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norman-fucking-reedus · 2 months

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Daryl Dixon, born to be a sweet mamas boy but forced into severe mommy issues. I will literally bury myself in this grave

Like okay sure the bad biker boy with a dominant streak is hot or whatever but realistically under all those layers of steel and dirt there’s nothing but a damaged boy.

I think about Daryl dating a woman of a motherly nature and how it would utterly fuck with his head. She’s more on the traditional side and usually expresses her love through cooking as well as baking.

At first, he doesn’t like any of it at all. The way you always want to cook for him when he literally didn’t ask you really bothers him, to the point he found himself not eating whatever you made out of sheer stubbornness, not knowing each plate was your indirect way of affection.

He doesn’t like the way you persistently try and get him to talk to you, because why do you even care? Sometimes the two of you will argue and Daryl will just storm away after a string of insults. He feels so gulity afterwards, especially when he knows that he really does need someone to talk to.

The hugs are the worst. The way you suddenly hug him makes his skin burn and he fucking hates it. Not physically, but he pushes you away. It’s what he wants of course, to not be around you and your forced niceness.

It’s what he wants of course, to be alone by himself. No background noises or smells. He can’t hear the way you passionately move around the kitchen or smell the mouthwatering smell of whatever you’re making. That’s what he wants.

When he comes back from a long run, so obviously shaken up and disturbed, there’s nobody to try and pry as to what happened even though he knows he needs to get it off his chest. That’s what he wants of course. He doesn’t need comfort, no. He never did. Never ever.

So why did he need it now?

Daryl thinks about you and how you did so much for him without him even lifting a finger, how you willingly put in the effort and he just threw it all back into your face without a second thought. He thinks about how hurt you he must’ve left you all the times he flat out refused even your prettiest dishes.

He thinks about the concern that etches your face when you practically beg him to talk to you, beg him to tell you what’s wrong so you can maybe help him. Daryl feels his chest tighten when he thinks of how he downright pushed you out his life, and feels a lump forming in his throat when he realizes that he needs you.

He was alone with only himself and his thoughts, ones that frightened him to his very core. He thinks about your hugs and how he yearns to feel the burn of his skin against yours.

Daryl wants to go to you, but he’s scared. He’s scared that you’ve already moved on and found someone better, someone worthy of a woman like you. He scared that you won’t want him anymore yet here he stands, nervously on your porch.

He’s not ready, no event in his life could have prepared him for this. He knocks with a shaky fist and can hear the sounds of his quick breathing.

The door opens just as widely as it always has, you standing there in your apron covered in flour. He thinks about turning around, you’re obviously busy with things much more important with him. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cup his face gently with soft floury hands as if insecpting it.

“Somethings bothering you”

Daryl nods, and he feels like he could melt into your hands.

You usher him inside, closing the front door and shuffling to the couch, dismissing his silent questions about his shoes. He joins you on the couch with a little space between you, he’s not sure how angry you are with him.

Daryl wants to apologize, he wants to beg for you to let him try again and let him do it right this time, but he just can’t find the words, twiddling nervously with his fingers in his lap. You watch him for a moment, reading his limited body movement before reaching up and brushing away a tear Daryl didn’t even know fell.

“Tell me what’s hurting you” You whispered, voice warm and comforting as your fingers danced across his cheek.

He found himself choking on the words, stuttering them out as he slightly flinched away from the contact although he desperately wanted it. “M-m’sorry. Fer being a dick to ya” Daryl mumbled, leaning back towards your hand. “I jus- I got scared”

You raised a brow. “You? Scared? Scared of me?”

He nodded. “I don’ understand wha’ ya want from me”

“I don’t want anything from you, Daryl… I just wanna take care of you and be there for you”

“Why? Why someone like me?” Daryl scoffed. “M’nobody”

“You’re somebody to me” You whispered.

“Wha’ did I do to deserve ya? Ya don’ even know me” He turned to you, the tip of his nose a light red and his eyes glassy.

You took his face between your hands once again, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. “But I do. I see it, Daryl. I can see all the hurt you’ve been through, everything you’ve pushed away, down, all of it. All you’ve ever known is pain and my sweet boy, I’m gonna take it all away for you” You smiled, pressing your forehead against his.

Daryl’s heart pounded so hard that he feared it would exploded, more full of love than its ever had the chance to be. You held him as if he was made of the most fragile glass, brushing your nose against his as he sniffled.

“I love you” Daryl suddenly blurted, because he had denied himself of the truth for so long. He wanted to be with you, wanted you to take care of him.

You gave him another smile, this time placing a gentle kiss to his chapped lips. “And I love you too. Say, I was in the middle of making a cobbler, but I just don’t have anyone to lick the spoon…”

Daryl raised a brow. “Is it peach?”

“Only cobbler I know how ta make” You tugged him off the couch, and he followed you into your beloved kitchen, stepping foot into it for the first time. He thinks about all the times he watched you twirl around, cooking something with love only for him to completely disregard it. The thought made him visibly upset. “Something wrong?”

“Jus’ wish I appreciated yer cookin’ more s’all” He mumbled, regret written on his face, even more when a twinge of hurt painted yours. It was clear as day his past actions really did hurt you.

There was an awkward moment of silence, before you handed Daryl a peach. “As long as you appreciate it now” He could almost cry from how many chances you willingly give you, chances he just didn’t deserve.

“Yeah. M’gon appreciate you too, how I should’ve from tha’ very start” Daryl whispered, biting into one of the sweetest peaches he’s ever had.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

oof I made myself cry and this isn’t even that good 😕😕

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #norman fucking reedus #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd

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supraveng · 1 year

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Trying to mend a broken heart

part one

Summary: you and Bucky don’t get along, constantly pushing each others buttons, this time he may have pushed you too far

A/N: Non canon; Marvel characters but no superheroes or Avengers; post college AU.....I am focusing on angst for the first few chapters, I’ll decide if it changes to a happily ever after based on feedback

Word count: 1504

Main Masterlist

Walking up to your door, ready to end this horrible day, you heard the crowd of people on the other side before even getting your key out. Normally you would have been prepared to interrupt Natasha's hangout, even join in, but today you just wanted to curl up in bed and cry.

You deserved a pity party, and their fun wasn't going to stop you. Making your way into the house you took a deep breath and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. The group quieted slightly when they saw you come in but continued their conversations while you poured your first drink.

Throwing it back in one go, you started to pour another when Nat spoke up. "Hey, you're back early. How was dinner with Jeffrey?".

You could tell by her voice that she knew something was wrong and was trying to comfort you by not asking the wrong question. Humming at her, you brought the glass to your mouth, taking a small sip before responding, "we broke up."

Taking another full gulp, you looked up at her, trying to put on a brave face. "Actually, that's not true….him and his wife are getting back together…..so I'm not needed" you shrugged then finished the drink in your hand.

At this point you had everyone's attention and was doing your best to appear strong. Wanda looked at you concerned, you could tell she wanted to ask more but you decided to get it all out of the way now so you could start to move on.

"Apparently he wasn't divorced, they were just separated. Why is it that every guy I date cheats, or lies or is a convict" you start rambling, only to be interrupted by Yelena.

"Awe, I miss Joshua, I wonder how he's doing". Sam immediately smacks her arm in warning, "what? He was fun". Natasha rolls her eyes at her sister before focusing back on you.

"We ordered Chinese, it should be here any minute and there is plenty, join us and forget about that asshole" Wanda begged you to join them. Looking around the room, you knew your presence would bring down your friend group and declined.

You were almost to the stairs, bottle in hand, when you heard Bucky mumble something under his breath, but the way Steve smacked the back of his head, you knew it had to be about you, and for some reason you were willing to confront him about it.

Bucky and you got along well the first day you met, but since then, you would both made snide comments to each other, and the longer you've known him, the worst they got.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over here" you looked at him waiting for a response, not sure what to expect.

"I said that's what happens when you date dirt bags" Bucky told you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. At this point, all the air seem to be sucked out of the room, you couldn't hear anything besides the blood pumping in your ears.

How dare he judge me? No one moved as you stepped closer to him, and you took a deep breath trying to calm yourself from slapping him or breaking down in tears, at this point you weren't sure which way you might go.

"Thanks for the insight Barnes" you stared him down as best you could. "I guess I need to break this habit of being attracted to cheating, lying, assholes. And who better to understand that than you, right?"

Giving him one last cold glare, you exited the room, headed up the stairs and closed your door as quietly as you could, not wanting him to think he angered you. He couldn't have that control over you after the way he's treated you tonight and for the last 2 years

~~~flash back~~~

Natasha and you were finishing up the final touches for your house warming party when she spoke up "so Steve is bringing a friend, he's known him since forever and I think you will really like him".

She made it seem like an innocent introduction to one of her boyfriends friends but you could tell it was a set up.

"Oh Nat, don't do this to me. I'm not mentally prepared to meet someone tonight" you pouted at her.

"I know what you are thinking, but he's different"

And he was different, Bucky came to the party after everyone else arrived and brought a fun but calming energy to the house the minute he walked in. He seemed to know everyone already, so Steve introduced you and bragged about you to him and vice versa.

You and Bucky chatted almost the entire night, he was charming and flirty but in the most sincere way. The smile never left your face the whole night. As the party was wrapping up, you gladly gave him your number when he asked and were left breathless by the kiss he gave you before he walked out the door.

Bucky Barnes had left you blissfully happy when you fell into bed that night. The following weekend was a get-together at a nearby pub to celebrate Steve's promotion at work, and once again Bucky was the last to arrive.

Except this time, he had a petite blonde with him when he made his way to the table you were all sitting at. He introduced Britney to the table before heading to the bar for drinks, giving you a small smile as he walked by. What the hell?

Not sure what was going on you decided to chat up the newcomer. "So Britney, how do you know Bucky?" taking a sip of your drink. She immediately looked at you, and you could tell she was judging you from head to toe, but you couldn't care less.

Giggling before she answered "I'm his girlfriend, why else would I be here?" Her condescending tone made me want to accidentally spill my drink, but you held back.

"Oh? He hasn't mentioned a girlfriend" you smiled at her, feeling stupid for even expecting anything from him besides flirting last week, but hadn't expected things to die before they started.

"Well, it's new, it's only been a few weeks" she replied and gave you the once over again, apparently judging your response. "And I'm not the jealous type, I wouldn't worry about him around someone like you" she smirked knowing exactly how her comment made you feel. Stupid to think mean girls stayed in high school.

Trying your best to not lose your composure you smiled "definitely don't have to worry about me, I wouldn't touch him with a 10 ft pole. I have no interest in catching Chlamydia''. You abruptly stood announcing you were ready to dance and dragged Wanda with you.

~~~~end flash back~~~

"What the hell is wrong with you Bucky?" Steve was probably the angriest one in the room now. When he started dating Nat, he took you under his wing like a little sister and always protected you no matter what.

Bucky was immediately defensive and glared at Steve, "so I'm the bad guy for telling the truth?"

He scoffs and pours himself another drink, he did feel a bit guilty but you had said hurtful things to him since that night in the bar when he ran into his neighbor and invited her to join the group since her date stood her up.

Thinking of that night still upset him, he hadn't even got a chance to talk to you when you decided to talk trash about him to Britney.

At first he thought it was a joke, but the way you avoided him all night and was dancing with some frat boy the whole time, he knew whatever hope he had last week was ridiculous as you obviously didn't feel the same.

"I still can't figure out why you two don't get along".

Bucky growled at Sam's remark, "she has been an insufferable, self centered bitch to me for no reason, I really don't care if her feelings are hurt right now".

But he did care, he's been defensive around you since that night, not wanting to get too close so you couldn't hurt him, but every time he made a snide remark at your expense, it hurt him more than he was willing to admit.

It was Wanda who came to your defense, “well Bucky, when you lead someone on when you already have a girlfriend, how do you expect them to react?” Bucky looked at her completely confused, “what the hell are you talking about?”

At this point you were finishing your shower and heard the argument going on downstairs, but assuming it had to do with a game they were playing or something on the tv, you turned on your Bad Bitches playlist and crawled into bed. The only thing you wanted right now was to be over this day and have a fresh start tomorrow.

Part two

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #Marvel AU #avengers au #avengers angst #marvel angst #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #angst fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #Steve Rogers #sam wilson

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charliemwrites · 2 months

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I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

#I don’t… know #I just needed to write something and post it to get out of this block I’ve been having #it’s not necessarily good but…#ta-da #velikan #cod Velikan #rook ‘Duke’ Alistair #cod oc #my oc #cod #thoughts™️#my writing #weird friends #dom friends

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gabessquishytum · 5 months

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Human au where to most everyone, Dream is a complete bitch, difficult to please and quick to be dismissive. He’s got a very small inner circle of friends he’s not as mean or rude to, but even to them he’s at best snarky or just neutral.

Except lately, whenever his new boyfriend Hob walks into the room, Dream will instantly make a complete 180 and become the sweetest, gentlest, most butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth innocent, tactile and lovely boyfriend in the world. Even if Dream is talking to other people, so long as Hob is still in the vicinity the worst anyone could call him is quiet (this doesn’t happen often though, as if Hob is in the vicinity Dream will usually opt for tucking himself into his side and shyly(!) hiding his face in Hob’s neck). It’s nothing Hob does or says that prompts it, not even a look or touch, Dream just does it the moment he’s within Hob’s presence. The transformation is so complete that anyone who’s only ever met Dream when he’s with Hob has no problem believing him to basically be Hob’s sweet little kitten.

Dream doesn’t acknowledge this at all, will go from one attitude to the other and back like a light switch based on Hob’s movements, and completely ignores the confusion and bewilderment from those around him. A few people have been brave enough to approach Hob alone and ask about the discrepancy, but he only shrugs and responds that he’s never seen Dream being mean, he’s only ever known his boyfriend as an absolute sweetheart. The whole situation leaves everyone feeling like they’re in the Twilight Zone and very off-kilter (and also wondering if it was at all possible to pay Hob to just follow Dream around and keep him docile).

(Unbeknownst to everyone, including Dream, Hob does in fact know that his boyfriend is normally bitchy and difficult to deal with. He’s just patiently waiting for Dream to feel more secure in their relationship to show that side of himself, to trust that Hob isn’t going anywhere and that Dream isn’t going to scare him off (honestly Hob is kind of looking forward to Dream bringing his mean side to the bedroom, either for some brat-taming or even for pushing Hob around). In the meantime, it’s not like the whole adorably sweet thing is entirely a bit, Dream genuinely feels that happy, pleased, and calm whenever Hob is around. So Hob will happily enjoy his darling kitten while he bides his time until Dream feels comfortable enough to show him his claws)

-🪽anon

I'm absolutely crying at the idea of Dream being like the equivalent of the kind of girl whose voice goes up an octave whenever her boyfriend is around (which I don't mean as criticism in any way btw, I just think it's hilarious). From panther to kitten in less than a second - his friends and family are getting whiplash!

Hob legitimately loves Dream at either end of the spectrum, and he loves the way he can see Dream coming out of his shell a little bit more every day. Like now sometimes Dream will freely make an incredibly grumpy face whenever Hob does something annoying. Or he'll passive aggressively correct something that Hob just did. All very small things, entirely normal within a relationship, and Hob just can't stop grinning each time.

The first time he really sees Dream’s mean side is when someone starts flirting excessively with Hob at a party. Dream inserts himself physically into the conversation, gives the guy this look like he's a bit of dirt on the floor. And he says something absolutely bitingly mean about his choice of clothes. Hob actually gasps, and has to stop himself from laughing.

Afterwards Dream is extra sweet, hiding away in Hob’s chest so cutely all evening. But once they're home, Hob carries him straight off to bed and gives him a thorough scolding for being such a naughty boy.

By "thorough scolding" I mean he really rewards Dream’s behaviour by eating his pretty little hole out until he cums untouched. But really, Hob was just so pleased to see his wonderful, sparky Dream come to life. How could he help encouraging his darling to be himself?

#🪽anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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adore-laur · 5 months

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SOUTHPAW

— a heartwarming friends to lovers story set in the 90’s 🌴

——

ORLANDO, 1991

The city calls him Southpaw, a sobriquet graciously granted to the left-handed pitcher who has won every game for the Orlando SunRays at Tinker Field.

Harry Styles is the praised name behind it all. The tall, curly-headed boy is swiftly on his way to stardom. He's an undeniable force to be reckoned with, built with strong arms that can throw curveballs and fastballs with lightning speed. The twenty-five-year-old is the backbone of his team, the best in the Southern League, and the player who makes the others green with envy. He impressively balances the substantial titles while remaining charismatic and altruistic to everyone he encounters.

When he's not found in the ballpark wearing his usual blue and white baseball uniform, a cap sits atop his head, paired with tan skin that seems to have a new ink design each time he's spotted by an onlooker.

Then there's Sawyer Clemente. Well, she knows for sure that she isn't quite as commendable as her best friend. Standing just a smidge over five feet, she could never amount to his accomplishments or role model status. To put it plainly, she's unemployed, lives with her parents, and has an ex-boyfriend that she hates because she just found out he cheated on her last night.

She's merely Harry's closest companion, rooting for him in the bleachers even if she thinks baseball is a painfully dull sport that only inflates the male ego and makes her sweat in the merciless Florida heat.

She also has a plaguing crush on him but doesn't like to dwell on that matter too much.

It almost seems punishing not to, though, because he's naturally flirtatious. It's impossible not to think about his innocent yet butterfly-inducing touches. To tell where his feelings for her lie, whenever he hugs her tightly after a successful game or looks down at her lips while she rambles about her day, proves to be even more unfeasible.

Sawyer glumly watches the semifinal game, veering her troublesome thoughts away by appreciating Harry's legs in his form-fitting baseball pants. Nothing else seems to be working, so she borderline objectifies him while he chews his Bazooka bubblegum in concentration.

She debated not attending because of the cheating revelation unmasked to her hours earlier, but she would never forgive herself if she missed such an important game for Harry. It determines whether the Sun Rays will compete for the highly illustrious minor league title.

It's now the start of the seventh inning, and it's about the hundredth time she has caught Harry's eyes finding her in the crowd with a solicitous gaze and a frown on his lips. Her tense body language and absent-minded expression must indicate her mood. She absolutely despises how well he knows her.

Harry focuses back on the game as he gets into position on the pitching mound, ball in hand and an undaunted mystique exuding from him. With unkempt curls framing his face, a smear of dirt on his cheek that was kicked up from his teammates sprinting to the bases, and his jaw contracting with each gum smack, he finally lifts one leg and throws the ball so fast it could be missed if someone were to blink. The crack of the bat reverberates throughout the stadium, and Sawyer sees Harry glance up to find her again.

Then, every player's worst nightmare happens. Sawyer's worst nightmare happens.

A cry of agonizing pain echoes loud and clear. Sawyer is up out of her seat instantly, her hands slapping over her mouth as she watches Harry double over and hold his wrist, his baseball mitt tossed to the side. His teeth are gritted, his knees bent as he rocks back and forth on the ground. Players hurriedly signal for the medics as whispers from fans in the audience mix with panicked yelling coming from the field. All of it is in the background of Sawyer's mind since the only thing she can focus on is Harry. He's in pain, so much pain, and it brings terror-stricken tears to her eyes as he cries out again when his coach jogs over to him and tries to touch his wrist.

Everything escalated so rapidly. Sawyer doesn't know what happened, and she's petrified because she's never seen her best friend in such an excruciating condition before. The only injuries she'd seen him suffer through were a harmless twisted ankle and the sporadic cramp in his hand.

The medics cautiously escort Harry into the dugout. Sawyer doesn't hesitate to follow them. She can't just wait it out; there's a dire need in her to take care of him. She shuffles past people and quickly walks down the wide stairs toward the dugout, where his team is gathered. Some have their arms over their heads. Some are crouched with uneasy expressions.

Sawyer goes to where she's seen the medics stand by during previous games. One of them, wearing a red vest, immediately lifts their hand to stop her. "Ma'am, fans are not allowed back here," she informs, her calm tone doing nothing to mitigate Sawyer's pounding heart. "Please return to your seat."

"I can't! H-Harry," she stammers, standing on her tiptoes to try to locate him. "Harry Styles is my friend. Where's his coach? He'll recognize me. Please just let me see him."

The medic sighs and calls behind her, "Someone tell Gardenhire I'm letting a girl in! Tell him she's Southpaw's friend!"

Sawyer almost collapses with relief. "Thank you so much, miss. I owe you my life. Um, where do I go?"

"Go straight ahead and take a left." She points and guides her in the correct direction. "Don't get too close. Let everyone do their job."

As Sawyer runs to the medic tent, she can hear Harry's muffled groans and heavy breathing get louder. She puts a hand on her chest as his coach notices her and silently ushers her in.

"Get her out," Harry says from his place on the stretcher. "Sawyer, leave. Damnit, someone take her!”

His voice grows weaker as his pain worsens. Sawyer only gets closer.

"Looks like the ball hit and fractured his hamate bone in his left hand," explains a medic over the commotion. "It's swelling pretty fast, so surgery will be required as soon as possible. He won't be able to play for a while."

Harry's eyes are pinched shut as they poke and prod his skin. Sawyer's heart sinks when she notices the pain etched on his face, a face that's usually so radiant and lit up with a smile. Her feet are frozen as she watches people surround him with bandages and ice packs. His body is stiff, and he's breathing shakily through his nose. When his eyes open, he reaches out his uninjured hand. Sawyer knows he would never want her to leave when he's hurting. He would never leave her side if the roles were reversed right now.

"Come here," he says scratchily. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Harry, no, you're not!" she exclaims, running her hands through her hair as her bottom lip wobbles. "God, why did you keep looking at me? Why weren't you paying attention out there?"

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispers, gripping her hand and tugging her toward him. "Less of that, please. You looked like something was bothering you. Tell me."

Sawyer stomps her foot and groans in frustration. He's too selfless! He's on the verge of tears but concerned about her instead.

"Don't worry about me right now. I'll tell you later, okay? You need to go to the hospital."

Harry squeezes her small hand with his large one. "Is it about your boyfriend?"

She sighs sharply. Again, she despises how well he knows her. A reply doesn't come, though, because an ambulance suddenly pulls up, the back doors opening as the sirens shriek. The medics help Harry sit up, and Sawyer doesn't let go of his hand the entire way to the vehicle.

"Go home," he says once he's sat on the edge. "Just go home and run a bath or something. I want you away from here."

Her wide, brown eyes dart back and forth between his. "At least let me ride to the hospital with you."

"Sawyer, no. Listen to me." He cradles her tear-streaked cheek and roughly kisses the opposite one. "Listen, please. I'll feel better knowing you're safe at home."

She would do anything to relieve his worry, so she nods her head with a sad sniffle. "Okay."

"Don't cry over me." He winces with an uncomfortable groan when the ice pack slides off his wrist. Sawyer picks it up and gently returns it to his bruised, swollen skin. "I'm alive. It's not like I'm dying."

"That's not funny," she scolds, crossing her arms. "But I'll go home now. You're in pain, so I'm not going to keep you any longer. They'll take you to the hospital, fix you, and everything will be fine." She's convincing Harry, but more so herself.

"Correct," he says with a smirk.

"Correct," she repeats while standing. "Keep me updated."

"I will, Sawyer. Drive safe." He swings his feet like a child and scrunches his nose. "Tell your parents I say hi... with a broken wrist."

She smiles fondly and reluctantly leaves with a ruffle to his sweaty hair, glancing back on her way out to witness the ambulance doors shut with a bang. On her way home, she calls her mother and asks if she could start running a bath for her. She plans on sinking down in the warm water and praying to whatever higher power that Harry will be okay.

Praying his sunrays won't dim.

——

Tinker Field is empty when Sawyer arrives in the early afternoon. Harry is there throwing a baseball up and down with his right hand, just like she assumed. A new accessory adorns his left one, a bandage wrapped around his wrist from the surgery he underwent. He looks incredibly gorgeous in his purple corduroy pants and fitted white T-shirt. The bandana tied around his neck is a nice touch, along with his lucky yellow sunglasses that glimmer under the open sky. And to no one's surprise, his recycled denim cap is peeking out from his pocket.

"Hey, sunray," Sawyer says with a hand shielding above her eyes. It's what she's called him ever since they became friends. Not only does he play for the Sun Rays, but she thinks he's a ray of sunshine himself.

Harry saunters to her, chewing gum and skillfully spinning the ball with his hand. "How did you know I'd be here, shortstop?"

"Where else would you be? Also, I give you a cute nickname, and all you give me is one that pokes fun at my height? That's not fair."

"Don't care. Hug me, please." He pouts dramatically. "I have a boo-boo."

"You have a broken wrist, Harry, I'd hardly call that a boo-boo." Sawyer snatches the stitched ball from his grasp. "No more. You're supposed to be resting."

"You sound like my mother." He tries to grab it, but she holds it behind her back. "I'm not even moving my hand that much."

"How was the surgery?"

He shrugs and circles around her to try to sneakily pluck the ball. "Dunno. They knocked me out real good. The nurses told me everything went well and sent me home the next day."

Sawyer skips over to home plate and sits. Harry plops down beside her. "I'm sorry I couldn't visit. You know my parents don't like the hospital being in a dodgy part of the city."

He nudges her. "It's all right. I still got the flowers you sent. Since you're here now, I expect you to tell me what was going on during the game."

Sighing, Sawyer forms circular shapes in the dirt using the baseball. "You were right; it was about my boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. My friend saw him making out with another girl at a bar last night. You know what's crazy? I asked him if he wanted to come to the game with me, but he said he had to work early. I guess he lied to avoid seeing me."

Harry lets out a disappointed hum, then cracks his neck. "Mind if I leave right now and practice my screwball pitch on him?"

"Please don't do that," she says with a wary laugh. She knows he's getting pissed. "Trust me, he's not worth it."

"Yeah, but you are," he replies while fixing the folded cuff of her sleeve. "I'd do it in a heartbeat if my wrist wasn't fucked up."

Sawyer smiles at his generosity. "Not necessary. He was a jerk, and we were only together for two months. Let's talk about something else."

Harry tilts his head toward the sky, and Sawyer admires him for a bit. She notices his baby hair, which is sun-bleached from hours spent outside, the stubble that grows along his jaw and above his lips, the mole adjacent to his mouth that he's insecure about, and his sloped nose splattered with faint freckles that she wishes she could kiss.

Her sublime sunray.

Harry clears his throat and leans into her. Sawyer loves it when he leans into her. "I think I'm going to go tomorrow."

"To South Carolina?"

"Yeah. Even if I can't play, I still want to support the team. The flight leaves tomorrow morning."

"Oh," she says quietly, picking at some overgrown weeds. "That's... really soon."

He nods and scooches closer. "You could come with and keep me company. We can watch The Golden Girls together. You can cut up my massive pain pills and put them in food for me because I'm a big baby. You know, friend shit."

"Harry, I can't," Sawyer says hesitantly.

He tuts. "Why not?"

"Um, I actually have a job interview scheduled for tomorrow. About time, right?" She laughs, but it quickly dies when he stares at her with a serious expression. "Don't look at me like that."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She squints as the sun peeks over the nosebleed seats. "I just did."

"No, before that," he says, taking off his sunglasses and setting them on the bridge of her nose. "When did you get the call?"

"It was right before you got hurt." She crosses her ankles and shakes her head. "I guess I forgot to tell you since I was so worried about your surgery."

Harry hums understandingly. "Well, what's the job?"

"Office clerk. It's lame, I know. I'll probably be printing and typing stuff all day."

"That's not lame. It's a job; we all need one."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but you travel the country and play professional baseball. It's nowhere near the same level of cool."

"And look where that got me," he mutters. "I can't even play for three months."

Sawyer doesn't say anything as Harry picks up her leg and sets it over his. He unties the bandana around his neck and uses it to clean the dirt off her white sneakers. His bottom lip is cutely jutted out as he carefully scrubs with his right hand while the other lays limp beside her.

After a few beats of silence, he asks, "Will you have time to say goodbye to me at the airport?"

"Of course." She knocks her foot against his shin. "My interview isn't until the afternoon."

"Kay," he says with a shy, dimpled smile. He ties the bandana around her thigh and pats it. "By the way, you still haven't hugged me."

Sawyer grins and bends down in her sitting position to wrap her arms around his torso, her face squishing against his soft stomach. He gives her a noogie before setting his arms around her shoulders. For the next hour, they watch robins and sparrows swoop throughout the ballpark, the sun beating down on the field as they talk about anything and everything.

They melt deeper into each other until it's time to leave.

——

Suitcases roll on terrazzo flooring, and voices boom through public announcement systems as Sawyer walks behind Harry at Orlando International Airport.

She can't stop staring at his back. His white T-shirt is way too tight on his buff body, but she can't complain. His yellow sunglasses are on his face again, partly to hide his tired eyes and partly because those same eyes are puffy from crying. His coach told Sawyer that the healing stage after surgery is the most painful part. On the way to the airport, Harry had slumped next to her on the charter bus, and she could tell how exhausted he was from how he immediately fell asleep on her shoulder before they even started moving.

Now, they walk toward the correct terminal to wait for the team's flight to be called. Harry holds his suitcase and duffel bag stuffed with all the uniforms in his right hand while the other is still bandaged and basically useless. Sawyer occasionally sees him flex it uncomfortably, the veins and muscles protruding against the exposed skin rather attractively.

She catches up to his long strides and gently grabs his forearm. "You need to let it rest. Stop moving it."

He swallows harshly before shoving it into his pocket. "It hurts," he says, his voice laced with an undertone of strain.

"I know," she whispers sadly, squeezing his bicep. "Your pain meds should be kicking in soon."

They eventually arrive at the terminal, where people are bustling around to get to their designated boarding gates. The blinding sunrise pours through the large airport windows. As the team gets in line, Sawyer stays behind and watches Harry drop his luggage before standing in front of her.

"Bye, sunray." She frowns sympathetically at his dog-tired expression. "Have a safe trip. I hope you guys win."

Harry gives her a weak smile. "Thanks, shortstop. Good luck with your interview. Make me proud, okay?"

"Can I hug you?" she asks. Harry immediately opens his arms and winces when his wrist moves. She still hesitates. "Are you in too much pain right now? I don't want to hurt you."

"You'll hurt me mentally if you don't give me a hug," he replies while jerking his head, this time with a genuine smile on his face. "Get over here."

Shuffling toward him, she closes the distance. He hugs her with one strong arm around her neck, pulling her in and swaying her as the woman over the speaker announces that his team's flight is boarding.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her head and hovers his mouth next to her ear. "I'll call you as often as possible. Please don't worry yourself sick, okay? I'm in good hands."

Sawyer nods against his firm chest, matching her breathing with his. She'll always worry, but she won't tell him that. "I love you," she mumbles when the final boarding announcement chimes.

It's not uncommon for her and Harry to exchange those words, but this time, she wants them to mean something different. She wants to love him, not just as a friend. She wants to kiss his pretty lips. She wants to romantically hold his hand. She wants to feel his warm body pressed against hers at night. He could offer all those things, and she can't wrap her head around what's stopping them.

Even if a nagging fear deep inside her is confident it would ruin everything, why can't he just give her a sign?

——

The ringtone of Harry's Nokia phone blares at max volume, rudely cutting his nap short. He covers his ears with a pillow, grumbling about how he just got off a six-hour flight before slowly sitting up to answer the call.

Rubbing at his bleary eyes, he checks the number on the screen — it's Sawyer. His annoyance immediately dissipates, and he rolls over to hide his giddy smile in the mattress before hopping out of bed to open the hotel room's sliding door that leads to the balcony.

Pressing the button with the little green phone on it, Harry holds the device to his ear. "'Ello?" he answers, his voice cracking from sleep.

"Hi," she breathes out on the other line.

He toes the ground and scratches his stomach under his pink sleep shirt. "Hey. How are you?"

"Doesn't matter. How are you? Are you in Charleston yet?"

Based on her tone, he notices she sounds a bit jittery. "I'm good," he says with a slight hint of confusion. He can hear her fidgeting, and it's making him curious. "Um... I'm on the balcony."

"Oh, that's nice," she replies. "Really nice. Balconies are great."

Harry smirks and starts pacing, staring at the ivy climbing the exterior walls. He loves it when he makes her nervous. "Mm-hmm. Yeah, for sure."

"So, how's it going? Is your wrist—"

"Hey," he interrupts softly. "What's up? I can practically hear you biting your nails."

Sawyer huffs. "I have to tell you something. It's not bad, I promise. Just didn't want to make everything about me."

"Don't go there with me, Sawyer." He yawns, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear while he rewraps his wrist bandage. "Lay it on me."

"Well," she says timidly, "I had that job interview about an hour ago."

He nods to himself. "I remember."

"And... they hired me on the spot. I can't believe it. I got the job!”

Harry stops in his tracks. "No fuckin' way," he says with a growing smile. "Really? Actually, no shit, you got it. I knew you would."

Sawyer releases sweet laughter, and he closes his eyes to picture how she looks. Is she all cozy in bed? Is she pacing around her room while twirling the phone cord around her finger? Is she watching The Golden Girls and wishing he could be beside her? God, he misses her already.

"They said I start next week. It's only a five-minute walk from my house, so I don't have to worry about driving. It's—"

"Excuse me?" he butts in teasingly. "You'd rather walk instead of letting me pick you up?"

Another giggle from her, making his heart soar. "You shouldn't drive with a broken wrist, silly."

"I drive with one hand anyway." Harry sits in the balcony's single plastic chair and crosses his legs. "Speaking of picking up, did you want to meet me at the airport when my flight lands?"

"What time?"

He sputters his lips as he foggily tries to recall. "Tomorrow, a little after four in the morning. Don't have to, though. I know it's early."

"I'll be there."

No hesitance. All confidence. Harry swears if she was next to him, he would kiss her lips until they ached.

"You're the best, Sawyer."

She hums delicately, almost sensually. "I'll see you then. I miss you, sunray."

At the sound of his nickname coming from her, Harry's cock twitches under his denim shorts. "Yeah? I miss you more."

Her smile is evident when she replies, "I'll bring your favorite blanket from my house in case you want to sleep while I drive."

"Fuck, I can't wait for that." He doesn't tell her it's his favorite blanket because it smells like her, an irresistible blend of coconut and pure sunshine.

"Me neither." The sound of her car starting is muffled in the background. "I have to run to the grocery store, so I'll let you go. Good luck with the game tonight."

"Thank you. Hey, can you buy some toaster strudels for me while you're there? The apple kind, please."

"I got a job, and now you want me to buy you food? Absolutely ridiculous."

"I'm injured. That's my excuse."

"Bye, Harry." He can totally tell she's rolling her eyes. "Get some rest, okay?"

"I will," he promises while toying with his bottom lip. “Bye. I miss you so much that it hurts."

She snorts before his phone beeps twice, indicating she hung up. Harry uncrosses his legs, a brutal mistake that has him hissing and palming his bulge. There's a tender ache that isn't painful, but it's still present and will definitely be an issue he needs to take care of before seeing anyone.

The things she does to him without even trying. He got so horny over a friendly conversation that it's almost shameful the way he's about to jerk one out in a Holiday Inn bathroom.

Sawyer. She's all he can think about when he steps under the hot water, biting down on his thumb and bucking his hips as he unravels from just the thought of her sweet voice and smile. The image of her doesn't leave his brain until he falls asleep again, but even then, she manages to seep into his dreams like it's some unconscious sign sent to him.

——

There's no one else Sawyer would do this for. It's four in the morning, and she's in the airport parking lot waiting for Harry's plane to touch down. It's raining; downpouring, to be precise. The droplets hitting her car lull her to sleep, her head leaning against the headrest as the squeaky windshield wipers do their best to clear the continuously pelted glass.

September in Orlando brings torrential precipitation most days. It's peak hurricane season, so the palm trees seem to constantly be swaying in the wind. Florida has been Sawyer's home since birth, but she wishes she had been raised elsewhere. Someplace where it isn't so humid, the citizens aren't so entitled, and the traffic isn't so unbearable. The only thing keeping her in the city is her best friend. He makes it worthwhile.

The passenger door suddenly opens, and Sawyer jolts awake. She slowly opens her eyes and stretches uncomfortably.

"Can I ask why your door was already unlocked?" Harry asks hoarsely, his morning voice causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"There's no one here," she grumbles as her seatbelt clicks in time with a distant thunder rumble.

He throws his luggage in the backseat and says, "It doesn't matter. There could be creeps lurking around."

Sawyer hums monotonously and turns on the interior light to look at him. He's wearing a grey hoodie, the right sleeve covering part of his wrist bandage. Black sweatpants are loose on his legs. Strands of wet curls stick to his face and fall across his forehead, officially labeling him as the epitome of handsomeness. Somehow, he's gotten more tan in the single day that he was gone. The sun in South Carolina must have kissed his skin with kindness, leaving more freckles across his perfect nose and cheekbones.

"Where to for an early morning snack?" Harry asks, adjusting the air vents.

"7/11 is open. Slurpees?"

He nods eagerly, so Sawyer reverses out of the parking spot and heads in the direction of the convenience store. She turns on a rock radio station. They quietly sing "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You" by Heart the whole way there, the thunder and lightning outside providing the background ambiance for their duet.

Once they arrive, the orange and green neon sign reflecting off the puddles on the slick sidewalk, Sawyer parks and grabs her fleece blanket from the backseat so she can gently lay it over Harry.

"Blue raspberry?" she asks him, even though she already knows the answer.

"Please and thank you," he murmurs, putting his lanky legs on the seat. He tucks her blanket under his nose and inhales deeply.

She steps out and walks through the glass doors. No one else is inside except the lone cashier, who looks like he's about to tip over from exhaustion. She pays and gets the cups, then walks over to the machine to fill them up—a blue raspberry for Harry and a Mountain Dew for herself so she can stay awake during the drive home.

When she returns outside, the slanted rain falls even harder, and she can see Harry with his head pressed against the window like he's in some depressing music video. She hopes he isn't too sad about the unfortunate outcome of yesterday. News quickly spread that the Sun Rays lost the title championship game. Deep down, everyone knew a win would be asking for a miracle without Southpaw pitching on the field.

Sawyer sits in the driver's seat and hands him his drink. "I'm sorry about the loss."

Harry sighs and takes the cup from her. "I think we all knew what the result would be. We were in our own heads, which unfortunately translated to how everyone played."

She gives him a warm smile before taking a sip of her drink. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"There's always next year."

After a minute of tranquility, Sawyer finally turns off the radio and musters up the courage to ask the question lingering in the back of her mind since yesterday.

"At the airport, why didn't you say I love you back? Or did you not hear me?"

Silence. Harry seems to be internally debating a response while he stares straight ahead and sucks on the straw in his slushy, his cheeks hollowed as he takes gulp after gulp. Sawyer is genuinely worried he'll get a brain freeze.

Eventually, he puts his drink in the cup holder and clears his throat before tilting his head back on the headrest. "Fuck it," he exhales in a single breath. "I knew if I said it then, it would've changed everything for me. I wouldn't have meant it the way you did."

There's the sign. She asked for it when she hugged him goodbye at the airport. The one that's been hidden deep down in both of them for so long, trying to crawl up to the surface but always shying away to avoid potential rejection. Always creating a barrier between the fine line of their friendship and something more. Constantly on the edge of a confession but never taking the leap.

"How do you know the way I meant it?"

"Friendly, I guess," Harry mumbles, plucking imaginary lint from his sweatpants. "Because we're friends. I don't know."

"You don't know. You have no idea."

He looks at her, narrowing his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You're wrong," she says vaguely. "I didn't mean it like that."

He shakes his head, not understanding what she's getting at. "Stop speaking in riddles. What do you mean?"

Cracking her fingers anxiously, she murmurs, "What do you think it means?"

"Cut me some slack, shortstop. I don't know, all right? I like to think I know what goes on in your head, but I'm clueless right now."

"Then answer this question." She shifts in her seat to face him. "In what way would you have meant it if you had said I love you?"

He sighs and rubs his temples. "Sawyer, don't."

"Tell me," she demands.

"No. Let's just go home."

"You might as well just say it."

"Say what?" He runs a hand through his damp hair. "Just drive."

She takes her key out of the ignition. "I'm not moving this car until you tell me."

"You're so stubborn, do you know that?"

"I'm not just going to drop it, Harry."

"I would really appreciate it if you would."

"Then we'll be here for a while because—"

"I'm in love with you, okay?!" Harry leans over the console and grabs her cheeks, glancing down at her lips for a fraction of a second. "Okay?" he says more softly. "Does that answer your question?"

The sign is beautifully clear.

"Yes," Sawyer chokes out. "Yes, it does."

He slowly settles back in his seat and crosses his arms. "Wonderful. Now start driving."

Lightning strikes. Rain batters. Hearts pound. She doesn't listen to him as she opens the car door and steps out, letting the downpour mat her hair and saturate her clothes.

Harry hastily gets out and walks around the car toward her. "What in the world are you doing?" he asks, completely dumbfounded.

Every fear about whether or not it will ruin everything disappears like grey skies after a storm. The sign has been spoken, and it now hangs in the cloudburst as it seeps into Sawyer's veins like the raindrops on her skin.

"I'm in love with you too," she says over the sound of the rainfall. Harry leans back against the car like he physically took a blow from her admission. "I mean it," she continues more firmly. "That's how I meant it at the airport."

After a laugh of disbelief, he prompts, "And you made me admit it first because...?"

"Because you make me nervous!" she says, spreading her arms. "You make me so nervous, Harry, but in a good way. In a way that makes me wonder if all those times you'd be flirty or handsy with me were on purpose."

He steps closer, flexing his hands. "Of course they were, but I never wanted to just blatantly throw a confession of love on you. You had a boyfriend, and I would never screw that up for you. Even if he was a total birdbrain and didn't deserve you."

Sawyer smirks. "Yet you flirted with me anyway?"

"Well, I-I..." he stutters, scratching his head. "To be fair, I was flirting with you way before you were taken. The first time we met, to be specific."

She laughs loudly. "We're so stupid! Why were we so blind?"

He wrinkles his nose and squints up at the sky. "I don't think we were blind. I think we were scared."

"I'm not scared anymore."

He uses his uninjured hand to tuck strands of her hair behind her ear, then moves it to caress the side of her head. "Then kiss me."

Her chest visibly deflates. "But your wrist…"

"I really don't give a fuck about my wrist right now."

"Okay, but I do," she argues, pointing at his gauze that's now soaked through. "You just had surgery—"

Harry's blue-stained mouth shuts her up. His teeth clash with hers, but his soft, wet lips quickly take control and remedy the slight pain. Placing both hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs tilt her jaw upward to coax deep and perfectly messy kisses out of her pliant mouth. Sawyer settles her hands on his narrow hips and leans into him, doing her best to return his constant kisses. His hoodie is drenched, and his hair tickles her face as his nose nudges against hers, slick from the rain. They're both breathing heavily, and she hums into his mouth when he tilts his head to kiss her from a different angle. Faint groans and whimpers come from the back of his throat when she returns his affection.

They make out until the rain causes their teeth to chatter, forcing their aching lips apart. Sawyer pulls away first, feeling a bit dizzy. "Damn, Southpaw. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet."

"Please don't call me that," Harry says breathlessly, kiss after kiss being placed on her forehead. “I only want to be your sunray. Forever."

"I can't call you my boyfriend?"

He turns to the side and awkwardly coughs into the crook of his elbow. "Is this… am I your boyfriend? Wait. Don't… aren't you supposed to ask or something?"

"Sunray," she says, cradling his cheeks like she's wanted to do for so long, "will you be my boyfriend?"

He gives her a noogie. "Duh. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Sawyer nods elatedly, and Harry pumps his fist in the air before bringing her in for a suffocatingly affectionate hug. The two lovers stay in that position until the rain lets up and the sunrise lightens the sky. They sway like the palm trees do on the boulevard, kissing until their lips are numb. They hold each other until their clothes stick to their skin. They fall deeper in love since life's too short to not act on buried feelings.

The storm has passed.

The sky has opened.

The sign is crystal clear.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles #friends to lovers #southpaw #adore-laur

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madtotry · 6 months

Text

turn the hourglass about and all the sand is running out one. — two. — three. — coming soon.

hiccup haddock x reader

a/n. gn reader. set not long after the first part (but there's still a gap). reader's dragon is one i created myself (more will be revealed about her). the second chapter/part!! ♡ 1.3k

when you see hiccup again, you pretend your last meeting never happened. it's like the same feeling all over again, and if you blink you feel like you're gliding over the ocean with him again, hands twitching as you try so hard not to run away; and yet still you fail.

but you're not in the sky, you're sat in the cold dirt and grass, and you're trying to stay calm.

it feels harder now, sitting across a campfire with him, like if you tried to run you wouldn't be able to. you try to tell yourself that's not true, that at any moment you could jump on elsa's back and fly away and it's not as if hiccup would try to stop you. but the truth does no good soothing your tight throat and light head.

hiccup does most of the talking, and you don't interrupt him — whether because you're too scared or because you simply have nothing to say a mystery even to yourself. but you feel conflicted, trapped yet inexplicably drawn in by his voice; it feels almost warm.

"toothless found a new dragon species yesterday," he says just soft enough that you know he's trying not to scare you, "she was a baby and her wings were underdeveloped so i couldn't see much, but i've never seen one like her before."

you pull your knees even closer to your chest, and elsa shuffles beside you with a quiet growl; sensing your nerves. you know hiccup didn't mean to bring a topic like this up in some weird effort to try to get answers about your own dragon, but you overthink every interaction and still feel out of your depth — like he knows something you don't.

and the worst part is he does, he may not know about you or your dragon, but he knows more about dragons than you knew existed, and he's met more people than you've even seen on boats in passing. you'd finally felt you'd gotten your bearings on the world, and then he came tumbling into your life.

"she did spit a substance though, it turned the grass blue."

you frown, and from curiosity alone your walls are down for just a moment, "blue?"

he nods with a slight smile, and even his dragon perks up at your voice — the first time you've spoken in perhaps an hour.

"blue," he confirms, "toothless wouldn't let me touch it, but i don't know for sure if it's venomous."

"maybe she just likes the colour blue."

he laughs quietly, and your tense arms relax when you realise he's laughing with you. you try to laugh with him, but it comes out misshapen and unlike his own melodious one, so you shut your mouth and stop.

"do you like the colour blue?" he asks after a silence, and you don't notice it through the cloud that hangs over your mind, but he winces in embarrassment as he says it — and elsa almost huffs in amusement.

you don't know why you have to think about it for so long — you do like it, it's the colour of the ocean and the sky which you love both of in ways you can't explain, just as elsa herself is a magical blue, light shades mixed with ripples of something darker that make you feel safe — perhaps because this feels like handing yourself over to hiccup, telling him about you and in turn being tied to him.

he'd be the only person alive to know a single thing about you; it already feels like he knows too much though you barely speak a word.

you find yourself replying, "i do."

you don't recognise the light in his eyes for his excitement at you talking to him, but it is there; shining.

"my favourite colour is green, i think," he says, and you find that you appreciate the colour just a little bit more now.

you take a deep — courageous — breath and ask, "are there green dragons?"

you curl further in on yourself, but hiccup just keeps smiling. his quick moment of quiet thought draws your eyes to the way the campfire's light dances across his skin.

"there is," he nods, "there's green deadly nadders, flightmares, and gronckles. hideous zipplebacks are commonly green too."

you nod as he talks, and wonder if he's saying less than he normally would to avoid making you feel dumb. it's entirely possible, but with the way he's sat up just a little straighter and smiles just a little wider as he lists all these dragons, it doesn't feel like that. it feels nice.

"hideous zipplebacks?" you query, though you've never heard of any of these by name, the word 'hideous' particularly catches your attention.

"we named a lot of them back when we weren't on... great terms," he explains, and that's one of the few things you do know; about the hunting and fighting, "but we have lots of zipplebacks on berk now, deadly nadders and gronckles too."

"no flightmares?"

"their living conditions are really specific, and they generally prefer swamps most of the time."

you note this all down in your mind. you don't know if you'd ever meet one of these dragons — and if you did, you wouldn't even know it from your lack of physical descriptions — but it feels nice to know things.

but something gnaws at your chest as hiccup explains flightmare's living conditions, about their translucent skin that glows in the right conditions and the way their food glows just the same. you feel wrong for not truly listening, but the reminder that he comes from an island of people who used to slaughter dragons and now somehow lives with them sits at the forefront of your mind.

in a lull, where you are unsure whether hiccup noticed your conflicted expression or simply ran out of things to say — however impossible that may be — you ask, "do the dragons have names, on berk?"

you can't read his reaction, but he replies, "yes?" not because he lies, instead because your sudden question has him lost.

"what are some of their names?" you whisper, as a grasp at something far harder to describe than simple distrust; as a wish to be connected to a people, to know about the full life this stranger leads.

hiccup hesitates, almost picking up on your guard raising once more, but does not question you.

"well, my friends have dragons named stormfly, hookfang, meatlug, and a hideous zippleback called barf and belch."

"barf and belch?"

"one head breaths gas, the other sparks it."

even elsa listens as he talks. you have no idea whether she knows about all the dragons you don't, but she lifts her ears with the same curiosity as you.

"does one person ride them?"

hiccup's smile returns as he shakes his head, like he's remembering a fond memory, "two people, twins."

you feel elsa's ever-present weight leaning against your side, and somethings sparks inside you — however silly it may truly be; a realisation that you have not told hiccup your own dragon's name. within a moment, an idea spreads through you like how you imagine hideous zippleback gas might, and is set alight when you speak.

"my dragon," your voice is unsteady as you glance at her sea-blue scales, and her deep eyes meeting yours kindly, "her name is elsa."

you hear an inquisitive sound from toothless, and not for the first time you wonder if dragons can really understand what people say.

hiccup almost mirrors his dragon's small sound of shock, the glimpse then transforming into almost gratitude, when he says, "that's a nice name."

you try to smile back, but hope your face gets all muddled up with the fire just slightly blocking his view of you; so he can't see the way your lip gets caught under your tooth and your eyes crinkle awkwardly — so he doesn't find you off-putting like you fear he suddenly might, so he keeps enjoying your company just enough to keep coming back to see you.

you don't even dare to whisper to elsa that you're starting to feel safe around him.

#taking flight (my writing)#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon x reader #httyd imagine #httyd fanfiction #hiccup horrendous haddock iii x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock lll x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock the 3rd x reader

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 3 months

Text

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part fifteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: blood ; near death experiences ; gore ; angst

The wake up period is sore - like a pleasant hangover even though she hasn’t had a drink in a while.

Because, now, there’s something else to be addicted to.

It’s gross, but she doesn’t brush her teeth. Just a little longer to keep the residual taste of him in her mouth so she knows that he’s real.

Michael is sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in business casual, reading something on his phone.

When she plops down across from him, lazy, pleasant smile carved into her face, he eyes her suspiciously.

“You seem relaxed,” Michael says, “that’s scary.”

“I-uh-had a good night.” Her throat is wickedly sore.

Michael taps his finger on his chin. “You’re not telling me what happened so I’m just gonna assume he fucked you on Wall Street.”

“He was actually kind of mad,” she says.

Michael rolls his eyes. “See, that’s stupid. He shouldn’t lead you on if he’s gonna get mad about little stuff like that.”

“Lead me on?” Her face scrunches up like she’s trying to get that thought out of her head.

“Sorry, wrong word.” Michael sighs. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” His look of contemplation turns to a grin, which eases her some.

Now she’s thinking Michael sees something she doesn’t concerning this relationship - thing - despite him not knowing much about it to begin with. She wants to prod, but he’s already changing the subject.

“So, is he any good?” In a childish gesture that makes her laugh, he inserts his pointer finger into a hole created by his other hand.

“How do you know we had sex?”

Michael narrows his eyes. “Oh, have you not looked in the mirror?” His angelic features are positively devilish right now as he takes a sip of steaming coffee and points to her hair. “But, I have to commend him. Although this place does reek of man, at least he smells nice, unlike some of them.”

“He does smell nice,” she agrees, longing to bury her face in woodsy, smoked cologne and crisp soap.

“I’ll have to ask him what he wears if I ever meet him.” Michael bats his pretty eyelashes at her, and she gets the hint.

“I want you to meet him,” she nods, hopeful for it.

This is dangerous. Treacherous. Exciting. Insane. Her throat at the guillotine and her heart held at knife point. She doesn’t want Michael involved in the chaos of the situation, but she wants him to meet John so that someone else can affirm that he’s not her imaginary friend.

“I have to go to work and school, and then I’m going to the bar with the girls later, if you want to come.. With or without delicious-smelling gentleman caller.” Michael slurps the last of his coffee.

“Maybe.” She smiles softly, grateful for the invite and not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I have to go get groceries and I’ll see where my social battery is at after that.”

Michael nods, and she’s reminded of his understanding nature that makes her admire him so much. “If I give you some cash and a few things to pick up, could you?” Michael looks embarrassed, rubs his temples. “I keep meaning to go to the Whole Foods store, but I’m slacking. I’m so tired of fast food for dinner.”

She agrees. “I hear you on that. Of course I will.” It’s the least she can do for him, after all. He’s been putting up with her bullshit with upmost grace.

“Are you taking the subway?” Michael asks.

She nods.

He cringes like the subway is the worst thing he can imagine. “Why don’t we just wait until the weekend? I can drive us. Less dirt.”

She waves him off. “It’s fine, Michael.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, putting both hands in the air. He promises to shoot her a text at some point with requested items, and then packs up to leave.

She needs to start putting together her own grocery list, so she grabs a pen and paper from her nightstand and begins rooting around the kitchen for missing items. She tries to keep it narrow so she doesn’t have to lug too many bags around from train to train.

A thudding on the front door makes her jump. She sets her writing items down and goes to answer.

The miasmic, powdery air that seeps into her apartment raises every goosebump on her skin and sets off alarms that she didn’t know existed in her brain.

John crumples on the doorframe, looking up at her through half-alive eyes, opens his mouth. “I told you you’d see me again.”

His papery voice barely makes it past his lips.

“Jesus Christ.” That’s all she can get out as she pushes herself under his armpit, ignores the sticky blood staining her sleep shirt, and lugs him inside.

Grunting in effort, she shoulders him onto the couch, body crumpling down into his, pulled by a limp, hefty arm.

“John, what the fuck.” She sits up, rubs at his cheeks and becomes that much more worried when she realizes that his skin is frigid.

He hums, unflappable smile taking up the last bit of energy he has, brushes her hair behind her ear with a clumsy, shivering hand. “Told you I’d come back,” he repeats, surprising her by still being able to form coherent sentences.

“I’m calling 911,” she tells him.

“No.” He shakes his head, motions to his chest. “Just lost some blood.”

“Some?” She hisses, eyes taking in his ruby soaked shirt and suit jacket.

He pats her cheek, can’t find the energy to respond.

She rips his jacket off of him, pressing and pulling his bulky frame, then decides fuck it and grabs scissors and tries to cut his dress shirt open. The damn scissors can’t even clip the start of his lapels, and she remembers Winston saying something about Kevlar, so she just rudely tears the rest of his clothes off until he’s completely bare from the waist up. Panting, throwing the sodden linen onto the floor, not even thinking about the stains that will inevitably transfer.

Tattoos that she didn’t notice before on his bare back, scars glistening waxen with sweat that collects inside the bruised muscle and tendon of his body.

Around his left upper bicep, she can see where the blood originates.

A piece of saturated, red cloth and a silvery blue tie wrapped to keep it in place.

“I need to fix this,” she tells him.

He swallows an answer, eyes closed, breath fast and short.

She slips on linoleum on her way to grab the first aid kit. Her knee hits the tile with a crack, and she ignores the pain. Limps back to him, rips his self made dressing off.

The hole just shy of one of the bulging veins in his arms oozes blood.

She tears a package of gauze open with her teeth, stuffs it in the wound.

John’s eyes roll open as he muffles a husky scream from the feeling of something foreign and scratchy being shoved into the fresh new opening.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” she tells him, fingers sticking more gauze inside, other hand holding it in place with enough pressure to indent his skin. “Did you get shot? You gotta get the bullet out. Fuck.” Her hand slips on plasma, tugging down on his moldable, raw flesh. She recovers but not before he lets out a dying huff of agony.

“Took it out,” he tells her through teeth, trying to stay still while she wraps rolls of white web around his arm.

“You need blood,” she says, eyes boring into his, pleading.

“Fine,” he says, hand trying to fumble with his pants pocket. She pushes him away and grabs his phone.

“Who?”

“Doc.”

She dials the number, presses it to her ear, doesn’t give the person answering time to breathe let alone speak. “Please,” she starts out with, “John Wick is bleeding out in my living room.”

His vision gets dark around the edges, and it’s okay, because this is a good way to die: Bloodletting with her hands on his chest, with her body pressed into his side. He’s not going anywhere without her right next to him. His mind sucks him into a vacuum where it doesn’t have to be this way. A space where she and he are happy. White picket fence. Dogs. Kids. Soft kisses and tickle fights instead of life or death combat. His rapid heart calms and slows. Her hand in his, the only thing he needs. Why he came here. The one person he wants to see before the real grim reaper begrudgingly steals their title back. Death rolls its eyes, clicks its tongue, bored with the Baba Yaga, about time.

Life fades, but he can hear her voice long after his chest stops moving, and he doesn’t deserve such kindness after the things he’s done, but he’ll gladly and selfishly take it.

———————————————

John immediately tries to sit when he wakes, or at least that’s what he imagines himself doing. It’s strange, being flat on your back when you just felt your feet hit the floor a second ago.

He’s hallucinating, then. Shivering, twitching. His eyes attempt to close, but behind them a silver train with white fire headlights rushes toward him at full speed, and they shoot back open right before it can eviscerate his body.

“He’s awake!” Calls a familiar voice that soothes despite the heightened pitch and anxious urgency.

He needs a little more to settle the rapid pound of his heart, so he reaches blindly for a handful of flesh.

She clasps his seeking fingers, puts her other hand on his forearm. Her skin feels like she’s threaded together by silk worms themselves.

His mouth puffs an indulgent sound.

“What’s his temperature?” As the world fizzes into focus like it’s a freezing Coke being freshly poured into a glass, he makes out silhouettes of the Doc and her.

“96.6,” she says worriedly, pressing the tool to his forehead a second time just to make sure.

It’s strange, that her skin is warmer than his, and this temperature explains it.

“Right,” doc says, rolling a bright red bag of o negative under the heel of his hand to warm it up. “Give him the Benadryl.”

John feels a sharp pinch in his right bicep, watches her take the needle away, cap it, and then reaches for her hand again like a clingy, angry toddler.

She concedes, checks the tubing buried in his antecubital to make sure it’s still dripping while she rubs his wrist in a soothing way and shushes him.

He wants to smile and say something cheeky, but his body refuses to move save for the annoying, jumpy ants crawling under the skin of his hands, feet, and back.

He is bedded down under layers of thick blankets, wrapped tight. Her hip presses into his side.

He holds her fast, now refusing to let go.

“John.”

He imagines himself, a mere servant boy, falling at the feet of a generous and kind princess.

“Hmm?” He asks.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re giving you blood, and he” - she glances over at Doc, weary of what to call him as to not ruffle feathers - “the doctor stitched you up.”

He tries to say something, swears that he at least gets an okay out, but his pale lips stay closed.

“Two bags should be enough,” the doctor tells her, flicking the IV tubing. “I’d say one, but I have a few extras on hand today.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so she tries a smile and it must look weird on her distraught face. “Thank you.”

“He owes me money in the form of thanks,” Doc huffs, pushing sweaty black hair off his crinkled forehead. “You hear, John?”

John tries to nod, gets a little tilt of his chin out of the grueling effort.

“Getting clumsy and sloppy,” Doc mumbles, shaking his head as he turns his back to spike the other bag of blood.

“Let me do that,” she tells him.

The older man backs away and motions to his prep table, glad for the break. She tries to go over, but John keeps her there.

Let him do it, I’m paying him, is what he wants to quip. He just ends up grunting.

“John,” she tries to warn, but he’s not scared of her wrath in the slightest bit. He pulls her hand as close as his listless limb will allow, rests their fingers on top of the blanket mound over his chest.

The Doc chuckles, gets back to work. “Is he paying you?”

She’s too busy examining the bruised cuts on John’s face and the raw, purple skin on his knuckles to pick up on the joke. Her mouth pops open, astonished.

“No.”

John reminds himself to tell her how fucking precious she is when his jaw will unstick itself.

“Kidding,” the Doctor says, hanging the next bag of blood onto the portable metal pole.

“Oh, sorry.” She warms with the awkward tension. “Also, I’m sorry for the other day.” She nudges over her shoulder as if to snuff the past. “That was really stupid of me.”

The doctor rubs his beard. “I thought it was funny,” he shrugs.

John can barely move, but the glare he shoots is unmistakeable.

“And it’s fine,” Doc amends. “Rotten kids needed to get whipped. Heaven knows his father never took a belt to his behind.”

He walks back to his folding table and starts sticking the items left out from earlier into his bag. For an older man, his hands were deft and skilled as he sowed John, sterilized his equipment, and tucked it back into his tool case in one breath.

Once again, another person for her to envy.

Maybe she’s barking up the wrong tree by asking John to teach her to fight. Wouldn’t it be smarter to utilize her already established skills and have the doctor take her under his wing instead? Wouldn’t that be presumptuous and entitled, though?

She watches his back and thinks hard, brows furrowing in thought.

A surprising, temperature neutral finger touches the side of her face.

John is trying to smile up at her. “Hey, honey.”

Thoughts of combat medicine left behind, she squeezes his shoulders in a timid hug and brushes the sticky hair off his forehead. “I thought you were dead.”

“I think I was,” John grimaces.

“No, you were breathing,” she tells him, squeezing his hand, contradicting her anxiety. “I swear.”

“I believe you.” His strength is seeping back inside his bloodstream through sterilized tubes, and, by the second, he can feel the haze of purgatory lift from him.

He opens and closes the fist not gripping her, testing his will.

“How you feeling?” She asks.

“Starting to get hot,” he admits, shifting his thawing toes under crushing blankets.

She takes three off, which still leaves him weighted down. He wants to laugh, imagining her tucking him in thoroughly with pounds of linen that could never compare to the shelter that she gives.

He kisses her fingertips, winces as they graze the superficial cut on his top lip.

“Let me fix that,” she asks, trying to pull away.

“Why‘re you always trying to get away from me,” he mumbles, letting her go.

She wants to ask him the same question, but grabs a wet wash cloth and a basin filled with warm water and starts cleaning his face off.

The doctor is sitting in one of her kitchen chairs that she dragged into her room for him, watching, checking his wrist for the time.

The caked blood fights against warm water. She avoids pressure and instead uses persistence to rub the grime off his face and neck. The water turns tepid and pink while the battle goes on.

The doctor comes over, unclamps John’s vein from one bag, and sticks the other into the port.

John’s teeth chatter while the cool blood pumps through his system.

She rubs his jaw to calm the motion, while her damper hand grabs one of the discarded blankets and puts it back on him.

He’s just now noticing that he’s lying in her bed, calves hanging off the end of the mattress. “How much blood is there?” He asks, afraid to know the answer.

“Inside your body, about 3 liters. Maybe a little less right now.” She eyes the last blood bag. “Outside, probably.. let’s say. A shit ton.” She grins at him.

“I’ll help you clean it,” he offers, apologetic, wide brown eyes enough to get him out of dry cleaning duty.

“Worry about being able to sit up first, tiger,” she says, running the rag over his forehead.

“We should talk, too,” he replies.

“Once again, your functionality is my main priority.”

It feels far too good - being her priority. He lets the idea carry him through otherwise frustrating silence.

“I have some Pink Peroxide,” Doc interrupts. “Will cost extra.”

John nods, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Pink peroxide?” She asks, also looking over her shoulder at him.

“Miracle for stains,” he explains. “Blood stains especially.”

She dabs John’s cheek. “Oh.”

After the bag finishes, Doc takes it down and shoves it into his briefcase. He slips off his vinyl gloves, tucks them into a striped pocket, and hands her a translucent bottle full of blue pills. “Make him take these.”

Another temp check and he’s at 98.8, sweat dampening the layers of blanket. He squirms impatiently, attempts to push some covers off himself.

They don’t notice until he’s got half in a pile around his stomach.

Doc laughs as she scolds John.

“Stop it,” she says, rearranging bedding so that there’s only two blankets covering him. She tucks edges in. “You’re gonna get cold again.”

“Keep me warm,” he tells her, running his thumb over her cheek bone, trying to manually stimulate her lips into a smile.

She can’t help the crescent tilt of her mouth. “I think you gave him too much morphine.”

“Yeah,” Doc agrees, “he owes me extra for that, too.”

It might be the morphine, or it might be the fact that he was closer than he’d like to be to a dark, conscious-less void where he didn’t have her and it made him crave her that much more.

“I’m gonna go get you some water,” she tells John, patting his bicep. “Some toast and butter, too.”

She looks at him, expectantly.

After a minute, he seems confused. “Okay, that’s alright.”

“Uh, you have to let me go,” she says, biting her lip.

“Oh fuck,” he says casually, releasing her hand.

She goes to prepare him some things. The toast and butter, a few fresh strawberries leftover from Michael’s pie baking excursion, a tall glass of ice water. Some orange koolaid for immune boost and blood sugar raising. She grabs the jar of peanut butter and a knife, too, balances it on the plate with the food.

“What time is it, Doc?” John asks, yawning.

“Six PM,” the Doctor replies, glancing at his watch.

John’s eyes widen. “I have work at ten.”

Doc examines the second blood bag. “It will be done by then.”

“I thought they missed my artery.”

She walks in, sets his plate and drinks down. “Here,” she says, prompting a glass straw to his lips. He sucks down water and gets Deja Vu from the first time he met her, remembers how sweet she was to think of his base human needs, forgets about work. Or whatever the conversation was about.

“You thought right, but you bled an unusual amount.” This from Doc.

John asks, “Why?”

“Your blood is thin.” Doc shrugs, matter-of-a-fact. “I would need more tests to figure out why .”

She sits down on the mattress next to him. “You were on an oral anticoagulant - blood thinner - in the infirmary because of strict bed rest. Is that why?” She looks at Doc.

He smiles at her. “Ah, that could be it.”

John grins. Her pride is his. Smart, resourceful little companion. He wants to ruffle her hair.

But then, her head tucks down because she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be telling everyone that John’s an escaped convict. And then , she starts to feel like even when she’s doing something useful, she’s just fucking everything up more, as demonstrated by the past two days.

John watches curiously as her face contorts, wonders what’s going on in her head and wishes she would tell him so he doesn’t have to guess. Because his guess is something bad.

That should be worrying. The last time he cared enough to be in tune with someone’s feelings, he was trying to gauge how easy it would be to avoid them after putting a bullet in their boss’s head. In fact, the only time he’s trying to read someone, it’s been for business rather than personal reasons.

He scares the thought into a locked cabinet of his brain, reminds his feelings that rational John needs to buy this woman a passport and get her into a witness protection program where he can’t find her - easily find her. Because, eventually, he will, but it might take some time - and time can birth so many unexpected things.

Blood finishes dripping as John sits up to scarf his toast. It’s whole wheat, soggy with butter, delicious. There’s no time for peanut butter.

She places a steady hand on his back for support, rubs gentle fingers into the knobs of his spine.

The blankets fall around his waist, alerting him to his completely bare body.

“Have you eaten today?” He asks her, munching on a strawberry.

“Did I get shot?” She fires back.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I will, I will,” she grumbles, “just let me make sure the injured party is good, first. This is simple video game survival stuff, John.”

“What kind of video games do you play?”

She rolls her eyes and hands him the frosty glass of koolaid. “Sharp-shooter. Just kidding, I don’t. But I haven’t lived in a box.”

The ability to make him chuckle with that dry, sarcastic wit comes with the downfall of jostling his stitches and shooting pain through his arm, into his neck, down his spine. He chokes on a giggle.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wanting to punch herself for humor at a time like this. She stabilizes him.

The Doc takes the empty blood bag and puts a pressured dressing on the open area left by the IV.

He points to the pill bottle on the floor. “Three times a day.”

She nods, diligent, so serious. John hides his amused grin around a gulp of water.

“Where are my pants?” John inquires. His eyes catch the shine of his belt just as he finishes the question. He starts to lean, but she stops him.

“That’s the million dollar question,” she jokes, then curses herself for trying to be funny again. “Hold on, I got it.”

She reaches over and drags his heavy trousers off the floor, hands them over.

He pulls three gold coins out of his pocket and hands them to the doctor.

“Saving them for the ferryman?” Doc asks, shoving them into his white coat pocket.

She bristles, the reference not lost on her.

John chews a strawberry, aloof eyebrow raised in response.

“Right,” Doc says, “I’m leaving. Be more careful. I think you’re distracted.” He eyes her for a moment, gaze almost judging - if she’s interpreting the stare right - and then takes his leave.

John rubs her cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

She wretches her eyes from the spot where the doctor once was and looks up at John. “ Are youdistracted?”

He sighs. “Lately? Yeah.”

“Why?” She asks, folding her arms over her chest, looking up at him, pouting, seeming so strange and out of element while covered in his dried blood, and he decides that he’s the biggest asshole on planet earth for going about this in the wrong way despite having numerous chances to make it right.

“You.” Really? That’s what he can come up with? Years of etiquette training and he’s just a kid on the playground asking his crush to check the yes or no box. “I more than like you. I’m serious about it.” Melting into a puddle of biohazard would be better than sitting here burning with shame from the sheer stupidity of his words.

Despite his self-hatred, her eyes seem to glitter like she’s being dazzled and courted with lover’s poetry. “You do?” She whispers.

“I do.” He cups her face. “Which is why you need to get the hell away from me and never look back.”

“No,” she says.

“I thought so.” John licks his teeth.

“Are you disappointed?” She asks, still doubting his feelings despite this being the second time he’s admitted them.

“No.”

“So, what now?”

“I scare you away.”

“Try.” She raises her chin, defiant Pomeranian back in action.

Every time she opens her mouth, it’s a new emotion wrought upon his aching soul. He loves it - not even secretly.

He smiles to demonstrate his fondness for the attitude. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She starts to ask him what he means, but it would be useless because she already shares the sentiment. “God, me too.”

“Ask me something,” he starts.

“Why did you come here to die?”

“I didn’t.” He rethinks. “I did. I wasn’t thinking, I got sloppy, I didn’t know I had lost that much blood. I was dazed, and you’re the person I wanted. It was idiotic. I’m sorry.” He takes a breath, trying to organize his thoughts into words. “If I’m gonna die, I want to be beside you when it happens.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, warmth filling her up. “Okay, well.” Her voice is quiet. She’s thinking about whether or not to believe him with part of her brain and beating herself with the other part for not trusting an honest man who’s shown her compassion and protection. She chews her lip. “That’s the main part. And now I don’t feel so bad about also being an idiot.” She swivels back. “Not that I think you’re an idiot. I don’t. You’re not an idiot. Actually, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Just that I don’t feel so alone.”

He tilts his head. He’s absolutely an idiot. Letting himself get shot on the first night back, for one, then, for two, letting his unoxygenated brain lead him, desperate, to her doorstep, despite the consequences. The biggest idiot alive. What she did was noble and misplaced, what he did was intentional and inconsiderate. Comparing their faults is what’s idiotic.

“Can’t you just talk?” She asks. “Your long silences and dark stares are killing me, here.”

“I’m bad at it,” he admits.

She gives him a full-fledged smile, finally. Irony is laced into her lips. “Haven’t you ever played show and tell?”

“I excelled at show,” he says, inching toward her face.

She inches back, cheeks fiery. “I can tell.”

He scoots over so that they are nose to nose, startling her with the sudden move. She can’t get the nervous laugh out before he steals it with his mouth.

She wonders how many coppery kisses are in her future, and hopes it’s a lot.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick #keanu reeves

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antiquatedplumbobs · 7 months

Text

~an excerpt from Elsie Sewell's private journal~

Valentine's Day 1915

Tonight was RAPTUROUS! I don’t use that word often because Pastor Millwright says that it's a godly word, but tonight felt godly, so I've decided I shall use it. I had just the gayest time at the dance. Everyone looked so beautiful, and we all wore our hair so fashionably! They even had fresh lemonade and fancy cups to drink it from...I think happiness is drinking lemonade from a crystal cup at a dance.

Will escorted Clara, Lydia’s older sister, after some very unsubtle prodding from Mamma. I think she thought she was being sneaky, but I saw right through her, and I’m pretty sure Will did too — he’s just too nice to say no. I saw them dancing a few times and he brought her lemonade all night, but they looked kind of awkward. All the other couples were laughing and sneaking off together, but they just danced a few times and just kind of stood there. Didn’t seem all that romantic. He walked her home at the end of the night, but Lydia and I walked behind and they barely said two words to each other.

I suppose if he’s going to court someone, Clara isn’t so bad; she makes really good cookies and lets us have them sometimes, but Lydia says sometimes she yells at her to do her chores, which sounds unpleasant. All my friends with sisters assure me that that’s pretty normal, though. I've always dreamed of having an older sister, but I wouldn’t want one if they all yell!

Oh, well, I’m sure she won’t yell at Will: he’s just about the nicest guy, and he always makes sure he takes off his boots before coming in the house. Even Papa forgets sometimes — sometimes right after Mamma washed the floors! — and she gets all quiet and white around the mouth when that happens. He usually spends a couple hours in the barn tinkering at his woodworking bench until she’s cooled down.

When I am married, my husband will not track dirt in on my freshly washed floors, and I won't yell at him as long as he doesn't insult my cooking. Mrs. Fisher says that's about the worst thing a man can do, insult his wife's cooking. I wonder what it will be like to have my own house and family and go to dances with a beau and wear my hair up.

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

next / previous / first

#the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storytelling #sewell legacy #sewell legacy 1910s #william sewell #elizabeth sewell #sewell 1910s

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late-to-the-party-81 · 4 months

Text

Finders Keepers - Chapter Three

AN: I hope you enjoyed the last part and the delve into your main characters' pasts. Please note that in this chapter our Reader is physically violated by the removal of her prosthetic without her consent. This is an assault on her body autonomy. Please do not read this chapter if this will trigger you - I will place a summary at the end so you can get the gist of what happens

Unbeta'd chapter

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me.

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square B4 - Deja Vu

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Chapter Two

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Chapter word count: 3.3k

Chapter CW: Physical assault, kidnapping, non-consensual body modification, violation of body autonomy, threats of rape, implied threat of murder, non-consensual kiss, Hydra.

Chapter Three - Violation

It was like a twisted version of deja vu. Most of this scenario felt so familiar - the taste of dirt in your mouth, the aches from hitting the ground at high speed and, most of all, the embarrassment at being taken down so easily. What was different though, was the face of the man standing over you. You didn’t recognise him at all, but as your eyes roamed over him as he stared down at you, smug and predatory, you did recognise the red octopus patch on his jacket. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows.

“Hydra boys? What are you guys doing around here?” You knew from talking to your neighbours that Hydra had had a strong foothold in this area until about five or six years ago, when they’d suddenly moved territories.

They did what you and Bucky did, but were far more organised and far less scrupulous. The worst thing you did was steal from piles of unclaimed junk in Bucky’s area, but apparently Hydra weren’t above outright thievery if it was required - there was a rumour of a grav-train heist gone wrong. And whilst they did offer credit, folk who took them up on that offer very soon regretted that decision. Even with the advanced medical procedures now available, it was still hard to earn a wage if you were nursing freshly repaired knee-caps, plus the fact that paying for said repairs would automatically put you in more debt.

The man staring down at you took a few steps closer and you fought the urge to scoot away. He obviously wanted you to stay put as well, as he planted a heavy boot on your chest and pressed part of his weight onto you. You gritted your teeth and swallowed down a moan of discomfort, just continuing to glare at his scarred visage.

“Decided it was time to take back our territory, sweetheart. And the best way to start is to bring Barnes back into the fold.”

“What do you mean? Barnes is a loner. Through and through.” You were confused about what he was talking about, but luckily he seemed to like the sound of his own voice and was more than happy to explain.

“He might be now, but he was once one of us. We parted ways on bad terms a few years back, but the boss thinks it’s high-time he rejoins us. Especially as he didn’t actually ask to leave. Just walked away and left us, which isn’t really how we do things.”

You furrowed your brows as he spoke. Had Bucky really been a part of the mean and vicious Hydra gang. Yes he was an asshole towards you, but his reputation with others didn’t match up with the picture this goon was painting.

“Nice story, but I fail to see what it has to do with me and why you decided I should eat dirt. Sounds like a you and Bucky issue.” You really wished he’d take his foot off of you. Your ribs were starting to ache like anything.

“Well he might need a bit of persuading - he can be a stubborn ass a lot of the time - and what better way to persuade him than to have his girl on our side.”

If your ribs, and therefore your lungs, weren’t so constricted you’d have laughed at the man’s statement. As it was, the best you could do was snort derisively. “Good luck with that!”

The man chuckled. “You don’t want to join us, toots? You’re breaking my heart.”

“Well, obviously I don’t want to join you - I have some standards. But it’s more that I’m not Barnes’ girl. He doesn’t give a shit what I do, as long as it isn’t stealing from him. We barely tolerate each other, and in fact he took all of my latest fee off me, not fifteen minutes ago.”

The hazel eyes looking at you narrowed and he suddenly removed his foot from your chest. You sucked in a deep breath, unable to stop your reaction, but didn’t have any time to get your breathing back to normal as he suddenly wrapped his fist into the front of your jacket, hoisted you back to your feet and slammed you back into the closest wall.

“Stop playing games. We know he lets you Find on his turf and we know he keeps an eye on you. Even if you’re not his girl in the traditional sense, Barnes definitely has a soft spot for you. Therefore, I reckon that if you’re with us, and it doesn’t matter to me if that’s willingly or unwillingly, sweetheart, he’ll definitely come after you.” He looked you up and down, as if only really assessing you for the first time. You felt like a piece of meat hung up in a butcher’s window. “If you’re not his girl, what about being mine? I could show you a good time.” He ran the back of his free hand down your face in caress and you repressed a disgusted shudder.

“Not fucking likely”, you ground out, and then made your move. You kicked him in the shin with your right foot. Hard. At the same time you wrapped both your hands around his wrist and twisted it. He shouted out in a combination of shock and pain and let go of you. You set off, sprinting down the alley, however you’d momentarily forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Several sets of feet set off after you and you jumped, midstride, as a stunner shot connected with the wall beside you, leaving a scorch mark and an acrid smell in its wake.

You quickened your pace, willing your flesh leg to keep up with your metallic one, but your wish was in vain. You stumbled and at the same time a stunner shot caught your arm, sending you spinning. Pain flared up your limb and a small voice in your head unhelpfully pointed out that this was beginning to feel like a pattern as you crashed back into the ground.

You groaned, unable to move as footsteps approached, and once again your tormentor leaned over you.

“I realised, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I never introduced myself. The name’s Brock. Brock Rumlow. Remember it so you know what to scream later.”

Your eyes widened as he aimed a stunner at your chest. You heard the whine it gave off and then…

Nothing.

Your head was pounding and your tongue felt thick in your mouth as you woke up. You hadn’t been shot with a stunner many times, but you didn’t need to in order to know the feeling of a stun-hangover. You blinked your eyes open and you were glad that wherever you were, it wasn’t too bright.

It appeared to be some kind of empty warehouse, and you were the only occupant, sitting in a chair, your wrists tied to the arms and your legs….

Horror swept over you, along with a feeling of utter violation. Your left leg was tied to the chair by the ankle, but your right leg wasn’t tied at all, because the lower half of it was missing, your pants leg shredded to gain quick access. Bile rose in your throat and choked it back. Any thought that’d you’d had to play this cool in hopes of lulling Rumlow and his goons into a false sense of security went straight out of the window.

“You sick fucks!” You screamed across the space, your voice echoing off the bare walls and you started to struggle against your bonds. They’d regret this. As soon as you got free you were going to rain hell down upon them. The ropes rubbed painfully against your wrists and left ankle, but you were a woman possessed.

Suddenly, a large hand clamped down on the back of your neck menacingly, and you stilled, teeth gritted. Rage filled you were, stupid you were not.

“Did wonder when you were going to wake up, sweetheart” Brock bent down, his face appearing in your peripheral vision and his breath hot on your cheek. You wrinkled your nose at the stench.

“Give me back my leg,” you growled, your rage bubbling white hot inside you.

“And give you another chance to kick me? That shit hurt. Nah. Leg privileges are earned.” His other hand landed on your right thigh, and he gave a light squeeze of it through your ruined pants.

“Its a fucking part of me, jerk. I’d ask how you’d like it if I took your dick off you, but I doubt anyone, least of all you, would notice.”

He wrenched your head back in anger, and although it hurt you couldn’t help but grin up at him and how easy it was to push his buttons. Like any bully.

“I don’t know how you haven’t realised this yet, bitch, but you aren’t in charge here - I am. And if you’re nice to me I’ll be nice to you. However, if you continue like this…” Brock shrugged as his words tailed off and shoved your head back forward before releasing it. You continued to glower at him as he walked around the chair to stand in front of you, his thick arms crossed over his equally broad chest.

“What am I supposed to do if I need to piss or crap?” you questioned, hoping that the question would gross him out. Unfortunately he seemed unfazed.

“Ask me or one one of the boys nicely and we’ll carry you to the bathroom.”

“I’d rather hop, asshole.” The thought of any of them touching you made your skin crawl.

“If you prefer. It’s a long way from this room, princess.”

It was your turn to shrug in reply.

A silence fell between you, but Brock just continued to stare as if you were an insect he was studying under a microscope. You squirmed beneath his gaze and bit your tongue until you couldn’t take it any longer.

“What now? We stay here staring at each other, hoping Barnes turns up at some point? I hate to break it to you - he’s not coming. I’m nothing to him.”

Brock smiled then and it made you more afraid than any of his macho posturing had. “You’d best hope you’re wrong, toots. Because if you’re right, and he doesn’t come for you then I’ve got no use for you.” He crouched down into your personal space, his large hands resting on both your thighs this time. “Well, no long term use. Short term on the other hand…” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

You pulled at your bonds again and wrenched your head away. “Ugh, you’re such an animal.” Brock just chuckled and stood up, nonplussed by your reaction.

“Sticks and stones, sweetheart. I’ll come and check on you later, see if your mood has improved at all. Don’t forget to shout loudly if you need the toilet - you’ll want us to hear you then.” He then turned away from you without a second glance and you were left alone in the dull light once more.

A few hours later and despite your resolve you were forced to call out. It was the most humiliating thing you’d ever had to do. You also hadn’t quite contemplated how hard it was to hop with a full bladder, but you’d be damned if you’d let any of them assist you. The nameless Hydra thug who accompanied you smirked and sniggered the whole time, but you did your best to ignore him. At least he didn’t come into the tiny, disgusting bathroom with you, so you had a few minutes to mentally pull yourself together again and inspect the marks on your wrists from being tied up.

However, what you weren’t expecting once you’d finished was that you weren’t returned to the chair in the large, echoey space, your guard turning in another direction instead. He didn’t offer to help you and nor did you ask. Thankfully it wasn’t too far, but you had to stop several times and lean on the wall to catch your breath. When you finally reached your destination, the goon just gestured for you to go through the aperture he’d stopped in front of. You were wary but also intrigued. So far, aside from the violation of having your leg removed from you, none had perpetrated any violence upon you, apart from Brock’s kiss and unsubtle threats.

The room you entered was a small cell, and ironically it was bigger than your living space back at the apartment block. The only thing in it, though, was a bed. At least you’d be able to rest. When the forcefield buzzed into life behind you, you signed in resignation. You listened as the footsteps of your minder echoed away back down the corridor, leaving you in blessed solitude, and you allowed yourself to relax a little.

Manoeuvring yourself over to the small bed, you sat down. To stop yourself immediately lapsing in maudlin state, you decided to do something about your tattered pant’s leg. It had been cut twice, all the way up to mid thigh, by whichever complete bastard had done this to you - your money was on Brock - which at least meant you could tied the two flaps together and tuck the ends in so they wouldn’t get in your way or snag on anything. That didn’t take much time, so when that was done you lay down on the bed to rest - there wasn’t really much else to do unless you wanted to count the rivets on the wall.

You shuffled around for a few moments, trying to get comfortable, before realising that something in your jacket pocket was digging into you. You slid your hand in, and as soon as your fingers curled around the object you couldn’t help but grin. Brock and his cronies may have been clever enough to take your leg, but they obviously hadn’t done a proper search of your person. You still had your field disruptor.

Now all you had to do was wait for the right time.

In the end, you decided you weren’t going to wait too long. You knew Bucky wasn’t coming for you - you doubt he’d even realised you were missing, probably assuming any absence was because you were licking your wounds after your last encounter. However, if he wasn’t coming, then eventually Rumlow would realise that as well and you would become a nuisance or worse. A plaything. You had no desire to see how long his patience would last before it snapped and he took his frustrations out on you. Just the thought of him touching you made you want to wretch.

After you’d been placed in your cell you’d been left alone for another few hours, another guard only appearing to place some ration packs in with you. He didn’t speak to you and you acted as though he wasn’t there for the brief amount of time he was present. However, as soon as he’d gone, you devoured the food and drink, needing the energy, and then sat down by the edge of the field, so you could get a good look up and down the corridor.

There was a camera on the opposite wall, part way down, and you’d just have to hope that it wasn’t being monitored too well. You gave it a little wave anyway, listening out for the tell-tale whir of it refocusing. It didn’t make a sound, which didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t being monitored, but you could hope.

Time started to lose meaning - you weren’t sure how long you’d been locked up here - but you did notice when the sky began to darken outside and then start to glow with the reflection of thousands of neon lights. The corridor remained empty and the sounds of people moving around in other parts of the warehouse lessened. You looked up at the camera. It still hadn’t moved. Did you dare risk it?

You slid your hand into your pocket again, gripping your field disruptor, balanced on the edge of your decision. Waiting for a sign.

The power light on the camera went out.

You blinked at it, disbelieving, then in the next second pushed yourself into action. Your disruptor was out in front of you, powered on, and you were scanning for the correct frequency. Your head jerked up when you heard a loud thud coming from way down the corridor and the whine of a stunner discharging.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered under your breath as you turned the dial by increments and then let out a small shout of success as you saw your device start to work. You willed it to work faster as the noises of a confrontation along from you became louder.

As soon as there was a gap for you to crawl through you did so as fast as you could. You powered off the disruptor and shoved it back into your pocket and then pulled yourself upright. Which way should you go? It seemed to you that the exit was more likely to be in the direction of the commotion, but without your full mobility or any kind of weapon it didn’t seem like it would be a good idea to go that way. Maybe you should find somewhere to hide and then try to sneak out when it all quietened down?

A pained shout from the direction of the apparent confrontation made your decision for you, and you started to move as fast as you could away from it. Panic consumed you, your mind making up all sorts of scenarios about what was happening behind you - there was no way whatever it was would be good for you. Was it another rival gang taking out Hydra? Or was the beast turning on itself? Rumlow had mentioned a boss after all - maybe he was unhappy with how the scarred man had handled things?

You clung to the wall, using each crevice as a hand hold so you could move faster. There was more stunner fire, but also the sound of phase pistols. Some folk weren’t messing around, apparently. Then most of the sounds diminished. One didn’t, however. The sound of a pair of heavy footsteps. Footsteps that quickened in pace and seemed to be getting closer to you. You didn’t dare look around, your focus firmly on the doorway you could see up ahead. The desperation to get to it and its perceived safety was overwhelming.

This time when you fell, it wasn’t because someone threw something at you or tripped you. It was because you were fatigued. You tumbled to the ground, arms outstretched to try and stop your face meeting the hard floor. You let out a sound, half pain, half frustration and tears started to run down your face unbidden. The footsteps came to a halt behind you. You didn’t even have the energy to look up. You were beaten, well and truly and you waited for your next tormentor. The next humiliation. The next violation.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, doll. I’m getting a sense of deja vu.”

For a moment you thought that your panicked brain was making stuff up, but you turned your head, and there he was, larger than life. More tears, ones of relief now, flowed from your eyes, and as he knelt to the floor and gathered you in his arms you hugged him back. Your face pressed into the stiff leather of his jacket and you inhaled the scent of it. The scent of him.

“You came for me?” Your voice was small, so unlike the normal you, especially the you around Bucky. However, it appeared you weren’t the only one behaving uncharacteristically, because you felt his arms tighten around you and what felt like a kiss to the top of your head.

“Always, doll. I’ll always come for you.”

Chapter Four

Chapter Summary: Reader is confronted by Brock Rumlow and Hydra goons who think they can use her to leverage Bucky into returning to them. She kicks Brock with her prosthetic leg and tries to escape, but is caught and shot unconscious. When she wakes she is bound to a chair in a warehouse, her prosthetic removed. Brock taunts her with threats of sexual and physical violence. Later she is transferred to a cell. She realises that despite her missing leg she still has her field disruptor and decides she needs to try to escape before Brock gets frustrated at Bucky’s failure to show. When trying to decide when to make her move the security camera suddenly disables and the sounds of a fight reach her. She makes her move and escapes her cell but decides to try and hide rather than make her way through the confrontation to the exit. Whilst she is moving along she hears someone coming up behind her and she panics and falls. She expects some further horrors, but it is in fact Bucky, who scoops her into his embrace.

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @km-ffluv @wheezy-stucky @mrs-illyrian-baby

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #late writes #bucky barnes bingo

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gingiesworld · 8 months

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Hunted

Jane Banner x GN! Reader

Summary: Agents Banner and Y/L/N have been assigned to a mass missing persons case. Within the area of Blackwater, there has been multiple disappearances but no signs of the victims. That is until Jane and Y/N come across an old house. The two splitting up to search before one of the two is captured leaving the other in the darkness to find the light in the case.

Warnings: Violence. Death. Not major character death. Angst. Fluffy ending.

Taglist: @ginnsbaker @lifespectator @louxbloom

18+ MINORS DNI

Within the town of Blackwater, there has been multiple missing persons claims. Even the county sheriff's department has struggled with even cracking the case. Well, they just don't have the capacity to delve deeper into the case. That was one of the reasons why the FBI had taken over the case, sending two of their best agents into the town to crack the case.

"So each victim had disappeared along the same stretch of road." Jane pointed out as she read the file as Y/N drove. "Other than that, the victims don't have anything else linking them together."

"What about the ages?" Y/N questioned as they glanced to the side.

"They range between 20 and 65 years old." She told them. "So there isn't really anything else other than they disappear along with their cars."

"Is there any traffic cams in the area?" They questioned as they pulled into in nearby motel.

"Not near the stretch of road." She told them. "Maybe we should check out the scene. Get an idea of things?"

"Yeah, let's just check in and we can get a feel for the town." They said as Jane nodded. Y/N went to book the room as Jane looked around the motel. It wasn't the cleaneat motel but it wasn't the worst either. She soon smiled as she followed Y/N to their room. "Ok. Did any of the previous investigation statements say anything about the road before we head out there?"

"No." Jane said as she looked over the Sheriff's reports. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Ok." She watched as Y/N checked their gun before holstering it and pulling their jacket on. Taking off one of their rings. "Put this on." They told her. "It has a tracker."

"What about you?" Jane questioned as they smirked.

"I have one." They wriggled their hand. "It's just a precaution. I like to make sure that both agents go home in one piece. Besides, Mouth is the one to call if you lose me."

"Please don't let that happen." She pleaded with them.

"I won't." They smiled at her. Although they never wanted anything to happen to her either. As much as the two would deny their feelings for the other, it would be obvious to anyone who had observed them long enough.

The two drove to the stretch of road where the disappearances had happened. The two parking just off the road before getting out and observing the area.

"There isn't really any turn offs." Jane pointed out as she looked up and down. "Nor any street lights."

"All of the disappearances happened at night right?" Y/N questioned as Jane nodded. "The last disappearance happened a couple of nights ago. So the only pattern is that it's one disappearance a week."

"It's happened for over a decade whether it'd be locals or people passing through." She stated as Y/N walked a little further ahead. Seeing a break within the treeline that stood on either side of the road. Jane followed them as they soon disappeared through the trees. "Y/N?"

"Here." They called out to her, she soon followed their voice and soon came across an old rusted gate and a dirt path. "I think we have something." They told her. The two walked silently down the path until it led to an old musty house, the wood was green with moss that had grown over time due to the lack of care. There was also an old tool shed which was falling apart, along with a barn. "I'm going to see if anyone is in, you look around."

Jane just nodded and started to do a perimeter check as Y/N approached the front door. Jane had noticed how there was a make shift road between the trees, so she disappeared through them.

Y/N waited patiently as they knocked on the door, trying to look through the dirty windows before a dirty looking woman answered the door.

"Hi, I'm Agent Y/L/N, I just wanted to ask a few questions about a case I'm working on." They asked her with a smile as she looked passed them but not seeing anything else.

"My husband is the one who talks to people." She spoke in a southern accent before she called for him. A moment later, a man who was just as dirty as the woman stood beside her.

"How can I help you?" He questioned as Y/N observed the two before him.

"I am currently working on a case and the road just outside of your property has been the last place that these people have been seen." Y/N informed them. "I just wanted to know if you have seen or heard anything that might help us find them."

"No." He answered them. "We haven't heard a thing."

"Are you alone?" His wife questioned as Y/N just nodded.

"Yes." They lied easily with a small smile. "Thank you for your time." With that they had closed the door behind them, Y/N heading straight on the phone.

"Y/N?" Jane questioned.

"Car. Now." With that the door had opened as two men tackled them to the ground. "Run!!!" Jane just followed their order as she ran straight to the car, using the spare key to get inside before she drove to the motel. The sound of the struggle still fresh in her mind. She had also tried to call them again but she was getting no answer as she called up the director and Mouth.

As Mouth was tracking them, Jane was ordered to wait for back up to arrive before she could go in. Although she was worried about Y/N, she knew they would want her to follow their boss's orders.

As the hours went by, Y/N was just coming around. Everything had been taken from them, including the ring they had on their finger. When their eyes had finally adjusted, they noticed they were stuck in a cage with an electric lock.

"You're new." They heard someone say. "A little earlier than usual."

"Yeah, it's usually one a week. They keep us alive for four weeks before the hunt." Another spoke as Y/N tried to look through the bars.

"What happens on the hunt?" They questioned as the eldest spoke up.

"I am sure you know." He told them sadly. Y/N sat there and spoke with the other prisoners while Jane decided to go back to the property, knowing very well that Y/N would do the same if it was her.

Just as she was on the road, driving in the dark, Y/N's cell had opened. They looked around at the others who shrugged, all of them scared about the sudden change in the routine.

"I guess it's me." They whispered as they slowly crawled out of the cell. "I'm going to send help for you guys."

"That's what they all say." The old man scoffed as Y/N just sighed. Heading towards the exit. Soon seeing a room of weapons, most of the blades werw blunt, even with the hardest swing, they wouldn't draw blood. But they also saw a wall full of polaroids. The family standing above one of the victims like it was a game. Proud of the murder they've committed.

Jane started to walk through the woods instead of going through the dirt road towards the property. Flinching as she heard cackles coming from within the woods, making sure she had her pistol raised and torch off as she stepped further into the darkness.

Y/N just decided to run, hoping to bypass the family of hunters and head straight to the main road. That was until they felt a piercing in their back, knocking them forward to the brown earth.

"Did you really think you would get away." One of the men sneered as they groaned. Feeling the warmth as they all laughed as Y/N got back up and started to run as fast as they could. Their breathing was laboured as they stumbled through the trees, luckily Mouth had tracked Jane and there was already a team close by.

Jane turned abruptly at the sound of a twig snapping, her gun drawn ready to shoot if she needed. Remaining in her spot as she heard the slow footsteps on the earth. Soon her eyes noticed a hand on the tree, so she walked slowly towards it before she also heard laughing getting closer.

"Oh my god." She recognised Y/N as she grabbed their arm and held them up. She tried to get them away fast before the footsteps and laughing was close behind them.

"Look pa, they have a friend." One of them cheered.

"Let's get them both." Their father ordered. "The woman would be a nice trophy." He sneered as the three off them stepped closer. Jane flinched at the sound of an animalistic cry coming from Y/N as they had been stabbed in the back of the knee by a machete.

"Come on." She tried to get Y/N to leave with her as they approached.

"Just go." They told her as she shook her head no.

"I am not leaving without you." She reached for her gun and aimed it between the three of them.

"She's fiesty boys." The father teased as Jane snarled at them.

"I will pull this damn trigger if you take one more step." She told them.

"You're bluffing darling." The father spoke as one of his sons stepped forward. Jane was fast to pull the trigger and shoot before turning back to the father. "You killed my son you bitch." He sneered as he went to swing at her, before he could hit her there was shots fired, but not from Jane.

"I thought I told you to wait Banner." Director Stevens scolded her.

"Y/N would have done the same sir." She told him before she went to Y/N.

"There's a shed, just a mile back maybe." They whispered. "There's more people inside, in cages like animals. Also there is a wife at the house." They watched as half of the team walked in the direction Y/N had given as Jane approached them. "Thank you." They smiled at her as they were lifted onto a gurney.

"You would have done the same." She told them.

"Well, if you hadn't had come when you did I would be dead." They told her as she climbed in the ambulance with them.

"Well, I needed you alive." She told them shakily. "Because if you weren't, I wouldn't be able to do this." She whispered before she leaned down and captured their lips in her own, cupping their cheek softly.

"Have dinner with me." They asked her once she pulled away.

"Once you have recovered, you can make me some of your famous tacos." She told them as they nodded.

"It's a date." They smiled at the thought of a whole new chapter with the woman who had captured their heart.

#jane banner x gn! reader #jane banner x reader #my works

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star2fishmeg · 8 months

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ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀʏ

Pairing: Miyauchi ‘Binzo’ Kozo x afab!reader

Summary: y/n’s day just kept getting worse and worse and Binzo had just what she needed to make it better

Warnings: ooc Binzo, fluff, comfort, swearing, short n' sweet

Authors note: this one’s dedicated @straysugzhpe who is such an incredible person and writer!! This is my first time writing Binzo by the way, have mercy. F/n = friend’s name

Authors note II: my banners and fics look better on dark mode btw, light mode users are your eyes okay?

Request: none!

With the sun finding slumber over the horizon, what was supposed to be just a normal day at school turned for the worst. The heavens opened in the morning, completely ruining the hairstyle she spent ages on perfecting (no occasion, but she just wanted to feel pretty), she failed a test and while it wasn’t that much of a deal, it was just something you’d rather not add to the already defeated feeling; then over lunch, someone spilt juice over her uniform, leaving it sticky and gross and to finish off her day a couple of girls had stolen her shoes and when she had found them, they were covered in mud. Her day went so horrifically that she hadn’t even waited for her friend and just left.

Crushing the juice box between her fingers, y/n dropped it lazily on the bench beside her, staring back at the view over the city from the hill she found herself. The city itself had started to awaken, restaurant lights flickering and apartment lights barely glowing in the tangerine hues that blanketed the world. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, her breath becoming shallow and she tried to refrain. It failed though, her ducts gave out and the weight on her chest was relieved with hot tears silently streaming down her cheeks, quiet sobs heaving as she let the stress of her day rush out her body. Covering her face was pointless, no one was around anyway, in her eyes she was already a mess as it was. Dropping her head, she pulled her knees to her chest, curling up on the bench while watching the sunset with blurry vision and sore eyes.

“I, uh…hey y/n.” Kozo wasn’t one for being soft-spoken, but the way he was picking at his nails while approaching the bench to sit next to her in small steps gave enough indication that he was trying his best. He sat at a reasonable distance, not to frighten her, eyes flickering between the view and her figure.

Y/n sniffed, languidly turned her head to give him a glance, pushing hair out her eyes and wiping her eyes swiftly, “Did f/n tell you?” she sniffed. His eyebrows raised at her croaky voice, she really sounded rough. His heart tightened, he’d never seen someone with so much resemblance to sunshine appear completely dejected and rained on. Binzo only nodded, looking back at his hands as she sighed, “I feel awful, I just left them without a word.”

“They understand, don’t worry.” He paused, “You gonna tell me what happened or do you wanna hug or something?” His mind was screaming at him, he could’ve said something better than that and he could’ve offered a hug when he wasn’t covered in dirt and drywall. Drywall. Where did the drywall come from? He kept fidgeting, his fingers becoming more interesting than anything else at that moment. Leaning back, he draped his arms over the back of the bench, awkwardly opening his mouth but no words came out. What would Mercy do, huh? He had asked him about this type of thing recently but now it was reality, he’d gone completely dumb as if y/n was some random woman. The cogs in his brain rusted and trying to think, he’d known her for years why was his leg trembling and why did he suddenly care about his appearance, why was his stomach doing flips?

Y/n scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest, facing the dusk, “Did my hair all pretty only for it to get ruined, then failed some dumb test, had juice launched over me and some girls stole my fucking shoes and covered them in mud, so now my feet are cold, damp and disgusting and then I just ran off without f/n so I feel guilty about that and I know it’s not that deep but I can’t help it.”

Binzo wrapped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer while she cuddled into him, tears brimming and being soaked up by his jacket. He didn’t say anything, but the thundering in his chest spoke volumes for him. He just gently caressed her hair, twirling stands on his finger and combing it until she had no tears left to cry.

“For what it’s worth, y/n, I still think you’re pretty,” he said softly and glanced down, y/n lifting her head to meet his gaze, “Even if your hair was ruined, clothes soaked and shoes muddy, you’re still very beautiful.”

She smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing, a genuine smile. Kozo responded with a smile of his own, not a manic one like before fights, one that only existed in the comforts of his room and inner circle where it was followed by a small chuckle rather than a growl. Overall, she thought it was nice hearing him talk rather than yelling, the zombie everyone else knew didn’t exist around her, not that she was bothered by that side.

“I think you’re pretty too,” her fingers ran down the denim on his jacket, leaving a streak in the dust that coated it, “Even when you’re covered in...drywall?”

He shook his head in defeat, smile never fading, “Shit happens.”

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse

[Masterlist]

[Requests OPEN]

#binzo x reader #miyauchi kozo #high&low #high&low x reader #high&low the worst #high and low #highandlow #high & low #high&low the worst x reader #high&low the worst x cross #high&low the worst cross x reader #suzuran x reader #high&low binzo

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eiightysixbaby · 3 months

Note

UHHH A MORE EXPERIENCED BEST FRIEND!JONATHAN FINDING OUT THE READER HASNT BEEN KISSED BEFORE AND OFFERS TO TEACH HER HOW TO AS A JOKE SEND TWEET

omg stop this is cute. I didn’t really make his offer a joke but I hope this is still suitable?

“just go on the date, what’s the worst that could happen?” jonathan asks, shoes kicking at the dirt beneath his feet.

you sit beside him on his front porch, legs extended in front of you into the grassy yard. he knocks a knee against yours, looking over at you.

“I mean, a lot of things? he could be a serial killer,” you say, shrugging.

“it’s andrew,” jonathan says. “he was in chess club in high school for god’s sake, he’s not a serial killer,” he laughs lightly.

you avoid looking at him, wringing your hands together in your lap.

“okay, what’s going on?” he asks. “you said he was so nice when you ran into him. and you admitted you thought he was cute in school. why don’t you want to go on the date?”

you chew at your lip, staring out into the yard. you know you shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk to jonathan — your best friend — but your stomach turns at the weight of your confession. you can feel his soft brown eyes staring at you, waiting for any words to come out of your mouth.

“it’s… it’s embarrassing….” you murmur, chancing a glance at him.

“you can tell me anything. you know I’m not going to judge you,” he says, leaning towards you to bump shoulders.

“I’ve never… kissed anyone,” you say softly, exhaling the breath you’d been holding.

“what?”

“I told you, it’s embarrassing—”

“no, jesus, no. it’s not embarrassing. I just… I thought… what about that guy you said you kissed at that party senior year?”

“I made that up. I didn’t wanna tell the whole group that I haven’t had my first kiss,” you admit. “if I go on this date, he’s likely going to want to kiss me,” you continue, your voice small.

“is that a bad thing?” jonathan asks, clearly confused.

“I want my first kiss to be with someone I trust. someone I really like. I barely know andrew. and, on top of that, I don’t even know how to kiss! what if I’m horrible at it?”

he stays silent for a moment, sitting with this information. the toe of his sneaker continues to scuff a dent in the dirt.

“you could practice with me,” he says finally, shrugging softly as he meets your eyes.

“what?” your brows furrow — now it’s your turn to be confused.

“I just mean like… I’ve had some experience. and you trust me and we’re friends, so then it gets the first kiss out of the way with someone you’re comfortable with,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck. “I can show you the ropes so it isn’t such a shock if he tries to make a move.”

you don’t say anything, staring at him with a look on your face that he can’t read.

“never mind, honestly, I shouldn’t have suggested that,” he covers, rubbing his palms on his knees before standing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“jonathan,” you interject, soft in tone but loud enough in volume to get him to listen. your heart pounds in your chest, nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “I’d like it. if— if you kissed me.” you stand alongside him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

he smiles, a soft thing that exposes his dimples. “let me show you how it’s done then, yeah?” he inches closer to you, not stopping until you’re chest to chest.

he lets a hand find your waist, the other one reaching up to caress the side of your face. his thumb strokes your cheek, your heart skipping a beat.

“it’s all about taking things slow,” he instructs. “if you rush, it’ll be sloppy.” his breath fans your face with each word, your eyes focused in on his lips.

you feel like your breath gets stuck in your throat as he leans in, pressing his lips so softly to yours. you didn’t realize how badly you wanted to kiss him until now.

it comes so much more naturally than you would’ve thought, your lips slotting together with his easily. he holds you so gently, his mouth so soft against your own. every worry you’d had washes away as you slowly learn the way he moves.

you can feel him smile into it before pulling back slightly. one hand still cups your face as his pretty eyes search yours.

“is it wrong that I don’t want to stop kissing you?” he asks quietly, a shy smirk crossing his features. his cheeks flush a deep pink, his nose brushing yours.

“I don’t either,” you tell him, a giddy feeling coursing through your veins. you bite your lip, a futile attempt at forcing back the grin that threatens to break loose. “I’m gonna tell andrew it’s a no on the date.”

jonathan lets out a breathy laugh, sounding sweeter than ever, before pulling you back in. “thank god.” he murmurs, planting his lips to yours once more.

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers fluff #jonathan byers blurb #jonathan byers fanfic #leah’s got mail 💌

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 1 year

Note

Prompt: “I thought they'd killed you. I lost my temper.”

Song: Don't Blame Me - Taylor Swift

For Tolya x Reader please!!

Find Your Way Back - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat And Violence. Near Death Experience, Pain And Suffering. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Implied Grisha Reader, but unspecified as to what class.

You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, and you think you feel someone's hands on your shoulders, trying to keep you up but you aren't sure.

There isn't much you can be sure of. The smell of blood feels real, but so does the apple blossoms scent in the air, the mix of sweetness and summer that could make you feel like a child again. After more time and with more thought you'd be sure that the latter was a memory creeping in, and the blood was always much more likely to be the reality anyway. But right now, as someone tries to keep you awake the apple blossom's smell sweeter than the blood in your mouth tastes bitter, everything smells and tastes like iron. Are you choking on it? You aren't sure. Is it your blood? You aren't sure of that either.

If it was your blood, surely you'd be in pain, but then again you know at a certain point you stop feeling it, and maybe if the person holding you was one of your friends, one of the ones who could take your pain and make it less, that's why you felt nothing. Or maybe you were dying.

You are probably dying.

That's likely what this feeling is. How strange, you wondered, to feel calm at a time you should panic. Maybe you aren't willing to believe you're dying, or maybe it's because if you had to die for something, this wasn't the worst thing to die for.

You'd been side by side with him after all.

You feel yourself checking out again, not that you really were absorbing anything happening around you in the moments you are almost lucid, but you feel like you're going underwater.

You can see the ceiling of The Little Palace, all intricate and far too unnecessary for a ceiling. You try to feel the soft blankets underneath your body but you just feel the grit of dirt, dreaming. You must be dreaming. Or remembering.

Or dying.

You don't try to sit up, you don't try to move but your line of sight changes like you've sat up in your bed. Your old bed, you remind yourself. You left The Little Palace.

"Some good news to tell me?" Your voice asks even though you don't speak. You hear his laughter before you see him, Tolya.

As your vision focuses and unfocuses you realise it has to be a memory. Tolya looks younger stood in the doorway, not a lot younger but younger, more like when you were first getting to know him, and he is missing one of his tattoos, the one on his arm, the sunburst. He hasn't got it yet.

You try to remember all of Tolya's tattoo from memory, recalling them in order, oldest to newest but your mind starts to go blank and empty, and The Little Palace is ripped away from you filling with darkness instead, taking him with it.

You must be dying, you decide, only in death would you be forgetting these things about him.

You try to pull the memory back, try to remember what he had come to tell you that day, but you can't.

You hear someone calling your name, a familiar voice, one you know but not the one you're searching for in your mind: not Tolya's.

Marie? No, it couldn't be Marie's voice. You hadn't heard her voice in a very long time.

You hear your name again and you are sure you know the voice now, it's Genya, but you try to reach towards the sound and you're walking in the woodland, and your kefta is too tight and it's making your arms itch and you cannot keep your eyes on the path.

You remember this even fainter than the last memory, new and old starting to melt together, Genya is wearing her white but her scars are healed. This is wrong. You know it's not right, and yet when you see Tamar and Tolya walking over from an dock that does not belong in this location or this memory, you don't have it in yourself to care.

"Tolya, Tamar," you call out.

"Where'd you go?" Tamar calls back.

"I'm right here?" you respond in puzzlement. She calls your name again like she can't see you at all.

"Come back to me," it's softer now, it doesn't feel like a call carrying over such a distance. Everything starts to fall away but Tamar's voice remains. And a colder one beside it.

"I am not one to speak of lost causes," says the unfamiliar voice.

"No," Tamar says firmly, "you shall say nothing. Find a Healer."

So you're dying, you're sure of that now. Your eyes open and you can see Tamar, but you cannot put a face to the other voice. You try to speak and Tamar turns to you. "Hey, don't talk," she ushers, "please don't waste your energy, I am doing my best here but I am no Healer, we need to find one."

"I think they'll be long dead before we get the chance," the voice says from a corner of this space you cannot see. You try to look around, completely unsure of where you are but Tamar gives you a stern look.

Something strikes you then, why is she here? Tamar is not the sickbed type, if either of the twins would be it would be Tolya. Where is Tolya?

You try to ask but only a cough finds its way up your throat and you start to taste that metal again, that iron from before. "Please rest or I will have to drop you into a coma so you do," Tamar says, her voice almost a beg. You don't think you've ever seen her so worried, ever the warrior, the brave and the strong. She looks so scared.

Your injuries do the work for her and you feel yourself slipping out again, and there is no room or grass or tiles to look at where you find ourself, it's all darkness, and you're wading in it, like a lake that isn't wet. You hear something amongst the silence, a voice getting clearer and louder. The voice you'd been looking for. Tolya's voice.

He is reading poetry again, and you'd laugh but you're sure even in this dream, or memory, or other place that you've found yourself in and might become lost to, laughing would still hurt.

He doesn't look at you, he just reads, and smiles as he does, and you don't interrupt, happy to just listen, to watch, there is a comfort he brings, a comfort you're searching for right now, a comfort that you almost know if you give into you may never find your way back from.

"Tolya," you manage again. Then the words stop, everything goes quiet.

There is nothing. No sound, no sense at all.

You wake and Tolya is sat beside you, head resting on folded hands, watching your every strained breath. "Tolya," you whisper.

"Thank the Saints," Tamar says from the doorway. She breathes in deep like she has been holding her breath. "Don't do that again," she says throwing a threatening look your way and then leaving you and her brother alone.

"You," you start, Tolya doesn't shush you like Tamar had but his eyes scream at you to 'please, take it easy.' "Are you okay?" You ask.

He laughs, it's short and shallow and it's a laugh of disbelief. "You're asking if I am okay?" He asks, and you nod. "I am a lot better for hearing your voice."

"Same," you admit. His absence when you searched for him comes rushing back to you. "You weren't... where were you?"

"Where was I?" he asks, confused.

"I looked for you," you start. He realises what you mean, and it takes him a moment, Tamar had told him you'd said his name, but she hadn't let on that you had really been searching him out in the moments you thought you were dying. In the moments they all thought you were dying. You'd looked for him. Like he could save you or bring you peace, maybe even both.

“I thought they'd killed you. I lost my temper.” He admits.

The fighting comes back to you now, the way you and Tolya and a few other Grisha had been jumped. You weren't sure who attacked you, but you knew they did not mean to leave any of you alive. You remember feeling like you couldn't breath, you feel for the bruises on your neck, they're not as raw as they had been but they're there. You remembered the cracking of ribs, your ribs you realise now. Someone had tried to kill you, and they'd nearly succeeded.

"Do we know why?" You ask. Tolya shrugs.

"We think they were mercenaries," Tolya, "it was just us because we were there and they were Otkazat'sya, and we aren't."

You don't ask what he means when he says he lost his temper. You don't ask how you got to Tamar, and yet Tolya knows how everything ended. You don't need to know the details. If Tolya hadn't stayed by your side, you knew he had to have good reasons for that. You wonder if it had been the other way around and he had laid dying, if you would've been able to sit there, and feel like there was nothing you could do, or if you too would've gone back to finish the fight.

You knew Tolya was very dangerous when he needed to be, people weren't weary of him without good cause, and you know that it was as much about protecting everyone as it was about you, but the way relief flooded him when you woke. The way he has leaned in close, his hand on your arm, and hasn't moved away since. You understand entirely.

"Sorry for scaring you," you say. He gives you a small smile.

"I knew the Saints wouldn't take you away from me," he whispers. "They wouldn't be so cruel."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya yul bataar #six of crows #tolya and tamar #fanfiction #tolya my darling i adore you

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myriadof-fandoms · 1 year

Text

harringrove week - day 5 - one look at you and i can't disguise

prompt: outsider pov

"wait, talk me through it again?" chrissy is really trying to keep up but occasionally her best friend has a habit of talking in riddles.

billy sighs, lighting another cigarette but holding it away from her so the smoke doesn't hit her, "harrington's making fun of me."

"right, because-"

"because he smiles at me!" billy is only mumbling now, looking away from her.

they're parked on a dirt road with a view of one of the countless fields surrounding hawkins. it's become a habit of sorts, when basketball and cheer practice end at the same time they say they have to study for their spanish class together. instead of doing any such thing they drive past the town sign, park somewhere quiet to sit on the hood of billy's car and talk.

"billy, i promise i'm trying to understand but how does that mean he's making fun of you?"

he huffs and repeats himself, "because he fucking hates me. i beat him up, i was generally not the nicest person around him and then he ignored me for a year. now everytime i have to drive max to that stupid video store he smiles at me like- like that's normal."

"it kinda is what people in service jobs have to do?" chrissy throws in while picking at her nail beds.

"chris, i've seen him with other customers though. the other week max dragged me there to get breakfast club again and tina and her new boyfriend were at the counter when we came in. harrington did not smile once."

"so do you watch him the entire time you're there?"

the thing is that billy's told her he likes boys. only once and very quietly and with bated breath like he expected the worst from her. she just hugged him instead.

"of course not."

chrissy wonders if he knows that he's blushing.

their friendship had developed over shared classes and projects and her being around the basketball team due to jason. though what really made her and billy talk was jason himself - specifically his inability to leave her alone when she told him to. billy only had to witness her having to tell jason no more than once before he even considered listening to her one time before he stepped between them.

billy stuck around her whenever they were in the vicinity of jason and so they talked. a shitty home life, albeit differently so, brought them closer and billy's trust sealed it all.

that was the last time jason ever tried to convince her to do anything and when she ended their relationship, with billy only some feet away, he went away without much arguing. how he called her a bitch and only left because he was scared of billy not because he respected chrissy herself still tastes bitter in her mouth but having gained a best friend out of the whole mess makes that easier to bear.

and though he never said it explicitly again, he's mentioned a few guys from california. he trusts her enough to do that.

and he mentions steve harrington. in fact billy talks about almost nothing but steve harrington without ever realising that himself.

"i ran into harrington."

"harrington wore different jeans to work."

"steve helped me find a movie."

"max says the rumours aren't true. harrington and wheeler are not back together.

and as of recently "harrington hates me because he smiles at me."

"king steve has a new haircut."

"maybe steve wants to be friends? maybe he's ready to move on from what happened," chrissy says hesitantly though she can guess how billy's reaction will look. not once has any hint to steve wanting to be nice actually helped.

so just like chrissy knows that it's not his sister max who likes watching breakfast club, she has come to realise that max's not the one who wants to go to family video at least twice a week. chrissy doesn't quite know how to get billy out of his denial though.

"yeah, right." he scoffs at her and smokes the last of his cigarette before flicking it on the gravel.

it's always the same, sheer and immediate denial of the chance that steve might like billy. if chrissy has to hear another story that involves steve staring at billy with "weird bambi eyes" while he's trying to act nonchalant she might simply have to tell billy that he's being idiotic though. she's reaching her limit.

for the time being she lets billy believe what he wants since her curfew is coming around quicker than she wants.

billy seems to notice their time running thin just like she did, "c'mon, we should head back."

while they drive the rest of the way billy teaches her one spanish curse word as usual, a little loophole that makes their afternoons less of a lie.

billy helps her off the hood and then turns on her favourite tape of his in the car. they both sing along with stevie nicks until they enter hawkins again.

the familiar anxiety starts to grow in her stomach when he parks in front of her house. so as usual she stalls at least for another moment.

"oh, i picked up your weed from eddie." chrissy leans down and picks through her backpack for the small bag she collected for billy during break.

when she hands it over billy is grinning at her and chrissy knows what to expect.

"you know if you just ask munson out on a date you don't have to to pick up my drugs as an excuse to see him anymore, right?"

now it's chrissy's turn to blush while she gets out of the passenger seat. billy's cackling lightly behind her, sounding way too self-satisfied and so before she closes the door chrissy leans back inside to look at him.

"maybe if you get your head out of your ass and ask out steve i'll ask out eddie."

billy's flushed, shocked face makes her giggle all the way to the door.

perhaps they're both useless when it comes to boys but at least they're hopeless together.

#this includes my fav hc known as billy speaks spanish #harringroveweek #stranger things #chrissy cunningham #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #stranger things fic

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donnetellotheturtle · 3 months

Text

Protector

Chapter 5

Decisions

Hugo was silent as they moved through the long tunnel. Their torch crackling and the dirt under their feet were the only sounds in there.

What happened to Donella? She wasn’t one to go down without a fight. Did they overtake her? Why didn’t she even look at him? It was like he was invisible. That hurt a lot.

“Four eyes?” Varian asked.

Hugo looked over.

“You okay?”

Hugo forced a smile on his face. “Oh yeah…yeah im fine.”

“Are you still mad at me for tricking you?” Varian asked.

“What? No. I…its been a long night. Lets just find a place to sleep.”

Varian still looked nervous. There was something he was thinking that Hugo wanted to understand. He usually liked the way Varians mind worked. But not when he looked so scared and nervous. Not when he was afraid and being chased.

“Varian I…” Hugo began. But where to begin? With the fact that he was a witch? The fact that Donella was his mom? The fact that he was the one who saved him with an explosion that he couldn’t repeat if he tried? No. No Varian would hate him. Varian hated witches. He made that quite clear.

The feeling of magic sparking and burning already badly hurt skin on his thighs only confirmed the thoughts.

That was until Varian came over and grabbed his hand out of his pocket. “What’s wrong, Hugo?” He said it so gently. It made Hugo’s stomach churn. “whatever it is, we can handle it. Together.”

He looked over and saw Nuru leaning against the wall, fully immersed in her book, trying to give them some semblance of privacy.

“I…” Hugos magic calmed in Varians hand. Just holding the other boys hand made him calm. Made his magic calm. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t put Varian in danger. He was dangerous. His magic was dangerous. A deep sense of panic gripped his chest.

“I cant.” He pulled his hand out of Varians.

“Can’t what?”

“I…im not who you think I am.”

“Hugo I don’t understand.”

“you’ll be safer with Nuru…not around me.”

“Hugo…” Varians voice was so gentle, so kind. “You can tell me anything.”

“I can’t.” hugos voice betrayed him. The deep sense of panic in his throat, in his chest. In his hands. The magic pooled into them and made them red hot.

Nuru stood, putting a hand on Varians shoulder. “Lets just give him a minute, okay? He’ll catch up with us.”

Varian sighed. “Don’t keep me waiting too long…please.”

Hugo just nodded as Nuru led him off down the cave. Farther and farther down until he couldn’t see the light of the torch.

Then he heard it.

Footsteps he’d learned to listen for since he was a kid. Heavy and intentional. Cyrus.

Hugo’s panic was only getting worse and Cyrus-why did it have to be fucking Cyrus-was coming. He was probably just like Donella. Under some kind of strange spell. He couldn’t even move his feet with how the panic gripped him.

He was right. Cyrus, big and intentional and burly in his armor walked towards him with a small light. Magic. Cyrus didn’t use magic.

“Boy.” It was the many voices again. Like what he heard the first night those goop monsters attacked. Only this time they were coming out of Cyrus’s mouth.

“Where is he?”

Hugo took a deep breath. “Why would I tell you that?”

“He stole what is mine.”

Hugo shook his head. “…You’re the protector of that place. Right?”

“Correct…If you brought him to me I could put something in it for you. Your magic. It is…explosive.”

“How did you-“

“I know all magic’s. I know how to take it away. Bring the boy and you will be rewarded.”

The worst part was, Hugo wanted to accept the deal. He wanted this magic gone. He wanted to be normal.

“I will be waiting at the river docks until tomorrows dawn. Should you decide to take my deal. If you do not however…I will hunt you and the boy to the ends of the earth.”

There was a long moment while him and the thing possessing Cyrus’s body stared at each other.

The words tumbled out of Hugos mouth. “Can you really…just take it away?”

“only if you comply.”

“And…and what will happen to Varian? Once it’s gone?”

“Nothing permanent…you have until dawn tomorrow.”

Cyrus turned. God Hugo wished he could go and hug Cyrus. Just like he used to when he was a kid, and Cyrus would hold him tight in his arms and make everything feel alright again.

Instead, Hugo collapsed to his knees, the surge of magic that released was bright. Too bright. He shielded his eyes.

When he opened them, in front of him was a small translucent mouse. It lit up the room with how bright it was.

“What…” The mouse crawled up into his hands. Hugo sniffled, hugging it close. “What should I do? I just…I want this to be over…I want…I want to go home.”

The little mouse blinked at him. He wanted to go home to his sleeping bag and the shared tent.

He also wanted to go home to Varian. Stupid Varian with his goggles and laugh and more kindness in a single sentence than he’d ever experienced in his life. Stupid Varian with such a smart brain that he thought of getting a sample. Who would think of that?

Stupid, stupid Hugo for thinking he ever had a goddamn chance. Not with someone as good as him. Not when he has so much magic his own father tried to kill him over it.

Hugo sobbed. The little mouse couldn’t say anything but it was comforting not to be alone in this place.

After a moment, he calmed himself and looked at the little mouse.

“You need a name, don’t you?”

It squeaked in response. Hugo thought for a second.

“how about…Oliva?”

Oliva seemed to like that name as she squeaked happily and climbed into Hugo’s coat pocket.

“So Oliva, what do we do?”

Varian had been quiet since they left Hugo in the cave. Nuru didn’t like it.

“…You know he just needs a couple minutes…he’ll be right back.”

Varian looked at her. “…What do you know about him?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Back at the tavern…you two were acting like you’d met before…you know something about him? Don’t you?”

Nuru looked to the side before answering. “Its not my place to tell.”

Varian rubbed his face. “What is your place? …who are you, Nuru?”

Nuru rubbed her arm. “As I told you, I’m a wizard from Estelle.”

“And why are you here? Helping us?”

“I cant tell you most things but I can tell you it’s the last mission before I become queen.”

“Queen? You’re a…”

“Yeah. Im royalty.” Nuru didn’t look extremely happy about that. “We should keep going.”

“no we’re not leaving it at that. That answers nothing about what I asked. Just…I need someone to tell me the truth here. Hugo…Hugo is being weird. I want to help him but I don’t know how.”

“Maybe you should start with channeling that magic.” Nuru said. “You didn’t see it. I doubt Hugo saw it…but I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the tavern. The way you thought. The way your kind works. It reeks of the eternal library. You’re the youngest alchemist to work for a royal family and your formulas are used all around the seven kingdoms. Varian I think that comes from your magic.”

“My magic is…my brain?” Varian questioned.

“That’s my running theory. Its very hard to prove though considering it’s not an obvious one…but, Varian you could be the most amazing wizard of this age if you put that mind to work in Estelle.”

“Nuru…”

“Just think about it, Varian. It makes sense.”

Varian shook his head. “I earned everything I know. And you think I was just given it cause of my mom?”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“Sounded like it!” Varian took a deep breath. “…Lets keep going.”

Nuru sighed and the two walked in silence for a couple more minutes before they heard footsteps.

“Guys!” Hugos voice called out. Varian immediately brightened. As soon as he saw Hugo he ran to him, tackling him in a tight hug.

“Hey goggles. You miss me?”

Varian blushed, pulling away. “pfft no!”

“Boys let’s keep moving. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be stuck in this cave all night.” Nuru said.

Hugo moved to walk ahead when Varian took his hand. Hugo blushed a little.

“Don’t go away again…okay?” Varian asked quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Varian’s eyes flickered to the ground as they walked, then at Hugo. “…you’ve been my only constant the last couple days…I want to keep it that way, if that’s alright?”

Hugo softened and nodded, squeezing Varian’s hand. Oliva poked her head out of his pocket. Varian brightened at the little mouse.

“Oh my god where did you find her?” He asked as he offered a hand. Oliva climbed up onto it. Hugo quickly noticed the mouse wasn’t translucent anymore. Now she looked like a real mouse, not one born out of magic. “She’s so cute!”

“I named her Oliva.” Hugo said with a smile.

“That’s so cute.”

Nuru giggled softly. “You boys are adorable together…I think I see an exit.” She pointed up ahead. There was a latter, the top being a trap door.

Nuru climbed first with the torch. Then Varian, then Hugo. They were in an abandoned mill in a cave.

“Okay…not the best place to be.” Varian muttered. “We should try to get back to town.”

The conversation with Cyrus…not Cyrus. The protector in Cyrus’s body was gnawing at Hugo. But the feeling of Varian’s hand in his made it a little easier to deal with. It helped that he no longer felt like he was going to explode at any moment.

The three walked in quiet.

Varian noticed that Hugos mind was working overtime again. He had hoped the little bit of space given would keep this from happening again. He hated seeing Hugo so quiet. It wasn’t like him. but last time he asked about it Hugo freaked out. maybe he was still mad about him tricking him…or worse.

“Hugo?”

“Yeah?”

“Is now a good time to talk about earlier? In the cave?”

Hugo didn’t say anything for a moment, then nodded. “Whats up?”

“…Do you get those a lot? The panic attacks?”

“I…yeah.” Hugo had never heard it described that way. Thinking back, most of the time when his magic was going haywire it was because he was panicking.

“I get them too…”

Hugo had never known about that. He looked at Varian confused.

“Not that I’ve had time for it these days.” Varian sighed. “I mostly just work through them until they go away…how long have you been dealing with them?”

Hugo thought about it for a second. “All my life, basically…”

Varian nodded, not pushing the conversation further. Hugo counted himself lucky. The three slipped into silence again as they made their way into the deep woods.

“We’re pretty far away from town.” Nuru said. “We should make camp.”

“Cant you just teleport us?” Hugo asked.

She rolled her eyes. “No. im not that powerful.”

Hugo had a snarky remark but saying it would give away his magical imposition to Varian. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“Okay. I can make a campfire.” Varian said.

Finally, Hugo would get to sleep under the stars.

< >

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#varian #hugo vat7k #tangled varian #varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k fic #nuru vat7k #donella vat7k #cyrus vat7k #protector

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