalk separating the schools as she calls a goodbye to Rosie and Iris, waving manically at the over her shoulder. Rosie watches until Laurel is safely across and headed for the front doors before sucking in a deep breath and turning to Iris, who doesn’t pay her any mind.

“You ready?” Rosie asks, turning on her heel to head towards the school, Iris keeping pace with her easily, despite being distracted.

The younger teen shrugs, frowning down at her phone, oblivious to the herd of Freshman boys headed their way, crowing loudly to each other and overall just being obnoxious. “Not really,” Iris says, shrugging slightly, nose wrinkling in thought. One of the freshman shoves another, nearly toppling the boy into Iris, but Rosie yanks her back, shooting the boys a nasty look that they either don’t notice or simply ignore.

She’d put her money on the latter if she had any.

“Sucks,” Rosie quips back, already ready for the day to be done with. “Meet at the car after class. If you’re not there by ten after, I’m leaving you to walk home,” she continues, patting Iris on the shoulder before skirting around her and taking another sip of coffee, grinning at the taste.

Behind her, Iris sputters, her steps faltering for a moment. She shoves her phone into her back pocket, practically jogging to catch up to Rosie. “There was literally a serial killer in town last semester,” Iris reminds her, voice higher than usual as she shoves her bangs out of her eyes. “You do remember that, right? Because that was an actual thing that happened, Rosie. There was a serial killer in Riverdale.”

“Technically, no one can prove those shootings were connected.” Iris scoffs, making Rosie smile. “And serial killer implies that multiple people died. That’s kind of in the title.” Rosie can practically feel Iris’s eyes rolling at the comment, but she doesn’t respond as she follows her sister to the school, only mumbles something Rosie doesn’t catch as she shoves open the doors.

Iris disappears as soon as they walk through the doors of Riverdale High, absently waving at Rosie over her shoulder and calling out a goodbye that’s lost in the loud hallway. Rosie watches her go, shaking her head with a fond smile as Iris is swallowed up in the crowd of Sophomore students headed to their lockers, glad not to be lowest on the food-chain anymore.

Carefully sidestepping a pair of confused freshman, Rosie heads to her own locker, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as she goes. A few seniors smile at her as she passes, looking about as excited to be back in school as Rosie feels. She returns the smiles with her own strained ones, pointedly ignoring the stares of a pair of Bulldogs leaning against the lockers to her right.

The boys mumble something as she passes, nudging at each other and sharing smirks, but Rosie only continues to sip at her coffee, choosing to ignore the fact that they’re very likely discussing her breakup with Reggie over the summer and the circumstances surrounding it. She doesn’t recognize the boys, leading her thoughts to Freshman followed closely by not worth her time.

Her heels click sharply against the floors as she walks, but the sound is drowned out by the chattering of students crowding the halls, talking with their friends and waiting for first bell. Turning down the hallways housing the senior lockers, Rosie immediately finds her own, situated right between Piper Farrow and Michael Higgens, just as it has been for the last eight years of their school careers.

Alphabetical order can be a bitch sometimes, but at least she has Piper in the locker right next to hers. Michael is a different story. He asks her out every single semester and Rosie declines every single time because all she can ever think about when it comes to him is that time in second grade when he shoved a crayon up his nose, got it stuck, and then snorted so hard that it flew out and got stuck to Missy Bradford’s cheek.

That was the most scarring moment of her childhood, if she’s being completely honest. Watching crayon bits and mucus slide down Missy’s cheek is about the biggest turn off of the century.

With a frown, Rosie glances down the hallway, eyes narrowing when she doesn’t see Piper or Sophie anywhere. While it isn’t unusual for Sophie to run late, the blonde prone to losing track of time, Piper is always early to everything, to the point where it’s almost concerning. There’s still fifteen minutes left until classes start for the day, but Piper makes a point of being to school thirty minutes before first bell. It’s odd not seeing them already leaning against her locker, Piper nodding along with whatever Sophie is saying, unable to get more than a few words in between Sophie’s babbling and hand flailing.

She means well, but the girl is exhausting sometimes. Rosie loves her anyway though, both Sophie and Piper. She would’ve been a lot worse off after this summer if it weren’t for the two of them.

Rosie shakes the thoughts away, determined not to think about what happened nearly a month ago as she fiddles with her locker, opening it with a fluid twist of the wrist, only half-aware of what she’s doing as she grabs her books from inside, stuffing them in her bag one by one.

She’s lucky not to have many classes this semester, only the required core classes and a series of art classes she’s been waiting to take since her Freshman year. It’s less of a strain class wise than it was last year, or even her Sophomore year, but that doesn’t mean she’ll have much free time between her senior showcase project, her AP classes, and whatever shenanigans she has to get Sophie out of this year.

Shoving her final notebook into her bag, Rosie nudges her locker door, letting it close with a slam as she tosses her bag over her shoulder, careful not to spill her coffee as she does. She takes a step back from her locker, casting another glance around the crowded hallway before pulling her phone from her back pocket, checking for a message from either of her friends. Rosie raises her cup to her lips, about to take a sip when someone slides up behind her, a pair of arms coming around her from behind and giving her a brief squeeze. “Guess who?” a familiar voice whispers in her ear.

Laughter bubbles in Rosie’s throat immediately as she spins around on her heel, breaking the arm-lock Sophie has around her waist as she turns to face her friends. Sophie smirks down at her, tucking her short blonde hair behind her ear as she rocks back on her heels, combat boots scuffing against the floor as she does. The smile on Sophie’s face is all teeth, her blue eyes crinkling at the edges with how wide her grin is.

Rosie’s gaze slides to Piper still halfway down the hallway, amusement bubbling inside her as she realizes Sophie must have run up to her upon spotting her at her locker, leaving the third member of their trio lagging behind.

“There you guys are!” Rosie says, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder and shoving her phone into her back pocket, a smile immediately forming on her lips as Piper walks up behind Sophie, rolling her eyes at the blonde’s behavior as she finally reaches them. Rosie locks eyes with Piper, raising an amused brow at the exasperation painted across her face. “Usually you’re here before I am.” Her expression turns teasing as she glances between her friends. “I was beginning to think Sophie finally convinced you to ditch class,” she jokes, biting back a laugh at the sour expression she gets in response.

Piper scoffs, rolling her eyes again and crossing her arms over her chest. “She wishes,” she snarks, jabbing a thumb in Sophie’s direction and ignoring the pout that forms on Sophie’s lips. “I almost thought we weren’t going to make it on time because someone slept in today.” She shoots Sophie a pointed look, making Rosie giggle at the affronted look in Sophie’s eyes.

“I forgot school started today!” Sophie blurts defensively, throwing her hands up and nearly knocking the coffee straight out of Rosie’s hands.

Piper sends Sophie a look practically dripping with contempt, her expression unamused as she crosses her arms. “I reminded you yesterday,” she says blankly, shoving her wild curls away from her face. “You kept me awake until two sending me texts about how you want to do musical theater this year but Eric Morgan told you that your singing makes dog’s bark. Which is a fact, by the way,” she finishes, pulling her orange cardigan tighter around herself, the pumpkin shade popping against her dark skin.

Sophie’s pout only deepens. “Piper, you know I’m like a goldfish!” she whines, tossing an arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders and ignoring the jab about her singing. Where Sophie is nearly five feet eight inches tall, Piper and Rosie are lacking in the height department, though Piper has a few inches on Rosie. “I don’t remember shit!”

“Obviously,” Piper drawls, yanking open her own locker as she shares an exasperated look with Rosie. “I’m not waiting for you that long again,” she warns Sophie, voice stern as she pulls her textbooks out of her locker, sending Sophie a look that’s only half-serious, “next time you’re getting here on your own.”

The look on Sophie’s face can only aptly be described as horrified. “But I’m a lesbian!” she cries, gaining a few odd looks from some of their classmates nearby, though Sophie doesn’t appear to give a shit.

Piper sends her a baffled look. “So?”

“Lesbians can’t drive!” Sophie hisses, grabbing Piper by the shoulders and giving her a rough shake. “You know this!”

Rosie is only barely able to swallow her laughter, her mood easily lifted by Sophie’s dramatics and Piper’s practicality. Sometimes it’s a wonder that the two of them are even friends, what with how different the two of them are, right down to the way they dress, but Rosie wouldn’t change a thing about their strange dynamic. Piper is the more logical of the two, preferring a softer approach to things, whereas Sophie is all rage and threats of bodily harm against anyone that upsets Rosie or Piper. It’s how they’ve always been, right back to the first time they met back in the third grade after Sophie broke Dallas Brenton’s nose for pulling Piper’s hair.

“She’s right you know,” Rosie teases Piper. “Sophie just barely passed her drivers’ test on the third try.”

It was a miracle that Sophie even passed at all, given her utter refusal to ever drive anywhere. Granted, that’s probably for the best. Sophie being behind the wheel has always been a terrifying experience; Rosie’s fairly certain that her life expectancy has shortened just by being in the same car as Sophie.

“Hey!” Sophie snaps, releasing Piper to point a finger at Rosie, her eyes narrowed playfully. “I would have gotten it on the second if it weren’t for that ice cream truck!”

Piper snorts, shaking her head and using her hip to slam her locker shut. “Right, blame the ice cream truck.” Her nose scrunches up as she looks down at her reading list for Advanced English, eyes rolling when she sees a title she doesn’t like. “It couldn’t be that you’re just a safety hazard on the road.” Sophie goes to snap something back, hands on her hips, but Piper continues before she can, looking up at Rosie. “Anyway!” she starts, turning on her heel and linking her arm through Rosie’s before starting down the hall, leaving a sputtering Sophie rooted in place in front of the lockers. “What are you going to do when you see Reggie, Rose?” Her voice dips to something barely above a whisper, her expression turning serious as she glances at Rosie, worry flashing in her eyes.

Rosie’s response is immediate. “I won’t.” She’s resolved to not have anything to do with Reggie this year so long as she can help it. As far as Rosie is concerned, he no longer exists. Reggie can go fuck himself for all she cares. He’s no longer any of her business.

“What are you going to do?” Sophie asks, finally catching up to them. “Close your eyes whenever he’s nearby? Because I’m sure that’ll work out fantastically.”

Piper swats at Sophie, who ducks around to Rosie’s other side, hiding behind the much shorter redhead. “Sophie, you’re not helping,” Piper hisses as Sophie laughs.

“Hey,” she defends herself, “I offered to beat him up, but you guys said no!”

Rosie rolls her eyes, wishing this wasn’t the third time she’s had this conversation in the last month. “We are not committing assault,” she reminds Sophie. Again. As much as Rosie loves the other girl to death, she’s not willing to be arrested with them, at least not while they’re still in high school. Maybe after college. And certainly not for someone as pathetic as Reggie Mantle.

Sophie groans, looking more put out than she should be by Rosie shutting down violence as a plan. “Motherfucker has it coming though! After what he fucking did to you I ought a give him a Russian Corkscrew.” The last two words light up something in Sophie’s eyes, much to her friends’ collective horror.

Rosie has no idea what a Russian Corkscrew is, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to know. It sounds fake, but anything with the word Russian in it is probably painful and also dangerous.

“I actually agree with Sophie on this one,” Piper says after a beat, shrugging slightly as she looks at Rosie. Her hand finds Rosie’s, their fingers lacing together as Piper gives her a reassuring squeeze, giving her a half-smile for a half-joke.

Sophie tosses an arm around Rosie’s shoulders, the fabric of her flannel soft against Rosie’s bare shoulder. “Thank you, Pipes!” she crows at Piper, blue eyes alight with mischief as she turns to Rosie next. “See, Piper agrees with me!”

“We are not committing assault,” Rosie repeats, trying to keep her voice firm, though a smile twitches on her lips, Rosie unable to bite back her amusement at her friends’ ridiculousness. They’re only trying to cheer her up, not wanting her to fall back into the slump she was in for the latter half of summer, and Rosie couldn’t ask for better people in her life.

Pursing her lips, Sophie narrows her eyes in thought. “What about vandalism?”

Rosie hesitates, catching sight of another Bulldog staring at her from down the hall, Moose Mason wrapped up with his girlfriend Midge as they both watch her. “Ask me again after first period,” she finally mumbles back, forcing herself to look away from Moose and Midge, anger bubbling under her skin at the sympathy in their gazes.

Sophie gives a little cheer at Rosie’s almost-agreement, yanking her into a clumsy hug that nearly pulls Rosie right off the ground, causing Piper to snicker from her other side. Sophie releases her just as quickly, twisting around to walk in front of Rosie and Piper, walking backwards through the hallway and forcing the students behind her to avoid being run over. A few of them roll their eyes at Sophie, but most only move aside, used to her antics after so many years of knowing her.

Frankly, Sophie wouldn’t be Sophie if she wasn’t being a public nuisance.

The three of them are quiet for a moment until Piper suddenly frowns, looking down at her class schedule. “Sophie, don’t you have Barker for math first period?” she asks suddenly, sending the other girl a critical look.

Sophie, for her part, only shrugs, looking unbothered by Piper’s question. “I mean, technically, yeah,” she tells them. Rosie snorts at the way Sophie only waves off Piper’s indignant squeak at the nonchalant response.

“Soph, you can’t skip math on the first day of classes,” Piper chastises, looking at Sophie with an expression that’s equally exasperated and fond.

Rosie smiles, opening her mouth to back up Piper, but the words stick in her throat when she catches someone’s eye from the other end of the hallway. She jerks to a halt as she sees the pack of Bulldogs crowded around a group of lockers, eyes finding Reggie easily in the group, looking for him almost instinctively, and she hates herself a little bit for it.

Reggie’s eyes widen when he sees her, and he shoves away from his locker and the surrounding Bulldogs, straightening when she looks at him. Her chest goes tight with anger, but she can’t bring herself to look away from him, momentarily paralyzed with shock at seeing him so soon. She was hoping to avoid him for as long as possible, but luck clearly isn’t on her side today.

Sophie and Piper continue to banter, oblivious to Rosie’s sudden shift in mood. “Ugh, fine, Killjoy. I’ll just skip tomorrow instead.”

Rolling her eyes, Piper glances up at Rosie for backup, noticing her expression for the first time. “Oh shit,” Piper gasps, following Rosie’s gaze down the hallway, stopping short of a comeback to Sophie’s quip. Frowning, Sophie stops walking as well, her head cocking to one side in confusion before she looks over her shoulder, her entire body going tense when she sees what’s caught her friends’ attention. “Fuck boy alert,” Piper continues, tightening her grip on Rosie’s hand before grabbing Sophie by the arm with the other, holding back the now fuming blonde that practically hisses when she sees Reggie standing on the opposite end of the hallway.

“Son of a bitch,” Sophie sneers, hands tightening into fists as Piper holds her back.

Piper’s eyes go wide as Rosie stares at her ex, Reggie sending her a grin from down the hall when their eyes meet. Rosie makes a show of ripping her eyes away from his, panic crawling in her throat when he takes a step towards the three girls, his intent clear. He hasn’t stopped calling her since that night and she was an idiot to think he wouldn’t try to corner her at school too.

Reggie always has had a way of getting what he wants.

Hands shaking, Rosie lets go of Piper, wide eyes searching for something in the hallway to distract her from Reggie’s advance. Her eyes land on a group of Southside Serpents in the hallway, a familiar face catching her eye. Sweet Pea’s gaze catches hers for only a second, but it’s enough for Rosie to make a split-second decision that she’ll probably regret later in the day.

A sudden, petty need rises up in Rosie, hurt turning to anger in her chest. She rips her hand away from Piper’s, eyes on the Serpents as she steadfastly ignores Reggie walking towards her. Her anxiety only grows as he gets closer and she moves without thinking, desperate to avoid Reggie at all costs.

“Rosie, what are you doing?” Piper calls after her, still holding Sophie back as they both watch in bewilderment as Rosie heads towards the Serpents, bots clicking across the floor as she goes. “Rosie!”

“Sweet Pea!” Rosie snaps as she walks up to the tall Serpent, trying to keep her voice light despite the heavy weight of Reggie’s gaze on the side of her face. She ignores the students that turn to look at her, nearly half the hallway watching whatever is going on between Rosie, Reggie, and the Serpents. Anger burns in her throat, but she swallows it back when Sweet Pea meets her gaze, his eyes bright with amusement.

“Hey, Doll,” he greets, straightening to his full height as she steps up to him, towering over her by nearly a foot despite her heels. A lazy smirk pulls at his lips as he looks down at her, hands slipping from his pockets as his head tilts to the side in an almost endearing way. The Serpents he’s standing with all send her looks as she walks up, more questioning than anything else. She and Sweet Pea aren’t friends. Not really anyway. They shared a few classes last semester and would talk when he came to Pop’s during her shift, and that was the most of it.

And if there was a little harmless flirting in there too, well, that was on him.

Sweet Pea’s gaze crawls up her frame in a way that makes her shiver, his eyes lingering on her bare thighs and the teasing hint of skin showing between the waist of her shorts and the flowy purple crop-top she’s wearing. His smirk grows as his eyes lock with hers once more, Sweet Pea wetting his lips as he stares down at her. “What can I—”

Rosie doesn’t give him a chance to finish. She can feel Reggie’s eyes burning against her back, rage boiling just beneath the surface, and that spurs her to do it. Quick as a snake, she grabs at Sweet Pea, fingers wrapping around the collar of his leather jacket as she yanks him down to her, lips meeting his in a kiss that’s borderline bruising. She presses up on her toes to reach him, grasping at his jacket so tightly she’s afraid the leather might tear.

Sweet Pea’s sharp inhale isn’t lost to Rosie, the sound muffled by her mouth on his. His big hands wrap around her instinctively, and open palm pressing against her lower back to keep her flush against him as the other finds her hip, fingers curling around her tightly. His thumb brushes teasingly against the bare strip of skin at her waist.

Her heart begins to beat faster, practically slamming against her rib cage, and she briefly wonders if Sweet Pea can feel it against his own chest. One of her arms slinks around the back of his neck, dragging him down further to meet her. She sighs against his mouth, Sweet Pea’s lips warm against hers, their mouths moving together easily.

Sweet Pea exhales through his nose, practically sighing against her, mouth pressing against hers with just enough pressure to make her head spin as he pulls her flush up against him, arms coiling around her back. Rosie is assaulted by the smell of cigarettes and motor oil as she presses herself up against him, tilting her chin up to deepen the kiss as best she can. Sweet Pea leans into her, tilting her back as he kisses her harder. His teeth nip at her lower lip suddenly, followed by his tongue brushing over the same spot. A small sound leaves her throat, but he swallows it quickly, pressing closer.

There’s a sharp wolf-whistle behind her from one of the Serpents and Rosie suddenly remembers the audience they have, a significant portion of the student body watching—and probably getting more of an eyeful than they bargained for.

Rosie lurches back, breathing heavily as she stares up at Sweet Pea, releasing her grip on his jacket and pressing her palm against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her hand as she pushes away from him, taking a step back. He blinks down at her in bewilderment, lips parted and smeared with her lipstick.

“Thanks,” she breathes up at him, unable to say anything else as she forces herself away from him. A smile finds its way to her lips, Rosie, biting her lower lip as she takes another step away from him. She gives a brief nod as she turns on her heel, practically skipping back to Piper and Sophie, who stare at her in disbelief.

When he gaze drifts back to the other end of the hall, the Bulldogs are all staring at her, eyes wide with shock.

Reggie is gone.

Tag List: @daisylennss, @isabella-bby,

#riverdale #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fic #fic: faking it #oc: rosalie #riverdaledrabbles

233 notes · View notes

let-me-love-you-loki · 5 years

Text

Hounds of Justice--Ch. 44

Chapter 44

The wind nearly blew me over as I walked out of the back door of Black and Brave. The students had already gone to get some rest. Every single one of them had done a fantastic job. Sarah had made progress in getting over some of her fear, although it was going to take a while before she was truly what I would call fearless in the ring.

Seth had given me the keys to his CUV so I could go back to the house. He’d decided to go check in on the place he owned were a number of the male student stayed when they were training at the school. I was tired anyway, so it didn’t bother me too much.

I engaged the GPS with the address of the house, cursing under my breath that I still hadn’t mastered the route between Moline and Davenport. Halfway there, large flakes of snow started falling. They hit the ground and melted into the asphalt, glowing bright in the headlights before they disappeared. If the temperature dropped low enough, it would start to stick. God only knew how long it was going last.

By the time I pulled into the garage, the grass was dusted with white. I dug my phone out of my bag. Waited for the line to connect.

“Hey, babe,” Seth said on the other end.

I tucked the phone between cheek and shoulder. “Hey. You might want to head back soon. It’s starting to snow.”

He chuckled. “This isn’t snow, Llane. It’s powder.”

“Well, powder can still be dangerous.”

The sound of his voice muffled, as if he’d put his hand over the phone. When he came back, there was laughter in the background. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll come home.”

I made a face as I turned on the coffee maker, needing something warm to drink. “I just don’t want you to get hurt trying to drive back after the roads freeze over.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Don’t rush!”

I changed into a pair of flannel pants and a tank beneath an oversized sweater. Fleece socks kept my feet warm on the cold wood floors. I curled up on the sofa with a cup of coffee, flipping through channels with Prince and Kevin curled up on each side. Every now and then, I’d check my phone, starting to worry when ten minutes became fifteen and then twenty.

When the garage door engaged nearly forty-five minutes after we talked, I was on edge with anxiety. Seth came in the side door, nose a little red from the cold and bundled in a hoodie and a jacket. He toed off his shoes by the door and grinned at me as he tossed a set of keys and his wallet on the counter.

“Are you okay?” I asked breathlessly. Kevin stirred when I stood up but sank back down into his nap when he realized nothing exciting was happening.

He smiled, tugged me into his arms. I craned my neck to look up at him. “Maybe the roads were worse than I thought.”

I tried not to smirk. “Ah.”

He rolled his eyes. His lips brushed my forehead. “You were right. I wouldn’t have wanted to drive in this after it freezes tonight.”

Stunned. Uncertain that I’d heard properly. I blinked.

Seth led me by the hand toward the sofa. He sat down just where it curved into its L shape and tugged me down beside him. I curled against him, my head resting on his shoulder as he enveloped me in warmth.

“Besides,” he said with quiet tenderness, “Mom takes care of the bunkhouse anyway. I just wanted to see what kind of stuff those guys were doing.”

I smiled as I threaded our fingers together. His lips brushed the top of my head. “You’d like to be here more often, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s hard enough just keeping up with all the stuff going on with my family when I’m on the road. If it wasn’t for Marek and the rest of them, I don’t think I could run the school.”

Words rushed through my brain, cobbled themselves together into sentences. A wish turned to hope to desire in the depths of my heart.

Quiet settled between us. I stayed there, my head on his shoulder, his arm curled around me, even after I felt the light rumbling of a snore go through his chest. A smile played on my lips.

“It wouldn’t be so bad living in Iowa,” I whispered into the silence. Kevin rested his chin on my feet, almost agreeing with me.

“So you two’ve figured your stuff out?” Dean asked as we warmed up in gorilla. Mixed Match Challenge went life on Facebook in just a few minutes, and our match was up first.

“Some of it,” I replied. “He’s trying. That’s all I can ask.”

A ghost of a smile settled on Dean’s lips. He glanced down at the tattoo on his left ring finger. It was a permanent reminder of his wedding band, even when it wasn’t physically there. “Sometimes that’s all you can do, dollface.”

I rose up on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean.”

He blushed and put his arm around my neck. “Be bored mad.”

Roman stood just behind me, his radiant warmth spreading throughout my entire body. Seth was on my left, Dean on my right. Charlie stared into a camera just a few feet away, a microphone held in her hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guests at this time, The Shield.”

She turned toward us, the camera following, shifting to fit all four of us into the shot. We gave our best unconcerned and aloof expressions. Seth and Dean had the Raw Tag Team titles around their waists. The Intercontinental title rested over Seth’s shoulder. Roman hoisted the Universal Championship into view.

“You guys have dominated the Raw roster for weeks now. You three collectively,” she said, gesturing to the guys, “have every championship in the men’s division. Do you feel like you’ve become targets?”

“You’re always a target when you’ve got gold, Charles,” Roman replied smoothly. “It means you’re the best and everyone wants to prove that they’re better than you.”

“We’ve put in blood and sweat and blood and tears to get these titles. And anyone who wants to step up can come take their ass-whippin’,” Dean said ferociously.

“While the three of you have been taking over the men’s division, Llane, you’ve been burning through the women. How does it feel to be the number one contender for the Raw Women’s Championship?”

The truth was that it felt euphoric. It was something I never thought I would see this early in my career, but I knew that wasn’t something I could say. So instead I shrugged, tried to look more confident than I felt.

“I earned it, Charlie. I beat some of the most talented women in this business, and I think that’s a pretty good indicator of what I can do.” I glanced at Dean. “With these three at my back, there’s nothing I can’t do.”

“Oh really?” A voice came from just behind Charlie.

The camera backed up, made room for a new arrival. Ronda. She was in her usual backstage gear—boots, leggings, her own tee-shirt, and Piper’s jacket. The Women’s title was draped over her shoulder.

“You’ve spent more time in the ring with Dean Ambrose than by yourself,” Ronda spat. “There are half a dozen women on the Raw roster better than you.”

“And I beat every one that stepped in front of me,” I retorted, stepping away from the others. My heart raced in my chest. I knew her reputation—both from MMA and from the people she’d faced in the WWE ring. “The only one I haven’t beat is you, and that’s just because you’ve been too scared to step into the ring with me.”

The bravado in my words surprised even me. I fought the urge to swallow, to look nervous.

Ronda moved closer, going toe to toe with me. “The only thing I’m scared of, little girl, is how I’m going to explain ripping your arms out of their sockets.”

I gave her a smirk of my own, cracking my knuckles like Dean did during promos. “Just remember, Ronda… when you get in the ring with me, you get in the ring with a big dog, with a lunatic, and someone who will burn everything you love to ashes. You might be the baddest woman on the planet, but I’m the most fearless.”

A second ticked by. I grinned. “Believe that.”

Tag List

@sammyfireheartashryver @0paint-the-stars0 @easyobsession @lakamaa12 @bethany99stuff-blog @cburdine @themumbler @bruiserw8 @xbutterflius-effectusx @iwritewwe @echrai

#hounds of justice #seth rollins #seth rollins fanfiction #dean ambrose #roman reigns #llane black #wwe #wwe fanfiction #real person fanfiction #ofc #oc #multi-chapter

50 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Christmas in Storybrooke: 4/13

This chapter has some parts from Emma’s point of view as well as some CS fluffiness with hints of pancakes :) Updates will be daily from now until New Years. (God help me!)

Summary: My Hallmark Christmas movie fic in which flights get cancelled and Henry’s “best friend’ gets snowed in with him in his quirky hometown for Christmas. Only with magic and fairy tale characters.

Rating: M for suggestive scenes and adult situations, not smut

Trigger warnings: Henry is an adult. Read that again: Henry is an adult. Look at the picset: that’s Andrew J. West. If Henry actually behaving like an adult makes you feel icky, the don’t read this.

Can also be read on A03

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @yohoyohoafandomlifeforme @distant-rose

Chapter Four: Sleigh Ride

Emma felt odd sitting at her parent’s dining room table in one of the plush chairs from the living room. Even after all these years, she wasn’t used to being fussed over. She even still chaffed at her husband’s constant care and attention, made only worse by Dr. Whale’s diagnosis of preeclampsia. Her hand rubbed absently over her swollen abdomen. She wouldn’t deny that this cushioned seat was doing so much more for her back than the wooden dining room chair would have.

She looked around the table at those gathered around. Her father was spooning more mashed potatoes onto Robyn’s outstretched plate while simultaneously laughing with Killian over something. Zelena nudged her daughter, admonishing her to stop with the mashed potatoes already, then gave David an apology. Emma pressed her fingers to her lips and swallowed a giggle. Who would have ever expected the Wicked Witch of the West to be admonishing her daughter to be a more polite guest in Prince Charming and Snow White’s home?

Killian caught her delighted expression and winked at her, then took her hand and kissed it. He didn’t let it go when Belle said something to him on the other side of the table. Her mother rose to pull a fussy Ava out of her high chair. Regina reached for the baby eagerly, and Snow handed her over. Regina made faces at the baby and tickled her tummy.

Emma’s eyes drifted to her oldest son who was making gestures with his hands as he explained something to his Grandpa Rumple across the table. Evangeline threw her head back and laughed as she lightly touched Henry’s arm. Rumple folded his hands under his chin, only the slightest smile lifting one half of his mouth at the obviously hilarious story. Evie patted Henry’s shoulder, then started talking animatedly. Emma assumed she must be adding to whatever tale Henry was weaving.

“What are you thinking, my love?” Killian whispered in her ear.

She gave him a small smile and a wink. “For one precious moment, everyone is getting along. I’m enjoying it while I can.”

He chuckled and brushed a kiss to her forehead.

*************************************************

Grandpa David – Uncle David Henry mentally corrected – stood in front of the fireplace in the farmhouse living room with an eager grin on his face. He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“Okay,” he announced to the family gathered around the Christmas tree, “Sn - ahem, Mary Margaret and I decided that instead of gifts this year -”

The children all suddenly groaned.

“Now wait a minute,” David said teasingly, crossing his arms and casting a glare at all the kids, “you haven’t let me finish. Instead of gifts, we’re giving experiences.”

Grandma Snow – Aunt Mary Margaret Henry corrected once again – joined her husband with a huge smile dimpling her face. “It's something I read about on a blog. See, instead of things, you arrange something for you and your loved ones to do together. Most of you will be receiving tickets to certain things on Christmas morning -”

At that, the kids perked up and started to whisper excitedly.

“Are you gonna take us to Disney World?” Charlie asked in a high-pitched squeal.

“Just wait and see,” his grandmother replied in a sing-song voice. Henry shook his head. She was still horrible at keeping secrets.

“Whaddya need to go to Disney World for?” Robyn piped up with a roll of her eyes. “Just take the Joll-”

Zelena grabbed her daughter’s arm.

“Ow!” she protested. “What was that for?”

Zelena glared at her daughter.

“Anyway,” David jumped back in, “the first gift we’re giving was kind of a last minute one, and we’re so excited that we pulled it off.”

Snow made her way over to Evangeline and took her hands. “I know how hard it must be to miss Christmas with your family. But, being in Maine means you can check off some Christmas traditions you can’t get down south in Atlanta.”

David leaned and looked out the window. “They’re here, darling.”

“Everyone bundle up and meet us on the porch!” Snow called. “We’ve got a gift for Henry’s friend Evie.”

Evie turned wide eyes on Henry. “What is all this about?”

He shrugged. “I guess we better go see.”

The kids beat everyone out the door, and by the time Henry and Evie got bundled up and headed out, they had to get up on their toes to see the front yard of the farmhouse. Parked there was a white sleigh trimmed in red, with Buttercup hitched to the front. The cream-colored horse shook her mane and the sound of jingle bells filled the air. Sitting on the driver’s seat was a scowling Grumpy. Lined up behind the first sleigh were six more, each being driven by one of the dwarves.

“Merry Christmas, Evie!” Snow exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee.

“Okay, everybody!” David shouted. “Line up to ride! Two to a sleigh, or two adults and one child.”

Henry grabbed his mom. “We have this many sleighs and horses in Storybrooke?”

“For the horses, three are your Grandpas and the other four came from Storybrooke Stables. As for the sleighs,” Regina shrugged, “well you only said Evie coudn’t see any magic.”

Henry’s gaze found Evie, who was standing with her mittened hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes shining.

“Oh, Mrs. Nolan,” she gasped, “this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done . . . “

She trailed off, rendered speechless, and Henry’s grandma embraced her. “It’s your gift, so you get to go first. Who do you want to ride with?”

Evie’s gaze met Henry’s as all three of his siblings ran to Evie, tugging at her arm and begging to ride with her. The last thing he wanted to do was share this sleigh ride with a little kid wedged between the two of them. He pushed his way towards Evie and extended his hand.

“If I may,” he said, struggling to remember the charming ways of the men in his family, “I would like to share this ride with Evangeline. Just the two of us?”

She smiled and took his hand. He tried to ignore the groans of protest from his siblings, and the looks exchanged between the adult members of his family. Instead, he guided Evie down the front walk and helped her into the sleigh. He stepped inside, adjusted the wool blanket on the seat across their laps, and told Grumpy they were ready to go.

“This farm is beautiful,” Evie sighed, taking in the snow laden pines, oaks, and maples all around them. She snuggled down in her seat, a contented smile upon her face. “I feel like I’m living a Hallmark Christmas movie. All this snow, and the festival, and ice skating . . . now this? Thank you so much Henry for giving this to me. For bringing me here.”

She smiled up at him, and the muscles in his arms twitched. He ached to put his arm around her, and maybe yesterday he would have, before he was aware of how he felt about her. Evie had never shied away from his touch. She would grab his arm or his hand, lean against his shoulder when she was tired, grab him around the waist for a hug when she was upset. He suddenly realized she had always been the one to initiate those things.

She shivered, then yawned. Henry took a deep breath, then lifted his arm and put it around her shoulder. She melted into him, shifting to cuddle deeper into his side. He lowered his cheek and rested it against the top of her head.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” he told her.

They were silent for a few moments, enjoying the whooshing sound of the sleigh and the jiggling of the horse’s bells. A lantern swung from a hook at Grumpy’s side on the driver’s seat, and it cast bright beams of light across the fallen snow. A few yards behind them, they could hear Robyn and Hope singing “Jingle Bells’ at the top of their lungs as his Aunt Zelena begged them to stop. Evie looked up at him and laughed as the girls dissolved into pre-teen giggles.

“Your aunt and uncle are so nice,” Evie commented. “Why have you never mentioned them?”

“Um . . .” Henry awkwardly cleared his throat, “I don’t know. I guess I just talk about Neal more?”

“And your grandparents? I thought they were the ones who owned the farm. Where are they?”

“They’re . . . on a cruise.” He winced at the blatant lie as he pulled his arm away from Evie. It didn’t feel right to make a move on her when he was keeping so much from her.

She didn’t speak again for the rest of the sleigh ride, neither did she look at him. He tried to tell himself she was just enjoying the scenery, but he couldn’t ignore the tension that had suddenly fallen between them.

****************************************************

An hour later, Emma had her feet propped up on the ottoman, her toes reaching towards the fire place of her own living room. Killian was sitting on the floor next to her, and her fingers were absentmindedly in his hair. She looked over at the sofa where Henry and Evie sat. Henry’s arm was draped across the back of the couch, almost but not quite touching Evie’s shoulder. The girl herself was as close as she could be to Henry without actually touching him. Both wore Santa hats on their heads that they had gotten at the Snow Festival earlier in the day. When they had first gotten home from the farm, Evie had chased Henry around the living room for ten minutes before convincing him to don the hat so she could take a selfie to post on Instagram. Now they sat alternating between staring into their mugs of hot chocolate and steeling glances at one another. The four of them had been chatting in front of the fire ever since the kids had all gone to bed, and a lull had settled comfortably around them.

Evie let out a sigh and dropped her head on Henry’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” she said with a small yawn. “I think I’ll head upstairs to bed.”

“You know,” Henry commented with forced nonchalance, “I’m pretty tired myself. I’ll go up too.”

Killian tilted his head back to share a knowing glance with Emma, and she hid her chuckle by taking a sip of her own cocoa.

“Good night, lad,” Killian called behind them, “good night, Evangeline.”

“Good night,” they chorused back. Emma craned her neck to see Henry’s hand hover at the small of Evie’s back, then she couldn’t see them anymore.

“He’s in love with her,” Emma told her husband softly once she was sure they were out of earshot.

“I know,” Killian chuckled, “I think all of Storybrooke can tell.”

“Except for Evie.” Emma sighed as Killian shifted to rest his head in her lap. “He loves her but won’t tell her because he’s too clueless to see that she loves him back.”

“Don’t worry, love,” he told her, sitting back up so he could look at her, “they’ll sort it out. Just like we did so long ago.”

Emma’s breath caught at the way his hair was all disheveled from where her fingers had been running through it, the way his cheeks were flushed from sitting so close to the fire, and the way his lips quirked up in that roguish half-smile of his. She groaned when she bent over to try and haul him to her, her broad abdomen getting in the way.

Killian’s expression quickly morphed to one of concern at the sudden sound, and he rose quickly to his knees beside her. “Are you well?” he asked, cupping her face with his hand and prosthetic.

Instead of answering or even rolling her eyes as she was so wont to do, she lunged forward instead to give him a rough kiss. She felt him smile beneath her lips, and then he was giving as good as he got. She clutched desperately at his shirt, their teeth clashing with the force of her assault.

“Take me upstairs, pirate,” she ordered before nipping at his earlobe.

“Emma,” he protested feebly as she trailed kisses down his neck, “Whale said -”

“No over-exerting myself, I know,” Emma huffed. She pouted at Killian as she pulled away. “Do you have any idea how horny pregnant women can get?”

He smirked at her, “I’ve experienced it first-hand twice, my dear.”

“Is that supposed to be joke?” Emma couldn’t help quipping with a wink. Then she put on her most seductive smile, draped her arms around his neck, and spoke with her lips just hovering over his. “I know you can be gentle with me, Killian. Please? I want you.”

She almost gave a satisfied smirk of her own when she saw the sheer lust shining in his eyes. But instead she let out a yelp as he stood and scooped her up into his arms in one smooth motion.

“If the lady insists . . . “

“Oh I do,” she purred. Then she bit her lip as he headed for the stairs. “I’m not too heavy am I?”

She asked him the same thing every night. He smiled down at her.

“I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you.”

She smiled at the familiar line as he toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You know, I like that line better now than the first time.”

“Because your pregnant and worried it changes how I feel?”

“No. Because it’s my husband saying it.”

#cs ff #henry-centric ff #ouat ff #christmas fic #christmas in storybrooke

16 notes · View notes

orthographewrites · 6 years

Note

💝 4 both!

send in a ‘💝’ for a random special valentine’s day kiss:

DOMINIQUE & LYLE – On the Neck:

Was it really Valentine’s day already? Lyle could hardly remember when he had last found the time to celebrate it outside of sending his mother a few flowers during lunch break, let alone with another woman. He and Dom had the discussed their plans a few days prior, working up the possibility of gifts or events to book; but through all of their tossed ideas back and forth both settled on simple. Dom wanted to move slowly and he wasn’t exactly the flashy type guy, thus he was to bring their drinks for the evening and Dom to cook up a fine meal to share. One single gift to exchange, which was not to be too expensive Lyle reminded her twice between the days. Had it stopped her though? He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out, but the thought was since long gone as the day had landed on his calendar; Lyle calmly placing a bottle of fine French wine on Dom’s kitchen counter to cross off his part of the deal.

“Smells wonderful, who needs to cough up a wallet to eat out when you can enjoy that”, said Lyle and nodded at the pot yet brewing on the stove. A few more minutes, Dom had declared when his fingers had curiously tried to sneak the lid open five seconds ago, snapping it back in place. He’d let out the steam, or something, he hadn’t really listened. As he didn’t receive an answer, Lyle rose his eyebrows and stared over at Dom with a half amused and half confused shift on his lips – was she playing offended by his attempt to ‘sabotage’ her dinner? Cute, he thought and mentally rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad”, he played along and shifted closer, his fingers finding their ways into the locks of her blonde hair, treading it carefully among the hints of hairspray that lingered within the small tangles only visible by touch. He merely wanted it out of his way. “It’s going to be one of the best dinners I’ve ever had, crafted by France’s most beautiful, elegant woman and – “ Lyle paused, leaning his head closer to the skin exposed beneath her clothes, “ – I very much look forward to spending my first Valentine’s day with her because”, he paused again, but this time to press his lips against her neck, catching a faint aroma of perfume, nibbing at the skin, “she happens to make me feel awfully happy and lucky.” Another kiss, trailing upwards against Dom’s jaw as his hands fumbled around her waist to pull her closer to himself inside a tight embrace. He felt the pace of his heart shift as he entwined his fingers with Dom’s and still close to her neck he whispered into her ear: “You can’t shut me out like this, Miss Snotty – I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

SIMON & CHARLIE – On the Cheek:

Simon hadn’t bothered to tell Charlie everyone at work had cut an early shift. Although Valentine’s day wasn’t necessarily a red day people had plans, his boss being one of them and for once he hadn’t decided to sneak off on his own -- a wonder at that. Simon, of course, hadn’t possessed any plans whatsoever for the day, being that he was single and there was only so much you could do on a day centered around couples. You could argue all you wanted that the day was made for every type of love, but that was hardly what was being advertised on the streets and within stores. But, on his way home, he had come to a stop. Ten minutes at most that lead to a small package within his jacket that swelled his chest with a newfound pride and comfort for the remainder of the journey. You could always do something, right?

Thus, when he eventually opened the door to his apartment to be met by the singsong voices of Charlie and Hayley, Simon was no late to join them inside the kitchen with a matching smile of his own to cut them off. “Having fun? Yeah, we, uh, quit work early today -- like thanks for reminding me not everyone is single.” He casually waved his hand as to dismiss the joke, but didn’t linger longer than necessary before he ventured forward to Charlie -- removing the package from his pocket and extending it her way with a casual shrug. “As a thank you. It’s a day of love and appreciation and I don’t think there’s anyone besides Hayley here I’d want to appreciate besides you, Charlie. You’ve done so much for both of us. It’s a necklace, you seem to like those sort of things and seeing as you do this for free...” He weighted on his feet, watching as Hayley came tip-toeing forward with curiousity over the wrapped in present; and Simon didn’t spare a second to lift her up and place a loving peck on her cheek -- barely thinking as he turned to Charlie to offer her one as well. However, he wasn’t allowed to dwell as Hayley followed suit, reaching over with her full might to copy her father and it wasn’t long until he chimed in with a humble laugh. “You deserve something too, Queenie -- how about a trip to the toy store?” Letting Hayley back down he turned to Charlie again. “You’re welcome to join, Charlie. The more the merrier as they say.” He barely did anything short of fun these days, so why not embrace it while the opportunity was there?

@satanxwrites

#ship: c'est lui qui me donne l'air #(br)otp: i'll stand right by your side #:')#such cuties both of them

2 notes · View notes

hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

Note

🎨🎧🛁

CHARLIE! MY LOVE! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (also on ao3!)

There was music coming from Cas' room. Again.

A more accurate word would be still. He had been playing the same playlist on repeat for the past three days in a row. No breaks, no pauses, no deviation in the pattern of songs.

The only thing that changed was the volume. It fluctuated as the day went on, barely audible in the mornings and at night, sometimes almost deafening loud in the interim.

It was a small mercy for the humans who also called the Bunker their home, the ones who actually needed to sleep and shower and shit.

The playlist started with classical music. Strictly instrumental songs. Concertos and arias, haunting melodies and romantic ballets.

Dean thought it was rather fitting. Leave it to an angel to be naturally attracted to music heavily featuring harps and heavenly choirs of violins and cellos.

Sam found it pretty ironic entertaining, too. He had joked a few times about the piano they had found in one of the larger storage rooms, suggesting they move it into the library.

Knowing Cas, he would probably be both bemused and charmed, more than willing to learn how exactly to navigate the black and white keys. And if Dean knew Cas as well as he thought he did, the angel would ramble for hours about the history of the instrument.

The mere thought made him smile. Cas would probably be a wonderful musician with his long fingers and sometimes unnerving eye, or rather ear, for detail.

Who knew, maybe Cas could become the first angelic composer. He might even be famous, and wasn't that a hilarious thought.

Dean could just imagine awkward, dorky Cas in a sea of adoring fans fawning all over him. Poor guy would probably be traumatized.

But until then, until he even learned how to play an instrument himself, he would have to make do with his playlist.

The classical section of the playlist started slowly with Nina Miller's Plié Slow and Rinaldi's Spanish Waltz. Both of which were soft and soothing, perfect for greeting the pale sunlight of the morning.

Christine Prato's the Prayer was up next, immediately followed by Elger's Serenade for Strings and a lovely harp solo that's name constantly escaped Dean. They were just as sweet as the first songs, flanked by more of the same.

From the serene, tranquil songs, the tone quickly turned rather melancholic. Samuel Barber's Adagio For Strings was tailed by Bach's Come, Sweet Death.

The latter of which a bit too morbid in Dean's opinion, especially for a song in the morning. Fortunately, the clinically depressed portion of the playlist did not last very long.

Opera was next up on the set list.

There were some classics that Dean recognized, Don Giovanni, Ave Maria, Andrea Bocelli's Con Te Partirò. But it was mostly composed of a plethora of songs that he couldn't have been able to name if someone had a gun to his head.

Sam, the nerd, was a bit better at identifying the miscellaneous songs. He pointed out a few names here and there. Vivo Per Lei, Vide Cor Meum, Die Zauberflöte.

Around ten o'clock, the era of the music changed, shifting into contemporary instrumentals. They ranged from slow and ethereal sounding, like the first snowfall of winter, to fast and blood pumping, like a shot of adrenaline.

Both Sam and Dean had been surprised when they heard the first chords of a contemporary song echoing through the Bunker from Cas' room. They had never had an inkling whatsoever that Cas might actually enjoy modern music.

Their surprise continued when the contemporary instrumentals bled into modern ballads and softer pop songs. There was an interesting mix of songs in foreign languages, French and German and Korean if they weren't mistaken, blended together with songs from American artists.

Another intriguing change occurred mid-afternoon when the upbeat pop songs and, yes, even rap music faded away to be replaced by nothing other than classic rock.

Electric guitars and loud drums replaced autotuned voices and synths, filling the Bunker with tunes from the seventies and eighties. The songs were familiar, full of nostalgia and memories of days spent on the road.

Dean had nearly choked on his beer the first time he had heard Ramble On coming from Cas' room at full volume. Sam had been equally surprised.

Neither of them would have ever guessed that Cas would be a Led Zeppelin fan. Yet, the angel wound up going through nearly their entire discography.

He also worked his way through several albums from Queen, Kansas, the Beatles, and Aerosmith, keeping the volume almost as high as Dean did in the Impala. Apparently, Dean's taste in music had rubbed off on the angel.

After a few hours of classic, the era of music shifted once again and modern rock began pouring out of Cas' room. The songs varied between punk rock, pop rock, and hard rock but it was all raucous and loud and full of angst.

Neither Sam nor Dean could name any of the songs, raising the question of where exactly Cas had heard them in the first place. He seemed to enjoy them, listening to them throughout the night, volume turned down until the music was a mere whisper is the quiet of the night.

Usually Sam and Dean didn't mind. They were more than happy to let Cas listen to his music all day, to let him get lost in his own playlist when he wasn't busy tracking down the last of the rogue angels or helping the Winchesters hunt.

Hell, they were just glad he wasn't off somewhere in the middle of yet another suicide mission. And if music was what kept him at the Bunker, then so be it.

But after three days of the angel locking himself away in his room, music playing non-stop, not even venturing out for some pancakes, his favorite, Dean had had enough. So, while Sam was out on a grocery run, the nearest grocery store an hour away, Dean decided to pay Cas a little visit.

Hotel California was reverberating through the Bunker as Dean marched down the hallway to Cas' room. The music grew subtly louder as he approached the angel's room, Don Henley's voice growing more clear.

He didn't bother knocking, it wasn't likely that Cas would be able to hear him over the guitar solo anyway, regardless of angelic hearing. Pushing open the door, Dean found Cas in the same spot he left him four days ago.

Sitting cross-legged on the polished concrete floor in a pair of gray threadbare sweatpants and an old black AC/DC t-shirt, covered nearly head to toe in splotches of dried paint, Cas was staring at a large canvas.

He was using his right hand to smear dark blue paint on the canvas, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The tip of his tongue was sticking out, a habit he had picked up from Dean himself.

His hair was messy and if he wasn't an angel, it would probably be greasy. There was a spot of lilac paint on his left cheek, flaking and peeling off.

His borrowed t-shirt was splattered with strokes of paint that varied in color from a stark white to a vibrant spring green to a delicate blush pink. His sweatpants were similarly messy, stained with dark red stripes and globs of bright yellow.

Dean took a glance around the room, whistling at the changes Cas had made.

The angel had shoved the bed, dresser, and nightstand against a far wall, filling the rest of the room with dozens of canvases and poster boards. Art supplies littered the floor, mostly paints and paint brushes, ranging from watercolors to acrylic to tempera.

Finished paintings hung on the walls and the shelf that ran along the wall above the bed. There was a watercolor scene of green trees surrounding a crystal clear lake on one wall, a nebula of deep purples and blues done in oil paint hung on another.

Since moving into the Bunker, Cas had taken up painting. Dean had no clue where Cas had gotten the idea from but he wasn't going to begrudge him his new pastime.

Sam had been just as supportive when Cas announced his interest in taking up the hobby, driving him to the nearest craft store to help him pick out some supplies. He had returned to the Bunker two hours later with his arms full of canvas and paint sets and a beaming angel in tow.

Cas had taken to painting like a fish to water, or some other simile more befitting to an angel, using it like a form of meditation. Which wasn't a problem until the angel holed up in his room for half a week painting.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted, his voice a monotonous drone, absentminded and automatic. He was clearly distracted, too preoccupied with his finger painting to even glance in Dean's direction.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door jamb. Scanning his eyes over the room again, he quipped, "What's it been, man? Few weeks?"

Cas just hummed, stretching his arm up to add a smudge of blue near the top of the canvas. Dean couldn't tell what exactly it was that Cas was painting but it was pretty nonetheless, a smattering of various colors smashed together to make something breathtakingly beautiful.

"Alright, c'mon," he urged, pushing himself away from the wall and taking a few steps towards Cas. Making a quick come hither gesture with his hand, he continued, "Get up. You need a shower. Then we're gonna get you something to eat."

"I don't require sustenance, Dean. You're aware of that," Cas retorted, a little bit of emotion bleeding into his voice. Of course, that emotion was irritation but beggars couldn't be choosers and Dean was content to take whatever he could.

"Yeah, well, it'll make me feel better, okay?" Dean shot back, gesturing a bit more urgently. He knew he had won when Cas sighed and reached over with his clean hand to pause his playlist, cutting Robert Plant off mid-lyric.

He rose to his feet without any discernible effort, turning to Dean for further instruction. Dean wasn't shy about providing it, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and directing, "Bathroom."

Cas bobbed his head in acknowledgement before slipping past Dean to pad down the hallway to the bathroom. Dean flicked the lights off in Cas' room and turned to follow Cas to the bathroom.

When he got there, to the room of white tiles and multiple showerheads that ran parallel to a row of lockers, he changed his mind. Instead, he laid a hand on Cas' back and led him over to the clawfoot tub in the corner of the bathroom.

"Take a quick shower then come back over here, alright?" Dean suggested as he took a seat on the lip of the tub. He leaned over to turn on the faucet.

Cas nodded and disappeared around the corner of the lockers. Dean could hear the soft sound of his clothes landing on the floor before one of the showerheads turned on, a rush of water drowning everything else out.

While Cas scrubbed off the worst of the paint, Dean fussed with the bathtub knobs, occasionally dipping his hand under the faucet to check the temperature. Once he deemed it affordable, he plugged the tub, sitting up to wait for it to fill.

On a whim, he stood and crossed to one of the lockers facing the tub. He rifled around in it until he found the bottle of fancy bubble bath that Charlie had given him for his birthday.

He squirted some into the tub, figuring that Cas would appreciate the bubbles. The angel was a sucker for any sort of luxury like plush throw pillows or fuzzy slippers, so a bubble bath wouldn't be too outlandish for him.

Cas shut off the shower just as Dean was turning off the bathtub taps, rounding the corner a few seconds later. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face pink where he had scrubbed off the blotch of light purple paint.

Dean waved him over to the tub, noting with great pride the wide smile that stretched across Cas' face at the sight of the bubbles in the tub. Grabbing his elbow, Dean helped Cas climb into the tub.

The angel let out a low groan of contentment as he laid down in the warm water, his eyes falling closed. Dean reclaimed his seat on the lip of the tub, reaching a hand down to tangle his fingers in Cas' wet hair.

"Feel better?" He asked, scratching his nails along Cas' scalp. Cas just nodded, another low hum thundering out of him.

"Much," he responded softly, sounding peaceful and tired. Sniffling a bit, he announced, "Perhaps I should do this when I'm stressed. Rather than spending all my time painting."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, smiling down at his angel. "We can even make you a new playlist."

#destiel #destiel fic #my fic #established relationship #fluff #music #painting #bathing #bubble baths #dean is a good boyfriend #halerogers

22 notes · View notes