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strangersteddierthings · 2 years

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Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

Whew! I don’t think I’ve written this much in such a short amount of time ever in my life. The boys deserve a soft ending, I think. Enjoy!

It goes like this. While Eddie's been lost in his own mind, his body was living. Sort of.

Top secret government assisted living, kinda living. For a secret government hospital one would think the place would be fancier or something but it's just a regular looking hospital.

Eddie's in therapy, both for his body and mind.

He learns that the voice he heard when Eleven helped pull him from the depths of his mind was Mike Wheeler of all people, and he sounds different because he's nineteen and in college. Mike mocks him on graduating before Eddie. He regrets it when Eddie gets him into a headlock.

He gets to meet Eleven, outside of his mind. And he starts calling her El. Part of him can't stop thinking about Eleven as the entity he thought was going to lead him to the great beyond.

She is just a person. Sorta.

Dustin had told him there was a girl with superpowers and Eddie is glad she's real. Not that he thought Dustin would lie about this (actually, he might have thought Dustin was lying just to give him some weird version of a pep talk. Everything said before going through Watergate was suspect if he's honest).

When he's finally well enough to be able to leave, Doctor Owens tells him their plan.

They're gonna convince Wayne to fly to Tennessee. Eddie, El, and Mike Wheeler are gonna be flown there, too. There's a place for them to stay, to meet up with his uncle in private.

They'll stay there a month. Doctor Owens knows a doctor who can do Eddie's final evaluations before he can really go home.

That's the real kicker.

Hawkins fucking sucks. Small town, narrow views, non-conformity gets you called a Freak in the same way his Dad used to call him a fag. Like he said, fucking sucks.

But it's also the sanctuary he escaped to when he was eleven years old. It's the place where his uncle built a home for him.

So, back to Hawkins first. He can always go somewhere else later. Maybe a coastal city. See the ocean.

Eddie hasn't been afraid of a reaction from his uncle since that day in the hospital parking lot after he caught Eddie making out with another guy. He's got that same fear inside now, though, knowing that when El opens that door, he'll see the family he feels like he abandoned. It's not fair to himself to think that, his therapist would say, but he's allowed to have crazy thoughts right now. He's come back from being (not)dead and gets to see Wayne again for the first time. Knowing his feelings are justified doesn't make them fade, though, so he's not surprised his voice shakes when the door finally opens. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne takes less than two seconds to reach Eddie, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

It's all Eddie can do to remain upright and hug him back, clinging to his shirt like he's eleven years old again.

Wayne gives him an overview of what he's missed after the Upside Down came into their world (he heard that part from El and Mike, against the better wishes of Doctor Owens). Learns that Wayne and Steve live in Steve's childhood home because his parents just gifted it to him, apparently. That Wayne is only part time at the plant now due to an accident he had, and how that sparked his current living conditions.

Learns that Steve and Wayne became close because, unbelievably, Steve Harrington goes to his grave in the cemetery and cleans off graffiti on the regular.

Eddie feels a little hot under the collar because his brain reminds him of a fact he’d heard once; that the author of Frankenstein lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and a little voice in the back of his head whispers that it'd be hot for him to do the same thing with Steve on his own grave.

He has to scamper to the bathroom to scold himself in the mirror because he cannot be having these kinds of thoughts about Steve while talking to his uncle!

Wayne asks him, the night before their flight, “what’s something you want to do, once everything is settled and life starts to feel normal again?”

“I wanna go on a vacation. Like, a real, bona fide, family vacation.”

“Where you wanna go?”

“Think I’d like to see the ocean.”

Wayne smiles softly. “Alright. When you feel ready for it, we’ll go.”

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says randomly, as they wait to board their flight to Indianapolis.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie feels breathless at just the thought. It's certainly not helping that stupid crush he's been harboring for years, knowing how Steve’s been treating his uncle. It was one thing to watch Steve defend Jeff that one time in high school; it's an entirely different ball game knowing he's watched over his uncle with care and devotion for years. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie's brain screeches to a halt because he was didn't think anything he'd just said would give him away. He can't even think of a reply good enough to throw his uncle off his trail. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles.

No. No, Eddie thinks, of course you could take one look at me and know. His uncle had been able to know everything about him so effortlessly. But Eddie doesn't have to answer, so he won't. “So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington? Will he… be okay with me being there?”

“Yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all," Wayne sounds so sure, so convinced, that Eddie is too.

Eddie smiles, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind as he imagines getting to eat at the same dinner table as Steve fucking Harrington. He doesn't even mind that Wayne gives him a look at says 'you are being so obvious right now' because he is. He knows he is. He's allowed to be. Wayne's not going to mock him for his crush.

On the drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins, Wayne tells him the lie he told Steve. Apparently, Steve thinks Eddie's dad is coming to stay for a while. The mere thought of that sets Eddie on edge, even though he knows Wyatt Munson's still in prison. Will be for a long time, with the list of shit they got him for.

They roll into Hawkins shortly after, and while Eddie may have not been in Hawkins the last five years, and he's willing to admit that things might have changed things up since they did have to rebuild a lot of the town, he's certain that Steve's house is on the other side of it. “This isn’t the way to the Harrington house."

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed," Wayne says. It's still pretty jarring to hear Wayne talk about Steve like this. Like he knows him. Which, he does, obviously, because they've gotten to know each other.

Still mind blowing to think about.

“The cemetery?” is what comes out of his mouth, though.

Wayne knows what's he's really meaning to ask, though, because he shrugs and says, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once." The car is slowing down, and Wayne is pointing out the front windshield, to a figure crouched down near a lone headstone. "Ah. See, there he is.”

Steve. He's too far away for Eddie to be sure sure but if anyone is still wearing bright polo shirts tucked into light wash jeans this far after leaving high school, it'd be Steve Harrington. Eddie's not even sure the car is fully stopped when he all but falls out of it.

He doesn't run to greet Steve, because that's a bit dramatic, but he's not too proud to admit he might be power walking. He slows down when he gets closer, coming to a full stop just close enough to hear Steve talking to his grave. Talking to him.

"Bad news, Eds. I'm too much of a coward to meet your old man. Afraid of what he'll sound like. Because I want him to sound like you so fucking bad it hurts. So instead of being home, I'm hiding here."

"Well, I've some bad news for you, too, Stevie. I got my voice from my mom," Eddie says, and almost instantly cringes because Wayne literally just told him to start with good news and he didn't. Eddie doesn't have much time to soak in his embarrassment, though, because Steve whips around so fast that Eddie's dizzy from the movement.

Steve looks older but it's in the way people who have seen more than their fair share of Hell look older, and less about actual aging. His eyes are wide and stunned. Eddie watches as his jaw moves but no words come out. He looks like he's seen a ghost which... ok, that's fair.

"Umm," Eddie says, a little worried he's broken him when Steve doesn't even seem to be blinking as he stares at Eddie. "Good news, Steve. I, uh, I lived. Kinda. El kinda pulled me back to the surface of my mind, or whatever, and Owens did a good job at patchin' up the goods here," he gestures to his whole body with a sweeping motion of his hand and wishes that a gate to the Upside Down would open beneath his feet and suck him back to Hell because could he be any more embarrassing?

"A-are you," he watches as Steve swallows and takes a deep breath. He's still not sure Steve has blinked yet. "real?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods, taking a few steps closer, "yeah, I'm real. I'm here and alive and real."

Steve launches himself forward then, meeting him halfway. It's so goddamn surreal be witness to how tenderly Steve actually reaches out to him, though, such a contrast to the flurry of movement he'd been just a second ago. Eddie stays still as Steve lifts shaking hands to cup his face with, pushing against his cheeks as if to test whether or not Eddie is solid. Those hands slide down, along his neck, across his shoulders, down his arms where Steve seems to need to pause and collect himself again, hands wrapped loosely around his arms just below his elbows while Steve shuts his eyes and a low, broken sound pulls itself from his throat before his eyes open again, wet with tears, and he releases Eddie just long enough to throw his arms around his neck and pull him into a hug almost as crushing as the one he shared with his uncle.

It's overwhelming in this moment. To see how much he means to Steve and not fully understand how he came to mean anything to him at all.

Doesn't stop him from wrapping his own arms around Steve's waist, though.

It goes like this.

He gets his own room at Harrington's house. Wayne has his own room, too. How strange it is, to not have his uncle sleeping the day away on the couch because the trailer had one room and he'd given it to Eddie.

They adjust to living together so seamlessly. Like they were always meant to be family.

They have dinner together. Real homecooked meals. Which isn't a novelty for Wayne and Steve anymore, but Eddie's memory ends five years ago, when his dinners consisted of microwavable meals or left over snacks from lunch. Wayne cooks on the days when Steve works, and Eddie helps. Gets to be taught how to cook.

For a while, Eddie is afraid to leave the house. Even knowing that Jason Carver bit the dust the same day he was supposed to also doesn’t help. He only goes places with Wayne and Steve, and even then, the double takes people send his way are enough to make him want to shrink into himself.

However, no one says anything to him. He's vaguely aware that everyone here lived through some sort of miniature apocalypse and maybe that's the kind of thing that has to happen to make a small town in Indiana change.

He and Steve dance around each other. He can feel it. There is something here, between them, that neither fully acknowledges.

He tries to talk to Wayne about it, but he won't give him much to go on.

"I won't be the one to say anything about what Steve thinks of you. That's gotta come from Steve. I will say this. He's waiting for you to bring it up first."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"He's had five years to gather his thoughts and emotions," Wayne levels him with a Look, "you gotta have the time to figure yourself out, too."

Well, fuck.

Steve waits until it's almost summer break for the kids (they’re not really kids anymore, though, but Eddie’s adjusting to that still) to ask if he's ready to face them. "It'll be a lot to handle," Steve says as he sits next to Eddie on their couch (their couch. He can't believe that's a truth in his life right now). "Eleven and Mike haven't told anyone yet, but they want to. It wasn't just Wayne and I that grieved for you."

"I know," Eddie says, "I know. I'm good. I'm alive and here and I want them to know about it."

Steve nods slowly, not fully focused on Eddie. Eddie's come to know that means he's thinking, so Eddie waits for him to speak. "Would you prefer to meet with everyone... one at a time?"

"What's the other option?"

"Well, I always host a barbeque when they all come back. Could tell everyone all at once. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

Eddie crooks a smile because he's a bit mischievous and his mind instantly plays a scene where he walks into a backyard full of all the people he's come to care for, and who care for him, and he's trying to best to be casual about it in this fantasy. "Yeah. Let's do the barbeque thing."

"Bad news, Stevie," Eddie whispers as he leans against the wall next his closed door, trying not to hyperventilate. "I don't know if I can do this."

Steve reaches out and takes one of Eddie's hands in his own, linking their fingers like it's a casual thing they do all the time when it's most certainly not. "Good news, Eds. You don't have to. We didn't tell anyone you're here. You can stay in your room until they're gone, and we'll figure out another way to tell them."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and thinks he might be crushing all the bones in Steve's hand with how hard he's clenching it. "What if they're mad at me?"

Steve understands the real question Eddie is asking, the one he doesn't know how to phrase. "You were dead, Eds, and no one out in that yard is going to be 'mad' about any time they'd spent grieving over you. There's gonna be a lot of tears, man, like a lot. Maybe even some shouting. None of it done in anger."

"How're you sure?"

Steve lifts his unoccupied hand and cups Eddie's check. Steve’s eyes are watery and his voice is a bit choked, but he says, "because I was there. I saw them through their grief. Everyone in the backyard either loves you already, or they will."

It's so fucking intimate, how close they are, how tenderly Steve touches him. Wayne had said he'd need to take the first step, so he blames Wayne when he blurts out, "what about everyone in this room? They love me, too?"

Steve's eyes go wide in surprise before his whole face lights up in a way Eddie has never seen before. It makes Steve look younger, less haunted, and then Steve whispers, "of course I love you," like there is no other answer Steve could have given.

Eddie grabs a handful as Steve's polo shirt and pulls him close enough to kiss.

Butterflies and fireworks erupt within Eddie. Kissing Steve is so much better than he's ever let himself imagine. They're still holding hands and Steve's still got his other hand resting so softly on his cheek and Steve's lips are kinda chapped but fuck does the briefest touch of their lips together make Eddie lose all his breath.

It's not deep, or all consuming. There's not even an exchange of tongue. Steve kisses him softly, gently, pulls back to pepper little kisses all over Eddie's face that has him blushing more than he's ever done in his life, and Steve places one, two, three more kisses to his lips before pulling back to look at Eddie like he's the answer to every prayer Steve's ever had. It makes his knees weak.

"I think," Eddie pauses to lick his lips, "I think I'll be brave enough to do it if you're holding my hand."

"Just try and pry yourself away, Munson," Steve teases. "Whenever you're ready."

Steve was right about the tears and shouting. He was also right that no one is mad at him.

Dustin hugs him so hard they fall over in the yard and Eddie finds himself part of a dog pile that starts with crying that turns into laughter that leads back into crying, everyone grabbing at him and him grabbing back.

It's emotional. It's overwhelming. It's the best fucking day of Eddie Munson's life.

Doctor Owens reaches out towards the end of summer to let him know they're issuing him a new social security card. Eddie asks if he's allowed to change him name. Owens says yes.

"Bad news first, Eddie," Eddie says to himself as he kneels in front of his own headstone. "You've become so boring and normal, no one vandalizes your grave anymore. Good news, though. Means I can do it myself."

Before him is his headstone, a thick red line painted through his death date. Another more carefully applied line is struck through his middle name. Above it he's painted in block letters 'Wayne'.

"Eddie, come on! This road trip's gonna start without you," Steve calls from where he's leaning against the side of Wayne's pickup.

Eddie is satisfied with his work, so he abandons the paint and returns to the pickup. He slides across the bench seat, one leg pretzeled under himself to be out of the way of the gear shift. Steve follows in after, shutting the door and reaching for Eddie's hand automatically.

He's got Wayne to his left, Steve to his right, and the first family vacation he's ever taken in his life ahead of him.

Good news, Eddie Wayne Munson. Maybe everyday going forward can be the best fucking day of your life.

#steddie #my fic #bad news first eddie #its complete!!!#thank you for all the wonderful comments #i tried to tag everone so im sorry if i missed you!

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shakespeareanwannabe · 8 months

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As You Wish, Chapter 4

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, arguing, cursing, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to early child rearing, crying, Uncle Bob (because he deserves his own warning), Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy (because they also deserve their own warnings)

Clifton, Texas, 10 ½ years ago

“Dude, what are you doing? Don’t stop!”

“I’m telling you: my vocal cords are going to start to bleed any second! I need to stop!”

“I swear to God, if you stop, I’m going to find an actual rooster and sneak it into your bedroom at the ass crack of dawn!”

Jake rubbed at his forehead with one hand as he took another lap around his living room, bouncing a screaming Charlie in his arms as he went. The last nine months had been…rough, to say the least. Though his grandfather had graciously opened his home up to his grandson, great-granddaughter, and their two friends, it turned out that securing a home was the least of his worries.

Grandpa Wyatt had quickly hired Jake, Javy and Rooster on as farmhands, their physiques and familiarity with rising early making them ideal candidates for the jobs, but Jake wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving his baby girl with a sitter all day just yet, so he did what chores he could with her strapped to his chest, and spent the rest of the day in the office, doing administrative work with his daughter asleep in her Moses basket behind the desk. Between the physical and mental labour, Jake was ready to hit the sack early almost every night.

However, clocking out for the day didn’t mean that his day was done. Charlie wasn’t a fussy baby, not by a long shot, but she still required an amount of work that Jake hadn’t been expecting. Her first pediatrician visit had revealed that Charlie was slightly behind on her goal weight, which meant Jake had to get up for an additional feeding during the night. But Charlie didn’t like the bottle, and Jake honestly couldn’t blame her. She’d gotten used to breastfeeding from her mother for her first four months of life, and Jake knew firsthand that Buttercup was infinitely better than some plastic bottle.

On top of trying to get her weight up, the Seresin family had also been battling sleep regression, teething, colic, Charlie’s first cold, and delayed milestones. If the doctor was saying that Charlie should be crawling by 8 months, she was doing it at 11 months. The whole thing had Jake lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, worrying about his baby girl, wondering how Buttercup had managed it all on her own, kicking himself for expecting her to manage it alone when he was deployed.

A loud, shrill shriek had him yanking his head away from his daughter as she sobbed unhappily, her tiny fist curling into his flannel shirt.

“C’mon, Charlie girl,” he murmured into her curling blond hair, pressing a small kiss to her head as he paced. “You just had your first birthday a few weeks ago. Can you be a big girl for your daddy and stop crying? Please?” Her green eyes glimmered with tears as she continued to sob in response.

“Rooster, please, man…” Javy groaned, half buried in a pile of Charlie’s toys that he had been shaking and tossing around in an attempt to get her to stop crying.

“My—”

“Rooster, I will buy you a new set of vocal cords,” Jake bargained as Charlie hiccupped before resuming her shrill shrieks. “Please, if not for me, then for Charlie. I need her to stop crying before she makes herself sick.”

Rooster whined before turning back to the piano against the wall. “You guys owe me so bad,” he grumbled before placing his hands on the keys and pressing out a familiar tune. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain…”

Jake held his breath as the song came to an end, the air ringing with blessed quiet, punctuated by an angelic baby giggle. With a groan, he sank to his knees, his legs too tired to carry him the five feet needed to get to the couch.

“Thank god.” He hefted Charlie up to sit beside him on the floor, keeping his hand on her back as he sagged against the wall. “So, she clearly doesn’t like sweet potato,” he sighed, watching her crawl over to a sprawled-out Javy and snatch one of her toys from underneath his leg.

“You feed her sweet potato again, you’ll be the one getting the rooster in your bedroom,” Rooster grumbled, closing the piano with a light thud.

“You do that, and you’ll wake her up,” Javy pointed at the little blond baby currently chewing on her toy giraffe’s foot. “And then we’ll all be miserable.”

Jake fixed his oldest friend with a glare. “No shit talking my daughter, dude.”

Charlie’s head popped up at the shift in tone in her father’s voice, her green eyes searching the room until she found him, her face breaking out into a wide gummy smile. She pressed her tiny palm into Javy’s stomach and propelled herself to her feet, wavering unsteadily even as Javy’s hand automatically rose to cushion her back. Jake leaned forward, scrambling away from the wall to sit a few feet directly in front of her.

“Come here, Charlie,” he called, waggling his fingers at her, smiling back as she grinned. “Come on, baby girl, you can do it.”

Time seemed to slow down as Charlie looked towards him before taking a small, shaky step in his direction. Javy propped himself up on his elbows and Rooster turned on the piano bench to watch on bated breath as she took another step, then another.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve got this!”

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

“Atta girl!”

Jake’s heart was in his throat, a feeling better than going Mach 10 racing through his body as his daughter took one last, final step before collapsing into his arms with a giggle. With a loud cheer, he scooped her up and paraded her around the room to the sound of Javy and Rooster’s applause before whisking her into the office and collapsing into his chair.

“I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she cooed softly at him. He’d missed so much, and his heart panged when he thought about Abby and what he was missing from her life. His hand was halfway to his phone when he stopped himself, pulling it back to hold Charlie tighter against him. He’d tried before and he wouldn’t be putting himself through that again. He missed Abby, of course, but Mav had always told them that they couldn’t afford to be constantly looking backwards, that thinking would be the death of them, so he had to focus on the here and now, on the ranch, on the daughter he did have instead of on the one he missed.

“Da-da…” he looked down at the sound and smiled through the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah, baby girl. Dada is here. And he’s not going anywhere. I promise.”

The Airport, Now

Charlie’s hands trembled around her passport as the camp bus pulled into the drop off lane of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport. She looked up as Abby gripped her wrist with a determined grin.

“Last chance to change our minds,” she whispered as the campers around them started to disembark with loud promises of keeping in touch.

“No,” Charlie whispered, handing the passport out to Abby. “I want to do this. I want to meet mum.”

Abby nodded, taking the outstretched passport and handing Charlie her own. “And I’m desperate to meet dad.”

“Remember, he’s going to meet you at the gate in Waco, so you’re going to have to bring your A Game right away.”

“I’ve got a five-hour flight in order to prepare,” Abby assured. “I’m more worried about you. Uncle Bob is meeting you at the security desk. Are you ready?”

Charlie nodded, a look of steely determination overtaking her face. “I didn’t cut my hair and let you pierce my ears for nothing.”

Charlie thought that Amelia was going to have a heart attack when she walked into the Brig on their last day of their punishment to find them looking identical, their hair the same length and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings studding Charlie’s ears. She’d nearly collapsed onto one of the beds when she heard that they didn’t want to return to their cabin, that they wanted to stay in the Brig. To her credit, she didn’t ask any questions, just shook her head and walked away.

Abby nodded, fiddling with her duffle bag nervously. “Remember, Uncle Bob will be taking you from the airport to meet mum at home. She—”

“Abby, breathe,” Charlie placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “Dad is going to love you. And mum is going to love me. And they’re not going to figure out that we swapped until we tell them a week from tomorrow.”

Abby bit her lip and nodded. “I know. I just…I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I know…” she smiled back. “I’m so excited to meet mum.”

Abby smiled suddenly and tugged her into a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” she whispered, and Charlie wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“Me too.”

Abby pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Okay. You need to get to the security desk. Remember, Uncle Bob will be waiting for you. Brown hair, tall, glasses.”

“And Dad will be waiting for you at the gate in Waco. He might have Uncle Rooster or Uncle Javy with him. You remember who is who?”

Abby nodded. “Rooster’s got the moustache. Javy has tattoos.”

“Exactly.”

The girls looked up as an announcement came over the loudspeaker, calling an Abigail Floyd to the security desk.

Charlie bit her lip anxiously. “I guess this is it.”

Abby grabbed her up in a hug again. “You’re going to be great. Call me whenever you need, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon!”

Charlie took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of the security desk. Coming around the corner, she saw him. A tall man in a pilot’s uniform, with brown hair and glasses, his blue eyes scanning over the crowd until he spotted her, his eyes studying her for a moment before breaking into a smile.

Charlie took a moment to compose herself, whispering under her breath in the British accent she had been practicing for weeks, “You can do this. You have to do this.”

“U-Uncle Bob!” she finally called out, her accent ringing true as she rushed towards him, tossing her duffle bag to the floor before launching herself into his arms.

“Whoa! Easy, kiddo!” Bob chuckled, gathering her into his arms. “I missed you too!”

“S-sorry,” she murmured into his neck, her arms tightening around his neck. “I just missed you so much.”

“Six weeks was a long time, huh?”

Charlie pulled back, sniffling slightly. “Yeah. It…it felt like a lifetime.”

Bob crouched in front of her, his brown eyes tracing over her features like an X-ray machine, and Charlie gulped. There was no way he could know she wasn’t Abby, right? They were identical, save for a few freckles here and there, and a scar that Charlie had on her knee. But nobody could remember the exact pattern of someone’s freckles, and her knees were covered, so there’s no way he knew.

Finally, he smiled. “It felt like a lifetime for me too, sweetheart.” He reeled her back in, hugging her tightly before releasing her and drawing himself up to his full height. “Now, come on. We’ve got to get you checked in and ready to go for our flight back home.”

Charlie woke with a start as she felt the plane touch down onto the runway, a smooth landing executed by a skilled pilot. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though Bob had been with Dagger Squad, like her dad and uncles, he was a WSO, not a pilot, so she was surprised to hear that he was flying passenger aircrafts after retiring, but Abby had told her all about how Bob had gone for his pilot’s license after retiring from the Navy and how Nat had helped him study and prepare.

Charlie gulped nervously. She had had the whole transatlantic flight to soothe her nerves over meeting her mother for the first time, to convince herself that her father wouldn’t be too disappointed in her for running away, to assure herself that her and Abby’s plan would work. She had a sister. And a mother. And an uncle and an aunt that she had never met before. The risk of her father’s disappointment was worth it in order to meet them.

As Abby had instructed her, she waited patiently in her seat until all the other passengers had cleared out before taking the duffle that was being pulled out of the overhead compartment by one of the flight attendants and heading towards the front of the plane, where her uncle was waiting.

“You ready to go see your mom?”

Charlie felt her cheeks flush. “Yes!”

Bob chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go see your mom.” Bob shouldered the duffle and led her off the plane, through customs, and down to a town car that was waiting for them. “From the last text she sent, your mom is working in her office at home, and Nat is at work,” Bob informed her quietly.

Right. Auntie Nat worked as a kickboxing instructor now since she was given a medical discharge from the Navy. And mom’s office was at the top of the stairs, two doors down on the right. Both Abby and Charlie had drawn maps of their houses, ensuring to include even the slightest detail so that there would be no surprises. Charlie had studied the map multiple times a day, until she felt like she could walk it in her sleep, even though she’d never been there before. Abby had also printed her a map of the neighbourhood when they were given their computer privileges back, as well as a map of the London tube system, though she had assured her that she would never have to take the tube alone if she didn’t want to.

“Abby?”

She hummed as her eyes darted here and there, taking in the old buildings and the people. They looked the same as the people in Texas, just less plaid and cowboy hats, but they seemed so different to her. She’d only been to a big city a few times, preferring to stick to her small ranching town, so everyone seemed so busy, rushing down the street, their cellphones stuck to their ears.

“Abigail?”

Everything was so new, so shiny. She gaped as an actual, real life red double decker bus drove by their town car, and her stomach was knotted over the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road.

“Abigail Floyd, for someone who hugged me so hard you almost cracked my rib, you sure seem intent on ignoring me right now.”

Charlie blinked. Abigail Floyd. That was her. Well, not her, but who she was supposed to be, at least for right now.

“Oh. Sorry, Uncle Bob,” she yanked her British accent into place. “I was just…reminiscing. You know, about camp…and about how homesick I was.”

Bob smiled softly at her, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I’m glad you had such a good time. I know it’s a struggle to be away from home for so long, but I knew you’d have fun and make friends.”

“I did,” she replied quickly. “I met some great friends, and I downloaded WhatsApp onto my phone so I could keep in contact with them. Is that alright?”

“I’m sure your mom will be fine with that. That’s why she got you the phone, after all. To keep in touch with family and friends who are in the States,” Bob’s voice twinged with…something. Perhaps a hint of regret or maybe even anger.

“Good. Because I really like this one girl,” she grinned. “We became best friends.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he smiled back. “You never know where you’ll find your best friend.”

“Like you and Auntie Nat, right? You met at Top Gun.”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Charlie grinned. “Now the two of you are basically brother and sister.”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah, we basically are. Maybe you and this girl will be like sisters too,” he replied, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye.

She gave him a tight-lipped grin in return. Uncle Bob had always been strangely intuitive, she knew that much from Abby’s stories, but he was hitting a lot of nails on their heads right now and it was spooking her like crazy. So much so, that she hadn’t even registered that the car had stopped moving.

“We’re here!” she cried, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, her uncle’s echoing behind her as she launched herself out of the open door and up the stairs towards the bright red front door.

“The door’s open, sweetheart, so you can go on in,” Bob called, grabbing her duffle and his suitcase from the trunk of the car.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door into the flat that Abby shared with their mother, uncle, and aunt.

The interior was exactly as Abby had described. Homey and cozy, but still posh. The living room to the left of the door held brown leather couches, lots of bookcases, and a few plants hanging from the curtain rod. The window seat was where Abby and their mother read, together and separately. Charlie knew that the kitchen was just on the other side of the living room, where her family ate dinner together whenever Uncle Bob wasn’t flying.

But Charlie wasn’t interested in any of that, no matter how comfy it looked after a long international flight. No, her sights were set on the staircase in front of her, which she climbed slowly, her legs trembling with each step. She could picture Abby’s map so clearly in her mind: the first door on the right was the bathroom, the second was mom’s office, and the third was Bob’s bedroom. On the left came mom’s bedroom, then Abby’s, then Auntie Nat’s.

Charlie stepped onto the landing of the staircase, her eyes locked on the door of the second room on the right, which was cracked open just a touch. Her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly approached and, with a ringing in her ears, she quietly pressed the door open and walked inside.

There she was.

Charlie dashed at the tears that were welling in her eyes at the sight of her mother. Her mother. She wasn’t some imaginary figure anymore. She was solid flesh and bone. For years to come, Charlie would be able to picture the way her eyes scanned over the screen in front of her, the way her hair was piled up on top of her head, the way her slim fingers danced across the laptop keys, the way her buttercup tattoo peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. They weren’t images conjured up by her lonely mind anymore. They were real. She was real.

“M-Mum?” she whispered.

Her mother almost jumped out of her chair. “Oh my…Abby?”

Charlie swallowed hard as she nodded. “I’m home.”

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much!” Buttercup scooted her wheely chair across the floor and pulled her into a hug, and Charlie felt herself melt as she hugged her mother back just as tightly.

“I missed you too, mum,” she whispered.

“Six weeks is just way too long, love. I don’t care how much Auntie Nat raved about this camp, six weeks of you being across the ocean is just way too much for me.”

“I agree,” Charlie nodded into her shoulder. “I don’t want to be away from you for that long ever again.” She sniffled as she felt her mother press a kiss into her hair before pulling away.

“You won’t be, love. I promise.” Buttercup’s thumbs gently stroked away the tears from her daughter’s cheeks before tugging her into a hug again. “I meant to be finished with this chapter before you got home so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

“That’s alright. Is it coming along?”

Abby had filled her in on how their mother was a relatively successful author, Charlie even recognizing a few of her book titles from her bookshelf at home. Their mother’s writing was part of why Abby felt that their parents would fall in love again when they had to meet to switch them back. Buttercup’s current, more adult story was about a military man meeting and falling in love with an artistic woman, falling apart, and coming back together to live a happily ever after, and it had Abby convinced that their mother still had feelings for their father.

“I’m struggling, baby,” Buttercup sighed. “These two clearly love each other, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get them back together.” Buttercup looked up and smiled at her. “But they don’t matter right now,” she shut her laptop with a click. “What do you say you and I go out for lunch? You can fill me in on everything that happened at camp. I want to know everything. Six weeks is just way too long and I just know that you have stories to share.”

Charlie’s smile was so wide, it hurt her cheeks. “I’d love that, mum.”

Buttercup pulled her into another hug and kissed her hair. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” Buttercup smiled as she pulled away from her. “I missed you so much, baby. I love you.”

Charlie’s heart sang in her chest. She knew, of course, that her mom thought she was talking to Abby, but it didn’t matter to her. Her mom loved her, it didn’t matter who she was directing those words to. No one would be able to take them away from her. They would echo in her mind for an eternity. She’d heard those words from her father a million times, and they meant the world to her, but from her mother? They were sacred, special. They felt like a gift she hadn’t know she was going to receive.

“I love you too, mum,” she whispered, hugging her tight before racing towards the bedroom Abby had marked out for her on the map.

She finally had a mother, and she wasn’t going to miss a second.

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#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #parent trap au #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #glen powell #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #as you wish fic

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napakmahal · 6 months

Note

HIII, PHONOLOGY HERE !!! in all truth i dont blame u, i was really tired from uni when i wrote that, lmao.

okey so, like misunderstabding in the way he hasnt told hiro and aunt cass and reader thibks its bc tadashi thinks they wont last or is ashamed of her when in reality is just that he is very nervous and never finds the perfect ocassion

Normal Girl pt. 1

Hey pookie! This took forever but I realized midway through I needed to split it into three parts. Thanks for the request this was fun to make.

You wish you could lay here forever. It was raining and your puffy sheets were cold which would have bothered you if not for the warm body you were resting on top of. Tadashi had been under a great amount of stress. He wanted his doctor title and was the youngest candidate going for it. In order to do that he needed a dissertation of roughly 100-450 pages to defend in front of an academic jury. The paper was done, thank goodness. But he still needed to defend it and even then they could deny him his phD. If he’d spent his week trying to prepare for his defense he’d drive himself insane. So instead, he spent all his time with you. Watching movies, sleeping in, staying up, doing mundane tasks and trying to relax as much as possible before his defense. You’ve never had to refill your anti-stress tea collection and melatonin gummies in one week before.

But the defense was tomorrow and he desperately needed to calm himself. So he went through his presentation twice and then zipped it away in a separate backpack. You pressed your ear to his chest and listened to his breathing and muffled heartbeat. The patterning of the rain on the window going through one ear and the opening and closing of your boyfriend's valves pumping blood through his body in the other.

“I never want to get up.” You admitted.

Tadashi responded sleepily, “I know.” With his eyes shut. Gosh his eyelashes were so long.

“What time is your hearing tomorrow?” You brought your hand up to his face and started caressing it. All the prep work he was doing to defend his thesis had resulted in a lack of care for personal upkeep. He’d started growing stubble (which you found very attractive) but eventually had you help him shave it off to look presentable for his defense. (Something you were clearly upset about)

“10 a.m, I have to be there like two hours early though.”

You just hummed in response and continued to lay in his bare chest in silence. You’d gotten to the point where you could just be together like that without it being inherently sexual. On your nightstand, your phone buzzes and vibrates through the wood. When you checked, it was your mom. She sent you a photo of a four leaf clover she found in her garden with the text: Look what I found!

You knew she was wishing Tadashi good luck. Once while visiting her he’d let it slip that he wanted to be Dr. Hamada , and your mom actually squealed. She’d known him as long as you two had been together and she’d rather make sure he was fed before you were. She was proud of him.

“Look what my mom sent.” You smiled, pointing the phone towards your boyfriend's face.

Tadashi opened his eyes and instantly smiled. He took the phone from your hands and sent your mom a voice recording thanking her for all her support (and free Printer ink).

“She loves you so much,” you smiled and kissed his lips. “She really is my mother.”

Tadashi cupped her hands around your head and smiled at you. “Yes she is, pretty girl.”

You stayed that way while Tadashi whispered sweet nothings into your ears as the sky started to get darker and he had to leave. Aunt Cass was insistent that he spend that last night before his defense hearing back at home so she could make him sweet potato for good luck. He leaned over your bed and slipped his shirt back over his head and pulled his pants over his boxers.

You got up out of bed and slipped an oversized shirt over yourself and walked him out the door.

“Good luck, baby, I love you, my smart boy.” You buried your face in his neck with a hug.

Tadashi dug his face into your head and kissed the tops of it. “Thank you, darling . I love you too.”

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow and take you out, wherever you want.” You promised.

Tadashi shrugged into the hug. “They may not approve my defense, you know?”

“If they don’t they’re morons but that still doesn’t matter. Because you worked so hard and deserve so much, right?”

Tadashi’s unrelenting and slightly irritating humbleness drove you truly mad sometimes. He had the work ethic of a mule and a brain like Berkeley. Everyone knew it but if you pointed it out he’d just say “oh, thank you but I’m not all that”. Not even in a pick me way. And you were determined to get his confidence up.

He just nodded, dropping his head into your shoulder while you combed your fingers through his dark hair.

“Right?” You repeat.

“Right.” He confirmed.

You gave him one last forehead kiss and sent him off the drive home. After he left you went to your kitchen and started cleaning what little appliances you had after not leaving your room with your boyfriend for nearly a week. Once the kitchen was clean you needed to shower and change your clothes. Showering with another person is not exactly the epitome of cleanliness, not that you’ve only been showering with Tadashi for the past week….. When you headed back to your room dripping wet you kicked something laying on the floor.

It’s Tadashi’s backpack. With his defense inside.

———————————————————————

Tadashi is very clean. He doesn’t like messy anything, his room remains clean and his schedule is so organized to the point it was more of a battle plan than a timeline. So this was not only out of character but IMPOSSIBLE.

Hiro was watching in horror as Tadashi wrecked the entire car and dumped every item of clothing in his overnight bag out onto the floor.

“What is happening?” Hiro asked, completely baffled.

Tadashi diddnt respond and continued to mutter under his breath “where the fuck is it?”

It wasn’t until Aunt Cass walked out back to the absolute wreck with a small bowl of sweet potatoes and matcha on a tray that he looked up from the wreckage.

“Auntie, have you seen my defense?!” Tadashi's voice dripped with desperation.

Before Aunt Cass could even answer Hiro practically screamed, “YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING DEFENSE?!”

“Hiro! Language!” Aunt Cass slapped him in the back of the head. “But seriously, Tadashi! What happened to it?”

Tadashi squeezed onto his hair so tightly it looked like he might rip a chunk of it out. “I don’t know! I had it ,I know I did!”

Silence between the three until Hiro perked up. “Wait, you have a copy of it on my computer. Just reprint it. I think the print room at the lab closes at 10, if you rush you can make it.”

Tadashi didn’t need to be told twice. He ran upstairs, sent the document of his defense to the schools Printer email, and texted Wasabi to ask him to stand at the printer so the techs didn’t shut down the printers for the night. And he was off, speeding over the speed limit (by two miles per hour) and headed to the school.

Unknowing to him you were making your way to his house to drop off his defense. You could have just called him to come get it but he didn’t need any additional stress including driving.

You’d only been to Tadashi’s house once and it was when there was nobody home. You just needed to use the bathroom and his house was closest. But you knew about his little brother and his aunt and about how he lost his parents when he was young. How could you forget? The way he talked about them made you cry harder than him.

When you pulled up to the front of the cafè the lights were mostly off except those coming from the kitchen. You swung the backpack over your shoulder and headed towards the door. A small bell above the door jingled and prompted a woman to walk out with a tray of dirty coffee cups on them.

“Oh, I’m sorry we’re closed.” She apologized.

You waved your hand and held up the backpack. “Oh no, I’m not here to order anything. I just have Tadashi’s defense.”

Hiro poked his head out the curtain after hearing the word “defense” to see you standing at the entrance with his brothers backpack.

“Oh! Okay, Hiro tell Tadashi that he can turn around.” She told him.

You handed your boyfriends aunt the backpack when she asked, “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Y/n,” You smiled.

But the smile completely faded when Tadashi’s aunt turned around to look at his brother with a “have you ever met her before” look. Hiro shook his head before calling his brother telling him to turn around.

You added with uncertainty, “I’m…Tadashi’s girlfriend.”

Hiro pulled the phone away from his ear and perked up. “Tadashi has a girlfriend?”

The entire cafè went silent. They didn’t know? You’d never met them before but they didn’t even recognize your name? Who the hell did they think Tadashi was spending his entire week with? Who did they think he FaceTimed in his room at midnight pretty much every day? Either Tadashi’s family had the memory of a goldfish or….your boyfriend lied. Not just about you but your existence as a whole. The girl he said he loved.

You just nodded and let that sink in. You could see the collective “oh shit” look in your boyfriends family’s faces as they tried to salvage it by saying things like “you know your name does sound familiar” but it didn’t matter. Nothing anyone who wasn’t your boyfriend explaining himself was going to change how you felt.

Around that time an engine pulled up the front of the cafè and switched off. Tadashi had turned around and came back home. When he opened the door it was like the aroma of awkward bitch slapped his psyche across the face.

“Hey, hunny.” He whispered and brushed his thumb against your skin. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver. I love you.”

You didn’t respond. Only wished everyone a good night and left. Hiro looked at his brother with a look the read “what the fuck?” And Aunt Cass looked at her nephew with a look of “what did you do?”

Fun fact about Tadashi: he can take a hint and read social cues. So he ran outside in the cold and chased octet you right as you were about to get into your car.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He grabbed your wrist.

You looked at him with daggers in your eyes. “They don’t know who I am?”

Tadashi looked like he was going to puke. And you were having none of it.

“My mother invited you to her graduation, and you went to my cousins wedding. And your family does know who I am!” Now you were yelling. Tadashi’s neighbors were getting dinner and a show.

When he didn’t respond you forced yourself to ask the question that had been lingering in your head. “ Are you…are you like—ashamed of me?”

“No! Never!” Tadashi shouted back at you.

“Then how come they don’t know who I am!” You shouted.

Tadashi rubbed his temples. “I have mentioned you before, back when we were still just talking. But it’s not something we do! It’s just not! Every once in a blue moon they’ll check up on my romantic life but that’s it. Hiro liked a boy for five months before I even knew his name! When my aunt goes on dates she doesn’t tell us their names. It’s just not us! That’s all!”

It made sense. You know it did. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Tadashi grabbed onto your face and pressed kisses all over it. “I love you, I swear I do. Nothing you do will ever make me ashamed of you. You mean the world to me, please believe me.”

You grabbed his hand and gently removed it from your face as you started kissing his hand and his wrist. Your kisses trailed up his arm and onto his face until you gave him one last forehead kiss.

“Good luck, tomorrow.” And you hopped back in your car and drove off. Leaving tadashi standing there in the streetlight surrounded by urban darkness. And with every tire rotation away from him, Tadashi’s heart broke a little more until it eventually snapped when he could no longer see your car.

#baymax #big hero 6 #big hero six #tadashi hamada #disney #fanfic #hiro hamada #bh6 x reader #tadashi hamada x reader #napakmahal #writing #x reader

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bucknastysbabe · 9 months

Note

hi cal! i love your page sm. i wanted to request more chubby bucky (i’m so obsessed & haven’t seen him in a min) also make sure to take care of yourself and have a good day/night 🩷

HI!!!! Sorry I’ve been such a spazz and awful about my page and askbox I’m in my new era blah blah but YES! CHUBBY BUCKY! Thanks for the well wishes I’m trying to practice ~self care~ and ~time management~ mwah mwah much love. So let’s say this just in the same universe as Poolside Blues!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: body dysmorphia, obsessive thoughts, negative body talk, Muscle chub Buck, Bucky’s shit self esteem is saved by sunshine gf, holiday weight gain, Bucky being a stubborn mf, switch!Bucky, reader has empathic projection, horny texts, body worship, WE LOVE SOFT PARTS AND STRETCH MARKS ROUND HERE, teasing, sub space, daddy kink, pnv!sex, cuddles and fluff, Bucky is just a big cuddly tiger kitty

“Bucky if you stare at the scale any longer I’m going to break it. Holidays are over, you can get back to being in the gym twenty-five eight.”

Bucky eyed his petite girlfriend, frowning from the doorway to the bathroom. He palmed his stupid fucking gut and sighed, he actually had to suck in to see the number! This is why Bucky hated the holidays. Besides being cold. James Buchanan Barnes very much disliked the cold, one could assume why.

He could handle the residual un-moveable pudge leftover from Hydra’s ever consistent tinkering with his bodily functions. But then it all started with Halloween. Wanda and his girlfriend loved to bake. So he’s getting force fed cookies. Then they need to decorate, go to functions, give out candy. No time for gym.

Bucky grumbled and stepped off the scale, padding to his closet. He grumbled more, “Stupid turkey holiday.” Great yes, the holiday known for feasting. Pumpkin spiced everything in his vision. Bucky had a weakness for pumpkin, his ma made good spiced bread. He took a short vacation with his lovely little angel to the mountains. He tried to rationalize that hiking and marathon sex would make up for the amount of food he had ingested.

Tony Stark of course had a grandiose Thanksgiving celebration. Bucky tried to keep it light, he did, he really did. But every refusal got sad eyes or downright offense. The former winter soldier was belly up by the end of the night, all gym plans out the window.

Christmas fared no better. His best gal absolutely adored Christmas. It was the first holiday she’d experience not as an asset to Hydra, just like Bucky. So instead of RUNNING or LIFTING, the Brunette was shopping and ice skating. He’d already gone up a size in clothes December 3rd to be exact. Bucky correctly guessed he would go up another post-Christmas.

He’d whinge and rant to Steve, the blondie listening and telling Bucky to chill— it’s not like anyone thought it was bad. Bucky exasperatedly shouted, “I’m like a goddamn balloon! I don’t need to be on missions like this! I’m going to Bruce, jerk.”

“Punk.”

Bruce didn’t help either. Just said once he got back into a routine it would come off and he’d be at his regular weight. Refused to give Bucky Ozempic either. Some kinda doctor he was, his patient was obviously distraught.

“Are you dressed yet?,” she hollered.

“Give me a second!,” Bucky pouted.

He was going to pout today. Go to gym, get anger out, and pout. So he shimmied on some catastrophically tight basketball shorts and the biggest shirt he could find. Luckily it covered him up. May or may not have been a panic buy. Bucky cursed some more sitting on his bench to lace up his shoes, stupid gut getting in the way.

Red faced and irritated he snarked, “Happy now princess? I’m going to the gym, nothing is stopping me, I will be going to work out.” She grinned and watched him grab his bag, slapping a round ass cheek on his way out. Bucky shuddered at the wobble. Her familiar rasp rang out, “Nice ass baby! Go get em!”

He was too old for this. Technically his girl was ten years his junior if you took off the cryogenic time. He loved her dearly, always bubbly, somehow remained optimistic after all she’d been through. But the little freak liked Bucky’s pudge, loved it. Always grabbing up on it.

Bucky took the stairs to the gym. He needed it. The brunette thought with a smirk that if he had a nickel for every time he had to remove her hands from his ‘handles of love’ he would’ve been a millionaire back during the Depression. He grimaced at the feeling of his chubby tummy and thick thighs.

Finally. He’d made it. Gym time.

Not a soul in sight, Bucky could just relax and get his frustrations out. With a fuck-ton of a cardio and some toning exercises— really didn’t need any muscle to bulk him out more. He felt a bit peaceful for once, a strange bravado coming over him. The soldier stretched his unused muscles and did a bit of breathing exercises.

God, he already felt lighter. Maybe. Maybe he would take a picture and see if the camera made him look different. Bucky’s therapist already hammered him about his ‘body dysmorphia and negative self-image’.

Taking a peak about and tying his hair half up, Bucky propped the camera at a flattering angle and yanked off his shirt. He refused to look in a mirror for the holidays unless he was clothed. Fiddling with the inane controls, the man finally had the thing on a timer. He pulled off his shirt and tried to pose, straighten up his back again.

The flash went off and he ran to the phone, hit send, then sat down on a nearby bench to look fully. The brunette had to keep his ‘body positive!’ thoughts at the forefront. His chest and legs looked good. Face didn’t look too puffy thanks beard.

Disgust picked the earlier bravado up and hulk smashed it. Buck’s eyes were glued to his rounded belly and fat hips, a muffin over those horrid shorts. There, oh my god, there were stretchmarks on him? Bucky never had stretchmarks! Not the red kind! But there they were— mocking him. Ragged lines on his hips and sections of stomach.

He deleted the picture, feeling horrid. He should run more. But not before the pings blowing up his phone. She was strange and texted in 5 different messages that could’ve been sent in one singular text.

“Babbbbyyyy omg you’re so hot”

“Fuck, I’m getting all flustered in this debrief.”

“Look at that pretty body. Wanna lick those pretty stripes, tiger.”

“I’m so horny lmfao get your ass back to the room in 30. I’m gonna fucking ride you so goddamn hard.”

Bucky blinked a bit, feeling himself perk up. He still was a overblown balloon, but at-least the weirdo he loved enjoyed it. “Tiger huh,” he murmured, scratching at the sensitive marks. Bucky had a time limit now, snatching his gear up and stuffing it into a bag, hustling down the stairs to his room.

“Hey Buck,” Sam’s voice was a blur as Bucky entered his room. He smirked a bit hearing a muffled, “Weird ass.” The super soldier kept his mind on the prize— getting the daylights fucked out of him by his girls. Nope he wasn’t going to pay attention to the chafe on the inside of his thighs one bit. Okay...maybe he’d powder the area after the shower.

All he had to do was wait now. Wait. Not get nerved about his very naked body. He felt like a pile of exposed lard but it’ll be okay. Yep. Bucky would be fine. Pussy would fix his problems. As long as she played nice and didn’t tease. That rendered Bucky into a teary, babbling mess. Either he was always a masochist or Hydra made him into one but God— sometimes when she got mean he saw stars.

The door busted open, Bucky feeling relief at her grinning face. She gently closed it behind her, stripping easily while throwing her panties at him. He caught the material, moaning softly as she growled, “See what you did to me in the middle of that debrief? Had to cut it short my pheromones were so bad.”

Bucky inspected the panties, eyes fluttering at the slick wetting the cloth. He gripped and inhaled, hand flying down to soothe his cock. A lithe body crawled to the end of the bed, the soldier flushing as she seated herself in between his thighs. Keeping him in fucking missionary, her manicured nails spreading him a bit. He gasped, body jolting at the exposure.

Her perky tits heaved as she groped at his thighs and slid down to get handfuls of his round ass. Bucky threw his head back and moaned, “W-What are you up to?” Earlier mentioned pheromones were making his body keyed up and sensitive, pupils likely swallowing up blue eyes. She leaned forward, taught body against his cock.

“Mmm- I don’t know really. You just looked so delicious,” she kissed his belly and cooed, “I know you’re upset with yourself right now, Buck, you’re fucking gorgeous. Holiday weight or not. But I’ll even go to the gym with you, know I’ve been a distraction.”

Bucky slurred a name, hands reaching for her waist, she was so sweet. He sighed, “I enjoyed you as my distraction, best disss-traction everrr. Fuck you’re makin’ me horny babydoll.” She crawled up his bigger body to plant a kiss on Bucky’s swollen lips before sliding back to her place. His cock leaked when she giggled, “I know, poor baby’s all achy for me. But I wanna do something first.”

She slid palms up and down Bucky’s muscled arms, soothing him a little. Then the she-devil gripped his chunky love-handles and shook, watching with poorly-disguised glee. Bucky whined, “Baaaby, stoppp, it’s awful!”

“Think of them as tiger stripes, they’ll fade out when you drop weight,” she dug under where his belly hung a bit and traced at his most sensitive stretch marks. Bucky let out an indecent noise, thrusting up into her sweet touch. The fellow avenger cooed, “S’that feel good tiger? Need some lotion. Pretty boy.”

Bucky outright whimpered when her hand wrapped around his weepy cock, already slick from copious pre. She slowly moved her hand, praising him. Pretty boy, smart, handsome, good, kind, helpful.

He was going to bust a nut before anything happened. Bucky barked, “B-babe, stop! Stop!” Her pretty brows knitted together, hand jerking away as she asked, “What’s wrong bub?” He panted, “Gimme a second, w-wanna fuck you so baaaad.” She gently stroked the outside of thick muscled thighs, padded with love in her opinion.

“Thought I was going to ride you?,” she asked, face beginning to flush.

Bucky shook his head, managing to push himself up to get face-to-face. His soft body filled the tight space between them, making her whimper now. Bucky used one hand to caress the side of her face, the other massaging her pretty tit. Long lashes fluttered, her lips falling open.

Score. He managed to somewhat fumble through the pheromone fog.

Bucky rumbled, “Nuh-uh, all this talk about my body and you don’t want me to pin you down and fill your pretty pussy up? Hm sweetheart?” He punctuated the sentence with a deep kiss, the sweet thing easily giving up to him. It was fun when she played mean but Bucky had more experience— he could play his girl like a fucking fiddle.

“C’mon,” smack, “use your,” smack, “words baby,” smack smack. She didn’t want to stop kissing, sucking on his bottom lip as he pulled away. She blushed, embarrassed on how fast the situation had flipped. His girl whined, “Yeah, c’mon fuck me, fuck me full daddy.” He grinned and laid back, strong arms pulling her atop him.

She squealed, eyes widening. Bucky purred, “You know what to do, Daddy’ll let you on top.” He bit his swollen lip again watching the tip of his clock get swallowed by molten heat, the pair of them shuddering in ecstasy. Her little hands planted on his chest, panting and whining at the fullness. He’d get to work, holding that pretty waist and fucking up into her tight cunt.

It wasn’t long before she was crying out and laying atop his body, gasping, “Y’feel so good! Ah! Soft and oh god s’fucking hard!” Bucky sucked at her neck and thrust into her with downright pornographic slaps. He grunted and gasped, legs wonderfully getting another workout.

He murmured into her ear, a hand stilling all that writhing the poor thing was doing, “Yeah doll? Daddy fucking you good? Feels good to lay on Daddy and get your pussy pounded huh?” She sobbed, clenching and spilling tears on his neck, “Yes daddy! Yes! Don’t stop, fuckfuckfuck, s’rubbing my clit! I love you Daddy!”

Bucky’s eyes crossed for a second. What?

The evil flab that curses his very existence is a free clit rubber? He moaned in delight. Bucky changed their position some to milk out that new fact. Might as well abuse it before it’s gone. His baby was clinging to him now, mewling his name, pussy spasming sporadically. Bucky tilted her head up, melting at her pretty eyes. He rasped, “Come for Daddy baby, know you’re close, let go babydoll.”

He was grinding the tip of his cock into her soft spot while cooing at her. She hiccuped on a sob, the entirety of lean frame tightening down on him. His baby was a lot stronger than she looked. He could feel her core clamp and soak his cock, sending Bucky reeling into his own orgasm with a hoarse shout. He whimpered at the feeling of his balls drawing painfully tight, emptying all he had pent up.

They laid in a pile of sweat and spend, probably love. She was still subbed out, nuzzling into Bucky, only making a soft noise when his soft cock slid out. The brunette guessed it was his turn to return her earlier favor. He felt like the man of the hour. Crazy little kitten thought her geriatric overweight cyborg assassin was hot. Even with the holiday pounds.

So he pressed little kisses, rubbed her back, waxed poetic nonsense of his love for her. Bucky was a lover boy back in the day, just a little rusty, not like his Babygirl was on planet Earth right now anyways. She murmured into his neck with a dopey smile, “Tiger.”

Once again, crazy fellow asset saving Bucky’s wavering self-esteem. How lucky was he?

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #chubby!bucky x reader #chubby!bucky #fluff and smut

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mockerycrow · 2 months

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UNDERCOVER VII (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

summary: taking a break from telling your experiences, Soap and you spend the day together. He takes you from your room as to allow you to see more. Unfortunately for the both of you, Soap didn't bother to inform anyone of this decision. 3.8k words.

a/n: HELLO!!! YES!!! you are not imagining things! chapter seven is FINALLY out. i went on two separate impromptu hiatuses and i am going on another one at the end of this month until around november, so i wanted to get this out for y’all. i appreciate all of y’all’s patience. i love you guys. during this flashback/ptsd attack, bolted italics are present when characters are speaking russian. [THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW REBOOT MW CANON.]

[WARNINGS; light fluff(!!!), ptsd, death/suicide ideation, angst, hospital setting, death and gore, reader is not a good person morally, military inaccuracies, overall TRIGGER WARNING.]

“Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?” ― Clarice Lispector.

Lucky for me, my internal request about being left alone was granted. I skipped a meal, despite the worried glare of the main nurse taking care of me. I’m sure they wanted to put the feeding tube back into my throat—they surely looked like it. Or was that the look of genuine worry? Did I forget what it looked like? When I woke up this morning, they certainly made sure I got some food in me. I appreciate the nurses and the doctors and their efforts in taking care of me. I recognize I cannot be an easy patient by any means; whether that means the paperwork, the security… My behavior? I applaud them.

I wish I could get them a gift or something. Maybe once I’m out of their care. Is that weird?

I’ve always woken up pretty early—courtesy of Makarov’s strange routines—so when I woke up and didn’t see Soap by my side, I wasn’t too surprised. He probably has drills and routines of his own. Woke up, ate breakfast which looked absolutely immaculate, however I’m in a very weird.. flux right now. I’m not sure how to exactly describe it, but the food looked great but felt like flavorless blobs. Perhaps my tastebuds are deceiving me, or what they gave me was just pure shit. Hm.

Before he left last night, Soap assured me today was a rest day. I couldn’t help myself, but I winced at his statement. It probably wasn’t for my benefit, but for theirs. Any information I have can be a lot of paperwork, a lot of.. Meetings, I guess. I don’t know. I’m bitter, but I’m grateful for the break.

By the time 0900 rolled around, Soap strolled into my room. Fucker had the brightest smile on his face, his lip curling just enough to expose his gum around his right upper canine. “Back on babysitting duty?” I ask, my tone flatter than usual. Soap chuckles, his boots clicking against the waxed tile as he approaches my bedside. My eyes scan his attire; dark grey t-shirt, tucked into a dark grey pair of cargo pants and regular boots. Belt, holster with the gun. Huh, surprising. My eyes glance back up at his face as Soap spoke.

“Don’ be like that, aye? Ye don’t hafta think of it like that.” Soap insists, his hand grabbing my shoulder, gently might I add. I huff—his touch burns until he removes his hand. “Look, I’m sure ye don’t want t’be held in here all day. I have an idea.” He proposes with a twinkle in his eyes. I raise an eyebrow, unable to disguise how intrigued I actually am. “Oh?” I ask, my voice low like earlier. There’s a funny feeling in my stomach. Soap throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the stationary wheelchair that’s remained in the corner since last night. “Why don’t we take a walk?”

My lip curls for a moment, my eyes darting between him and the wheelchair. “You mean ‘wheel around’?” I raise an eyebrow, poking fun at him. Soap lets out a tsk and shakes his head. “Haud yer wheesht.” Soap utters before turning around, crouching down to unlock the wheels of the wheelchair. “Jokes on you, I dunno what that means.” I reply snarkily, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “It means ‘shut up’.” He replies as if he’s gracing me with great information.

I roll my eyes, cautiously pushing the blankets down off of my legs. I wince for a moment and Soap’s legs as well as the wheelchair come into view as I get myself settled. “I’ll wheel ya, you just need t’hold the.. The fuckin’ IV thing.” Soap mutters, gesturing to the IV pole. “Soap.” I say, my tone flat.

He looks back at me with his big blue eyes—all innocent like. Fucker. “It’s a pole to hold IV bags on. So, what is it called?” I ask him like he’s a child, my tone high pitched and overly nice. Soap’s face tints pink and taps the wheelchair with his foot, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You have an attitude, might I say.” Soap lets out a nervous laugh; he’s embarrassed and nothing is making me happier than this moment right now. I grunt as I allow Soap to help me into the wheelchair. My legs happen to be fine, but my stomach and ribs are still quite tender and sore.

“It’s called an IV pole, Soap.”

“Jesus Christ, I know.”

I hate to admit it, but Soap is a pretty good babysitter. I don’t think many people would willingly take me out of my room and help me get some fresh air, at least not like this. We’ve gone a couple of laps around the ward I’m allowed to roam and in a way, I’m appreciative of him allowing me to grasp more of the area I’m in. I wonder if he’s ever been in my position, or has known someone to be in a similar position? Bedbound, anxious? …Paranoid?

I wonder.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts as I hear a light beep from my right. I turn my head to where my IV pole, the little electronic box attached to it is lit up. “Hm?” Soap hums, his eyes trailing to where I’m looking. He grabs the pole and spins it towards himself, eyes scanning over the screen. Soap’s lips part for a second in understanding, but my eyes stay on the scar hidden underneath his mess of stubble. “Jus’ administerin’ more painkillers. It’s on a timer.”

I force myself to look away with a nod. I nearly slip back into my thoughts when I feel Soap begin to pull the wheelchair backwards. My eyes widen and I quickly grab the IV pole to drag along. I twist my head to face him the best I can despite the screw in my jaw. “Where are we going? My room’s just down the hall.” I question, turning my head, watching the door get smaller in size. Soap hums, turning the wheelchair around to push to where he was pulling it. He doesn’t answer me.

My fingers twitch around the IV pole and I quickly stop myself. Stop. Soap would’ve hurt me already if he wanted to. He has a pistol in the holster against his hip right on his belt. If he were to wish to hurt me, he would’ve already spilled my brains. Shut the fuck up.

Like you spilled hers?

What?

I blink, a beat passes, and we’re in a different hallway. One I haven’t seen before. “Soap..?” I ask louder, my heart fluttering in my chest. I’m getting nervous. Soap bends down to my ear; I can feel the wheelchair adjust under the added weight on the handles. “S’alright, just goin’ to take a longer walk. New areas, fresher air.” Soap murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear. I let out a harsh breath as he stood up straight, and.. And that fucker is humming. “Is this even allowed?” I ask, my voice quiet as my eyes dart around.

Soap lets out a laugh, slowing down a bit with his walking. “Does it matter? I’ve done much worse, this is nothin’.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” I protest, but my protests are clearly weak because the bastard continues to push me down the hall. Soap lets out an amused chuckle, one of his hands coming down on my shoulder, squeezing it through my hospital gown. I flinch a bit as I didn’t expect him to touch me. “Ye’ll be fine. I’ll take the fall if it comes down to it.” His touch was gentle.

I go to argue with him again because it’s likely that it wouldn't work and wouldn’t matter, but I decide against it. Only then does his hand return to the other handle of the wheelchair.

That’s one thing I’ve noticed about men like Soap. They’re much more touchy than you would think they would be. Most folks think that military men would have an aversion to touch, they think that these men are the epitome of their versions of masculinity. Men like Soap, though? They have no problems giving each other a hug, have no quarrels giving each other a forehead bump with each other. Hell, when you’re stuck in the middle of a blizzard, you don’t get choices; you huddle and cuddle, or you fucking die.

Soap’s touch, though.. His hand was heavy, big. Radiating heat like a portable heater through my hospital gown. It makes me wonder if his teammates are the same? They’re all in one task force, they must have seen some shit together, been through shit together. Hm.

Soap could’ve survived the harsh winters I had been through due to him.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I shouldn’t keep thinking of him right now, not when I don’t have to, but he won’t fucking leave my brain. I can almost hear his voice sometimes and it’s absolutely nauseating. I can’t say that I was the closest to him, but I was pretty damn up there in his ranks. I was always a go-to for a multitude of things. Things I no longer wish to fucking remember. Maybe he should’ve ended me right now. Maybe I should’ve finished the job when I got the chance.

His men were kind of touchy which was never surprising to me. Being under harsh conditions together, relying on each other to keep the other safe? It creates a bond like no other. They tended to be touchy with me in due time, too. I’m not sure how I was able to handle it for so long. Every brush of their hands on my shoulders, every shoulder and elbow bump, it felt like hot irons painfully maiming my skin, branding me for everything I’ve done.

He was touchy at times, too. It made me wanna vomit.

..Well, now it does. At the moment, though, not really. Which just.. Makes everything worse. One part of me wishes I refused the assignment. I truly fucking feel like I should’ve. Now he’s everywhere in my life, invading the parts he was never supposed to be in. It’s not like I exactly expected this assignment to go incredibly smoothly, no. That’s quite frankly really fucking stupid to do, but I at least expected this to be smoother than it has been. Perhaps that’s been my flaw this entire time, I’m not sure.

With him, you can never know. That’s one thing that I had to learn pretty damn quick. If you thought you knew what his plans were, you better backtrack five steps and rethink it all because you are definitely not on the right track. I guess that’s one thing I can give him; he’s always been intelligent, so much so to an annoying degree. With every report I gave, it felt like everything I was finding out was contradictory to my previous report. Even now, is the information I’m giving the 141 accurate?

I’m not even sure anymore, not after the fact that he left me alive in that warehouse. I seriously doubt he left me alive for a reason. He’s the one who’s always put two in the head to make sure the person was dead. That’s perhaps the singular good thing he ever taught me.

I feel those leathers hands on my shoulders in my dreams.

There’s a touch on my shoulder and I jolt out of my thoughts, jerking my shoulder away, causing a lightning bolt of pain to pulse through my arm. I hiss, my hand grabbing my shoulder. “Shit,” Soap’s voice filters through my ears, and it does little to calm my pounding heart. When did it start pumping this hard..? “Are ye alrigh’? Didnae mean to startle you.”

Fucking hell.

My hand is on my chest, feeling the desperate pound underneath. I realize I haven’t answered him and I give him a little nod. “Just startled me, is all.” I croak out. It takes me a second to look around, to get my bearings. “Was worried for a sec, was talkin’ an’ ya didn’t respond. Couldn’t tell if you were spaced out or ignorin’ me.” Soap jests. We’re still in a hallway, but possibly a different wing?--- The hallway of my ward had a long red strip in the middle of the wall, following the hallway. The stripe on this wall is yellow. I need to focus and pay attention, Jesus Christ.

“Was thinking,” I utter. “Sorry.”

“About?” Soap begins to push the wheelchair again; my fingers twitch around the IV pole. How am I supposed to explain that? Do I lie? Do I tell the truth?

How am I supposed to tell him I was thinking about him?

“Just..” I begin, my lip twitching as I rack my brain for an excuse. “I had a—”

“OI!”

I flinch at the booming voice from down the hall, jolting so hard in my wheelchair it scoots forward a bit. My free hand instinctively forms into a fist as suddenly, it was an empty hall and now I’m back in a fucking warehouse with a pistol in my hands. The, the fucking smell of the warehouse burns my nose, the concrete floor caked in blood and somebody’s organs—looks like a kidney, honestly. I don’t fucking know, what the fuck is happening? My hand is shaking; my finger is still on the trigger. My hand is vibrating. I pulled it, didn’t I? I glance forwards where the puddle is and there’s two bodies. I don’t.. I don’t remember their names, but fucking hell.

“Don’t fret over them. They lived and died like the dogs they were.”

‘They were fucking human beings! They had lives, fucking friends and family, aspirations! Don’t tell me who and what to not fret over, you fucking freak!’ I try to scream at him—he’s behind me. My mouth opens and it’s moving, but nothing is leaving. I cough and choke, dropping the pistol, which rattles against the ground with a clank. My throat is tight and I reach for it, my eyebrows furrowed. I pull my fingers back and they’re slick and hot with my blood.

Fuck. FUCK.

I blink; he stands in front of me, holding the pistol. His fucking.. Leather gloves, holding the grip, his finger hovering over the trigger. Am I dreaming?

Please fucking tell me I’m dreaming.

The gun is aimed at my head and my hands naturally raise upwards—fuck, I can’t stop shaking! Cold sweat drips down my temple—he aims at my stomach and the pistol fires, so loud that my ears ring. I flinch, and I feel horrible bile bubble up in my throat as fierce, hot pain lights up my stomach. I try to talk but that vomit decides to bubble and hurl out of my mouth. I bend over, my eyes filling with hot tears.

It hurts—it hurts so fucking bad and none of this makes sense.

It fucking burns.

I blink—and I gasp, and suddenly I’m back in the hospital. My vision is blurring, I’m laying down on something—it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts—

“I know it does, I know.” A deep voice says. Soap?

..M–

No, it’s Soap. Soap.

It isn’t him.

There’s hands on my wrists, holding them down at my sides as someone wraps something around my head, something bumping against my nostrils. I feel vomit bubble out of my mouth and—then it’s dark.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but my head fucking hurts. And so does my stomach.. And my back… and my jaw. Along with everything else.

I feel myself laying on a plush surface; there’s some soft beeping present, too. My throat aches and I find it hard to open my eyes. It takes a few minutes, definitely. Once I’m able to open my eyes, I squint to adjust my eyes to the room. The familiar room comes into focus with the red stripe in the room; it’s dark, it’s night-time. My hand comes up to my face, feeling an oxygen tube on my nose. I groan softly and I try to move my other hand, but something is restricting it..?

Don’t tell me.

I lift my head and I look down. My heart drops, seeing one of my wrists shackled back to the railing of the hospital bed via handcuffs. I swallow some spit that accumulated in my mouth before letting my head drop back down onto the pillow. It did nothing to soothe the ache in my throat. “Fuck.” I croak out. Of course—I lose privileges. For something that wasn’t my fault.

I’m alone.

Moments like these make me wish I could retreat into my mind and hide like I did when I was in that warehouse, or when I had committed violent crimes for him. I could blink one moment and I would be in a different room. There’s probably a lot that I don’t remember—I’m not sure how my recounts will be useful. Maybe it’s because when it comes to Makarov, it’s not like he’ll be subjected to an international court.

If they get their hands on the monster, they’ll kill him. Torture him, maybe. I don’t know. Nobody follows rules all of the time, that’s for sure.

I hear the hospital door swing open and my eyes immediately flicker over to it—I see Soap walk in with two plates of food. His eyes glance over to me and he lights up for a moment before he looks a bit somber. “Hey, you’re awake.” Soap utters; his voice is a special type of soft. Guilt, probably. “Yeah.” I respond quietly, my handcuffed hand twitching a bit. He walks over and grabs the rolling over-bed tray, carefully rolling it over my lower body. My eyes track his movements as he does. Soap sets the plate down before clicking a button on my bed, slowly sitting up the head of it.

I glance down at the food. I’m definitely hungry, but I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to hold down. I wince, the pain jaw aching from the angle change. “Sorry.” Soap murmurs, his own plate of food in one hand, the other reaching back to drag a chair closer to my bed. I just hum, closing my eyes for a moment in an attempt to calm the throbbing in my jaw. My eyes open after a moment and I look at the food once more. Definitely more appetizing now, and I notice Soap only got light foods, stuff you can hold down with an upset stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Soap utters, leaning closer, picking at his food. I look at him, seeing how his brow is furrowed and he’s kind of pouting. My lip twitches from the display. He looks up from his plate to me, lifting his plastic fork to dig it into the fat of his lower frowning lip. “You were right, y’know? Handcuffed ‘cause of me.” He mumbles, letting out a sigh. He seems genuinely apologetic, and a bit guilty for what happened earlier.

“Partially my fault,” I respond, trying to minimize the movement of my jaw. “Had a little freak out. I don’t do so well with yelling, it seems.”

“So you say.” Soap immediately quips before he sinks down a little. “Too much?”

“Just a bit.”

He nods in response, eating a little piece of overly cooked steak. “Got it.” Soap chews it and swallows it, eyeing me. “Not eatin’, hm? Pain?”

I let out a tense sigh and I mutter a quick, “yeah”. Without missing a beat, Soap leans over and clicks the nurse button in order for a nurse to come to my room. “Bit weird, I thought it was on a dispensary timer.” He responds, but gives a shrug. His eyes scan my face, which causes me to look away for a moment because his eye contact is, I don’t know. It’s bothering me right now. “Do ye want t’talk about what happened?” Soap questions. I can hear food in his mouth.

Do I want to talk about what happened? Would it be for the record?

“I don’t know.” I respond honestly. “I barely remember it.” That isn’t exactly a lie. “It makes me feel like I’m losing it if I do.”

I glance at Soap and he takes a moment to process my words, chewing whatever's stuffed into his mouth from his plate. “Everybody has their demons, [name],” Soap murmurs, his voice deep and gritty. His words hold a heavy weight to them, and I feel a metaphorical weight on my chest for a second. “There’s no shame.”

I let out a huff. “I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last, huh?” I mumble. “Aye.” Soap responds. He goes to speak once more, but a nurse, the one from the beginning, walks in with a concerned face. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice tight. I swallow hard. “My, uh, jaw.. Everything else, it all hurts.” I try to explain, trying to keep my voice steady but there’s an uncomfortable croak to it.

I watch the nurse walk over to the IV pole and fiddle with the lines. I then close my eyes and lay my head back against the pillow properly, the nausea kind of getting to me. I have this uncomfortable, empty feeling in my belly and it’s almost anxiety inducing. Maybe it’s from anxiety in general. I don't know.

How do you recover from something like this? Do I deserve to recover from something like this? After everything that I’ve done in the name for the “greater good”, something both my handler and Makarov told me.. Two sides to the same coin. Was all of the bloodshed and death worth it?

Was any of it worth it?

Maybe this is something I’ll be thinking about until I die. Hell, I really did think I would die before coming back here. I thought maybe one day I would slip up on a random loyalty test Makarov would administer and he would be done with me right then and there. I wonder if dying then would’ve been better? Oh, I slipped up and failed my mission, I wouldn’t have to be here to suffer the consequences.

Maybe that’s why I am still here. To suffer any consequence of what I’ve contributed to, and done. I wonder if they will still see use, or value in me once they get the information they need from me. Will they discard me like a toy so easily just as Makarov had? Breaking someone is easy, but it depends on how good someone is able to put the pieces back together. I’m certainly broken, even though I don’t want to think about it.

But will they be able to put the pieces back together?

..Will I?

The pain in my jaw eases as well as my ribs and stomach. I think I can eat now.

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its-time-to-write · 1 year

Text

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 2

Note: slight allusion of SA all i do is think about the past

You did consider calling out sick, but it’s Friday and you can just stare at your screen for eight hours and then sleep for two straight days.

You’re making the trek from your car to the office and you’re absolutely positive you look like hell. Sure, your hair and makeup is done, but there’s no masking the exhaustion in your bones. You drag yourself through the door and past everyone else headed to their various workstations, including Roy and a confused Jamie.

“Oi, porch girl, what’re you doing here?” Jamie asks. Roy smacks him on the back of the head.

“She fucking works here, you twat.”

You don’t point out that you’ve literally run into him twice, and maybe count it a blessing that he doesn’t remember you. Instead, you nod wearily and head to your desk.

It’s a fairly easygoing day, and you decide to take a late lunch. You’re halfway through your meal, absorbed in chewing each bite thoroughly and not falling asleep, when you hear someone call your name from the doorway. You look up to see Jamie standing and fiddling with his shirt.

“Do you even talk?” he asks, no preamble.

“What?” you say, confused. You realize you actually haven’t said much to him in any of your interactions other than “sorry.”

“Oh,” you reply, “yeah, I do. I’m just tired, is all. Neurons aren’t firing at full capacity and all that.”

Jamie nods. “Just wanted make sure you were all right. Got your name from one of the blokes across the hall, cuz we can’t keep calling you ‘porch girl.’ Anyway, are you?”

You half-laugh. “Yeah, can’t you tell? I’m obviously doing great.”

Jamie’s face morphs from concern to slight offence.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you hasten to continue. “I haven’t slept well all week, and it’s made me snippy. I wasn’t- it’s not about you. I just can’t quite think straight.”

Jamie nods again. “Right,” he says, “don’t think that’s healthy. Coach is always on me for rest days. Maybe you need one too.”

You shrug. “I mean, that probably works for you because you’re on a footballer’s salary. I don’t really have time for personal days aside from the weekend. There’s stuff to be done and bills to pay, so…” you trail off as you realize you’ve spoken unfiltered again.

“Anyway,” you say, fake smile plastered on your face, “thanks for checking in. See you around.”

Jamie takes his cue and leaves.

—

Why did you think you’d be able to sleep better on the weekend? You don’t know. Girls’ night is officially a no-go, so you’re trying to wear yourself out with some yoga. Sometimes physical exertion helps, but you can barely think straight enough to get in the correct positions. You’re going to cry again, and probably have to call your doctor because this can’t be normal. You just wish your brain would shut up long enough for you to rest.

You drag yourself out of bed and to the kitchen for a cup of tea. At least you’ll get to see a gorgeous sunrise.

—

You’re not positive when you fell asleep, but you did. You had a dream of someone’s strong arms around you carrying you from the steps to your bed. The dream lingers as you slowly blink your eyes open and realize that you actually are in your bed.

How did you get here? You know for an absolute fact that you are not a sleepwalker, nor did you wake up in between passing out in your front yard and now. You didn’t get yourself here, so who did?

The flat is quiet, and light is peeking in through the curtains. You check your phone to see if maybe one of your friends had helped you inside, but there’s no text letting you know. You frown. Maybe you’re just going insane.

You roll out of bed and grab your robe, then stop in front of your door. There’s a sticky note right at eye-level that says, don’t freak out, I’m in your kitchen. - Jamie (from work)

Oh shit.

You frantically run your fingers through your hair then fly down the stairs to find Jamie on his back on your couch, scrolling through his phone.

He looks up and says, “Wotcher,” completely unfazed. He swings his legs onto the floor and sits up.

“Let me explain,” he says as you gape at him. “I was on a run without Roy, and saw you asleep on your steps. Figured you’d want to be left alone after last time. But then I came by later on me way back and saw your door was cracked open. So I helped you upstairs and then stayed here with the door locked so no fuckin’ creeps would come in. You really should lock your door,” he continues, “Never know what sort are lurking ‘round.”

You’re still staring at him, uncomprehending. Jamie frowns. “Shit, didn’t mean to overstep. Just- you didn’t look so good and I thought it’d be better for you to sleep. And we’re not like, fucking strangers are we? Shit, I’m sorry.”

That snaps you out of it. “No!” you reply. “No, we’re not strangers. And it wasn’t… weird. It wasn’t weird. It’s just nice, which is why I was having trouble responding. I mean sure, this is the longest we’ve ever talked without me tripping over air, but you’re not- I mean, I don’t feel unsafe around you. You’re not that type of person.”

Jamie’s phone is away and his hands are tangled in his shirt. You wonder if it’s a nervous response.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says after a pause. “Maybe go back to sleep, yeah?”

You nod. “You want a cuppa before you go?”

Jamie hesitates, which is different from the flat-out no you expected. Finally he says, “Nah, should probably get going. Don’t want me hanging ‘round longer than needed, innit?”

You’re not really sure how to respond to that, but Jamie doesn’t give you a chance to before he’s down the front steps and out the gate.

Damn it.

—

The not-dream of Jamie’s arms carrying you to bed is much more comforting than the dreams you usually have. The ones where you’re suffocating under a blanket and everything is cold and slimy and you’re screaming and screaming, but no one takes notice.

You wonder if it can actually be classified as a dream, or if it’s more of a memory?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter because you push it down. No sense in thinking about it in the daylight when it’s sure to haunt you at night.

—

It’s embarrassing to see Jamie at Nelson Road, so you avoid him if you can. He certainly knows who you are now, and the few times you have accidentally made eye contact have been painful. Each time, he’s looked at you with the same completely indiscernible gaze, the one that makes your face heat up and slip out of whatever room your in. You successfully avoid conversations for four days, but he finds his way to your office on Friday.

“You good?” he says as he walks in without knocking and sits unceremoniously in the chair opposite you.

“Yes..?” you reply, unsure why he’s even here. You don’t forget that he’s Jamie Tartt, star striker and really should have no interest in you, like at all.

“Cool,” he says, still sitting sideways in the chair. You wonder if he’s capable of sitting normally.

You stare at each other in silence for a moment before you say, “Not trying to be rude, but why are you here?”

Jamie scrunches up his face. “Wanted to know why you were avoiding me and to apologize for it. Whatever it was, I didn’t fucking mean it.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you say aloud, “no, you didn’t do anything. It’s me. All of our interactions have been supremely embarrassing, so I figured if we don’t talk, I can’t get embarrassed.”

Jamie nods in understanding. “That’s proper shit,” he says.

You never know how to respond to half the things this boy says, so you just settle on, “Ok,” then go back to typing.

“You got any allergies?” Jamie’s voice breaks the silence again and startles you into a typo. You delete it and look up at him.

“No?” you reply, confused.

Jamie laughs. “Why’d you say it like a question? You unsure if you’re fucking allergic to something?”

For a moment you think he’s taking the piss, but there’s genuine amusement in his eyes as you shrug.

“I don’t know, it’s just how I talk. Why do you want to know if I have any allergies?”

Jamie rummages in one of his jacket pockets and plops a box down on your desk. “Mum said this is the best tea for insomnia. Figured out you can’t fucking sleep so I called her and asked. She used to make it when I was a lad and bouncing off the walls, like. Thought it might help.”

This is the second time Jamie has done something just plain nice for you, and it’s freaking you out a little bit. It feels… uneven. Wrong, maybe.

“How much was it?” you ask in an attempt to settle the score. “I have cash in a drawer.”

Jamie scrunches his face again. “You don’t fucking owe me for this shit,” he says. “Ted’s always on us about ‘doing things we want done without fucking hoping some shit in return.’ Only he didn’t say ‘fuck,’ or ‘shit.’”

You’ve seen Ted. You know how he is.

“Well, thanks,” you reply. “It means a lot. I’ll try it and let you know.”

Jamie grins, a great beaming smile that warms you from your chest all the way to your fingertips.

“Mint,” he says before bounding out the door.

—

The tea actually helped. Or maybe it was just the fact that someone was thinking about you, doing something without expecting a favor in return. Whatever the case, you don’t end up on the porch. Sure, your sleep is still jacked up, but not as much as before. It’s restless, but it’s a sleep void of dreams.

—

You report back to Jamie the next day, and he takes it like a personal challenge. A mission of sorts. He’s in your office every other day with some remedy or the other, all for the sake of helping you sleep.

One day it’s, “Dani said if you put these plants under your pillow, you’ll sleep like you’re dead.”

“They’re herbs, Jamie.”

Or, “Richard has this oil thingy from France and he says you’ll sleep like a baby.”

You bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that babies don’t sleep well.

Or another time, “Coach said if you burned this in like a bowl or some shit it’ll cleanse your aura I guess? His girlfriend uses it, I think it smells fucking nasty.”

You both shudder. Coach Beard is nice, but his girlfriend certainly is a character.

You try everything and report back the next day. Jamie has taken to asking you to stick your head into the locker room so that the team can hear each verdict. They still don’t really know who you are, but they’re invested in this challenge. They’re sweet, and it’s funny to start your day with their cheers of success or groans of disappointment. You think the best was when Richard made a comment about certain aerobic exercise that might tire you out and Jamie had a murderous look on his face. You’re not sure what the look means, but you did bring it up ever-so casually at the next girls’ night.

“He thinks you’re hot, babe,” says Jessica once the squeals have died down.

“No way,” you reply. “Impossible.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “I have to agree with Jess on this one. He’s into you.”

Your protests are lost amid another round of giggles, and you let yourself believe them for a single moment before quenching that stupid little spark that’s beginning to burn brighter in your chest.

Table of Contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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the-fiction-witch · 9 months

Text

The Magic Of Men

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Smut Discussions

Requested: Could you do a Jack Dawkins one where she has no experience and doesn't really know how men work (because it's 1850s and she isn't married lol) but she's curious? Up to you what you do with that :)

I felt insanely awkward about doing this, but... not like I had many other options. I headed up the stairwell of the hospital and up to the little room I knew well. I gave the door a tap, and soon enough his voice answered.

"Come in,"

So I held my breath and headed inside the little room, seeing the usual objects littered about and two figures, Fagin sat in the chair fiddling with something not sure what, and then Jack stood by his wardrobe changing his shirt. Immediately I blushed and looked away, "Hi,"

"Hi Y/n, Just a sec I'll be down." Jack smiled as he got a clean shirt on, "Sorry had to change we had a bloody nightmare of surgery. You ready to go?"

"Actually, I was thinking... Maybe we could stay here tonight?"

"uhhh right, Why?"

"Well given everything with Darius, I figured maybe we could just stay and play cards here tonight. I brought us some cookies to bet with?"

"Aww you're sweet, that's great actually I can't spend any money." He laughed, "Alright piss off Fagin."

"Ohh lovely, I see when I'm not wanted." Fagin complained getting up and shuffling to the door, "Bloody sweet talk to the man who raised you!"

"Out Fagin," he told him again,

Fagin then left leaving Jack and me alone,

"You alright?"

"Yeah sorry uhh long day is all..."

"Alright, well get comfy."

"Thank you," I smiled taking a seat setting my basket down and unpacking it,

"Ohh did you make pie!?"

"I did,"

"Can I have some?" he asked sheepishly

"Of course," I smiled cutting him some pie,

"Ummmm! you are an angel you know that."

I blushed but we started our card game as usual, we played for a good while the whole time I was eager to ask but I didn't want to just jump out the gate with things. But I knew I couldn't wait much longer.

"Jack?" I spoke up breaking the flow of our gentle conversation,

"Yeah?"

"Can I... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he shrugged,

"Could you tell me, about- Men?"

He froze a moment his eyebrows lowered, his eyes looking at me questionably, "What about men?"

"...Everything,"

"Right..." he began, "why?"

"Well, It's just..." I began, "My mother is getting, insistent on me starting to court, starting to look into me getting married and I know so little about men, how they work, what they like, I have no idea and I'm very confused."

"Men are a mystery" He chuckled,

"I know, But I just want... some knowledge."

"All right."

"Really?"

"Yeah, can't leave you completely clueless." He smiled, "You're such an innocent little thing, the first man who realizes just how innocent and... naive you are, will take advantage of your lack of information." He explained,

"They will?"

"Ohh yeah, the first man figures out you don't know what you're doing there's no telling what he'll make you do." He chuckled, "But why are you asking me?"

"Becuase I trust you."

"Do you?" he shot me a look,

"I trust you enough."

"Thanks,"

"Also you know… you're a doctor I imagine you're able to explain it better than the average man”

"Good point, So? You wish to know the magic of men?’

“I do”

“Alright then… Well, how much do you know?"

“Well… I know on the wedding night the lady must lie on her back and open her legs for he husband. And then he will make babies.”

“...that's it?”

"more or less”

“Ohh my god- how does anyone expect you to know what you're doing with that, you sure you aren't told anything else?"

"that if I raise my skirt too high or too low men will be excited”

“...I mean, yeah that kinda is true.” He nodded, "There's more to it but on a basic level I guess... anything else?"

“Uhhh my mother said if you let a man put his baby goo in your mouth and swallow it you'll have babies growing in your tummy”

"…What!”

“If you let a man-”

“I heard you! I'm just fucking astonished!”

“Is that not true?"

“No! You can't get pregnant like that!”

“Ohh I see… why would my mother like to me?"

"I assume to stop you putting men in your mouth… she tell you anything else?”

“The female orgasm is a myth”

“WHAT! your mother is fucking nuts!"

"Is that not true?"

"No! I am very VERY sure about that!"

"Ohh..."

"Ohh you poor little thing..." He said,

"Why?"

"You need an education." He said, "So when a man and a woman love each other very much..."

"Yes?"

"They start to kiss, and cuddle, and tell each other how they feel. And then they may decide to be... Intimate."

"I see," I nodded very eager to learn,

"And yes when a man sees under a lady's dress he may get... excited." He smirked, "A woman's body is often very exciting for a man to look at, and if he gets excited enough he'll get hard."

"Hard?"

"His... you know."

"His what Jack?"

"you really are innocent aren't you," He chuckled, "Well a man has a cock. most of the time it's just soft and not really anything all that important but when a man gets excited his cock gets hard, It'll stand up and kinda make itself stiff."

"Ohh... Why?"

"It's all the blood rushing there and causing it to expand and stay stiff, so he can use it for sex."

"Ohh Okay, so it gets hard for sex?"

"Yeah, it gets hard when he's excited and aroused."

"Okay, then he makes baby goo?"

"Baby goo?"

"Yeah, he gets excited until baby goo comes out."

"... It's called Jizz. or ejaculate. but yeah it makes babies."

"Jizz. makes babies. But not in mouths?"

"No, only in your pussy."

"Pussy?"

"The ... hole between your legs y/n."

"Ohh my special place."

"Yeah, you lay on your back, or your side, or you can sit up too there's a lot of options but the main point is he puts his cock inside your pussy, and it feels amazing for both involved and yes you should get an orgasm you both should and when a man orgasms then yes he will Jizz and if it is inside of your pussy there is a RISK not one hundred per cent just a risk that you may get pregnant."

"Hu... Thank you, Jack,"

"You're welcome. See men aren't all that magic and mystical... we are pretty simple, to be honest."

"What about other than sex?"

"Other than sex? Well yeah if you put a man's cock in your mouth it will also give him an orgasm but you can't get pregnant,"

"Do women get orgasms other than sex?"

"Yeah, they can, a man can use his mouth, or his hands, or even women can do it themselves."

"That's possible?"

"Very possible."

"Can... men do it to themselves?"

"Yes."

"Hu... Then why do you need a wife at all?"

he looked at me and laughed, "Because it's not the same having sex and giving yourself an orgasm isn't the same feeling,"

"Ohhh..." I nodded, "That makes sense,"

"You alright now? Anything else you wanna know?"

"Uhhh... Kinda,"

"Go on then,"

"What does a cock look like?"

"Uhhhh are you serious?"

"I've never seen one before... I'm curious."

"Yeah, I don't exactly have pictures of dicks laying around y/n."

"This is a hospital if anywhere has pictures and diagrams of dicks it's here."

"No, I don't, sorry Y/n," he chuckled going to lay on his bed for a moment, "I'm rather tired after all that explaining" he yawned,

"Sorry Jack," I smiled sitting on his bed with him,

"It's fine, I'm happy to explain to you, at least now you're not so naive,"

"I guess now, I'm thankful to be less naive."

"Good, I'm glad I could help."

For a moment we just sat enjoying one another company as we often did, before I little spark of a whisper popped up in my brain, and I giggled.

"What?"

I smiled and held the skirt of my dress lifting it a little to show my leg all the way up to my knee, Jack's eyes met my skin and a smirk grew across his lips,

"what are you up to y/n?"

"Just curious."

"Curious?"

"Umm, I wanna see the magic of men."

"Do you know?"

"Mhm, so? Are you excited?"

"...A little." He smirked, "This what you want?" he asked sitting up and I nodded excitedly, "Alright Y/n, Come on I'll prove to you about the female orgasm" He smirked tugging me into the bed with him,

#tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas sangster #jackdawkins #jack #jack dawkins #theartfuldogger #thearttfuldodger #the artful dodger

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strawb3rrystar · 3 months

Text

A small fragment of a memory.

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x GN! Reader

Warnings: Light angst, Imaginary gore (Reader thinks of the gore, but it doesn't actually happen), Timeline is kinda fucked, Some stuff might be inaccurate bc this was written before I watched Mockingjay

Word count: 1.1k

✰Masterlist

You sit on the cold ground, leaning your head back against the wall. Your shoulders relax as you take a deep breath. Your eyes slowly close despite the brightness of the florescent lights. You try to ignore the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, but the noise pounds against your silent head. The footsteps stop in front of you, causing you to open your eyes. You're met with the figure of a doctor, their face serious yet slightly worried.

"Are you going to sit outside his door all day?"

They ask, yet you remain silent, you didn't have an answer, not at all. The doctor sighs, and continues walking down the hallway, leaving you with silence once more. You look at the door across from you, then back down to your feet. Had you been sitting here all day? It was hard to tell minutes from hours, day from night anymore, now that you were underground.

You slowly stand up, your joints stiff from the position. You make careful steps towards the door, as if it would swallow you whole if you were too loud. You gently place your hand on the smooth, cold metal. At that moment you wanted to say a thousand words, pour your heart out because no one would hear you. But all the words get caught in your throat and you feel as if you might choke and die from the pressure.

"I'm sorry.."

It was as if they ricocheted off the door and smacked you in the face. You had been saying that a lot recently. You wanted so badly to feel the emotions you were going through, but there were so many at once that you felt none at all. You couldn't remember the last time you smiled. Then again, you doubt any of the others really smiled either. You pull yourself out of your thoughts and turn around, leaning your back against the door. You slump down to the ground again, your skin probably was ice cold, but you didn't care. You were determined to stay with him. Your eyes felt heavy, too heavy for you to keep them open, then, the light slowly left your vision.

"Wow... My outfit looks like shit compared to yours."

Peeta's eyes travel up and down the outfit you were wearing. He then smiles the most genuine smile you've seen all day, not acting, or being charming for a camera. It was just Peeta, as he'd always been.

"Don't say that. You look good too."

You reply, brushing your hand against his suit, the fabric was smooth and soft to the touch. Unlike most fabrics in district twelve. He lightly chuckles, and shakes his head. Did he find your kindness to be cute, or just admirable?

"Are you ready?.. For the interview I mean."

You turn your head back to the line of people in front of you. Shaking your head, nerves quickly fill up your body. You had never been in front of a large crowd before, at least, not the size of the one the Capitol held.

"Hey.."

Peeta grabs your hand making your attention drift back to him. He lifts your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it.

"You'll do great," he reassures.

You smile as Peeta stands on the other side of the door, the leftover flour on his shirt and hands suggests he's been working all day.

"Let's watch the sunset. Just you and me."

He holds out his hand for you to take, which you do gladly. You shut the front door to your house and walk with him to the back. When you were kids, an old panel of the roof fell off, you quickly realized you could climb to the roof with it. The roof, in your opinion, made the best hangout spot. And also a good place to hide if Peeta or you ever got into trouble. The best part about the roof was that you were able to see the sunset perfectly. A hundred times better than on the ground. You held each other, skin slightly chilled as the autumn turned into winter.

"I wish we could die like this."

"Watching the sunset?"

"No, in each other's arms. I wouldn't want to die anywhere else."

The conversation was barely above a whisper, but it was loud enough just for you two. Peeta places a gentle kiss to your temple. It wasn't odd to show affection to your best friend, right? But Peeta did it with such care that you felt your body heat up a little.

It was as if you were a candle, and Peeta was akin to a flame.

"What.. what are you planning to do?"

You ask, your voice hoarse. One of the doctors sighs, tapping pen against clipboard.

"We have to restrain him. We were trying to avoid that, but he nearly killed you. In a situation like this..."

The rest was drowned out, you shift awkwardly. It was as if the doctors looked down upon you. Saw you as weak for being in love and caring for someone, more than the medication would reach.

"There has to be another way.."

Your voice was small, drowned out by the noise of doctors, footsteps, and restraints being passed around. You backed up against a wall, holding your abdomen. You couldn't stop the tears that streamed down your cheeks. Your body shakes as you sob. It was as if everything was happening all at once. Your life flashing before your eyes. Because it felt as if you were losing this time. Dying from the inside out.

Your cries were silent in the loudness of the room. You were ignored by everyone who passed by. How pathetic, you shouldn't feel this bad for someone who tried to kill you. They would say.

But that wasn't your Peeta, the one you grew up with, the one you fell in love with. It was just a thing with his face and that was barely. You knew, you knew better than anyone else in the room what he was going through.

You jolt, your eyes shooting open, you sit up so quickly that your head spins.

"Peeta..?"

Silence. The silence wasn't comforting anymore, it was your worst nightmare. You felt your skin being ripped off, revealing the muscles, the bones, and the organs. The only thing that made you human. You wanted to stab a knife into him, open him up and say. Look! He's still human, so stop restraining him like an animal!

It was all just a dream though, fragments of memories dug up by your brain to torment you. But, it felt real. You reach up to touch your cheek. It was sticky with tears. They were the only real thing anymore.

Eventually, every flame must go out, and the candle will melt down to a puddle of wax.

Star's notes -> I wrote this back in November oml

(Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @arzua10 @candiedhearts55 @alexandria-fandom @corruptcoder

@idontreallyexistyet @little-miss-chaoss | Join the taglist

#☆strawb3rrystar writes #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta x reader #peeta mellark x reader angst #the hunger games #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #josh hutcherson

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canonicallysoulmates · 9 months

Text

J2 Gold Panel Nashcon 2023

Before we get into the questions I have to mention that Jared is wearing a Christmas sweater that says 'Shitters Full'. And I have to mention it because of the story of how he got that sweater. When they were having dinner, there was a young lady who was wearing this sweater, and Jared liked it so much that he traded his shirt for it. People pay thousands (not an exaggeration or a joke) for a shirt this man has worn and he just randomly gave one away for a sweater he liked 😂 I love him and congrats to that girl!

Jumping into questions, the first fan doesn't have one they just want to say thank you because in a previous con the boys told the story of a Make-A-Wish kid who visited the set once and the fan really connected with that because they had a Make-A-Wish trip when they were a kid so they know how impactful those things are for chronically ill children. x

The first actual question of the panel is: have they given any more thought to doing Lonesome Dove?

Jensen answers not necessarily, he thinks it’s one of those lofty things that sound like a great idea but there’s been no pen to paper yet.

The fan comments that they just wanted to know if the idea was still alive and they reply it's not dead, and Jared thinks it'd be amazing. x

Did Jensen get the chance to sing or have a jam session with Reba while he was working on Big Sky?

He says one time. They didn't work together a lot because they had separate storylines but they did overlap one day. It was a night shoot, it was really cold, and while the crew was setting up for another shot he and Reba were sitting around the heaters in their cast chairs. This was his first time having her essentially to himself and he told her his favorite song of hers is How Blue, and in that song, there’s a person who sings harmony he asked her if it was her who sang the harmony on top of the melody, and she replied "fun fact for you, that’s actually my sister" and then she told him the story of where they recorded it, it was Nashville in some renovated church that had been turned into a studio so they got into a whole conversation. And then out of nowhere she told him to sing the harmony and she’d sing the melody and they started singing, and he says he was so nervous he thinks he didn’t hit one note. But she was as charming and as lovely as you would hope her to be and that was a moment that he really cherishes.

He also shares the story about how when their characters first meet - and he thinks this was in the morning of the same day as the singing - they're supposed to shake hands and say their character's names but during like the fourth take she said her name, Reba McEntire, instead of her character name and then went oh shit when she realized. x

The next person wants to know how they like the current Cowboys coach, Mike McCarthy, because he used to be the coach for the Packers and according to this fan he was no good. (They didn't actually say he was no good just that Packer fans weren't thrilled with him when he was coach.)

Jared says they're not thrilled either. Jensen replies he thinks he's doing alright this year to which Jared concedes that he is doing good this year. Jensen thinks it was a little bit of a slow burn for them but he's turned around and he's positioned the team well this year.

Jared makes a crappy dad joke so Jensen asks him if they're doing dad jokes already and when Jared answers yes, Jensen literally pulls a dad joke out of his pocket 😂

The joke is: The gingerbread man went to the doctor's complaining of a sore knee. "A sore knee?" The doctor said. "Have you tried icing it?"

Then he hands the piece of paper that has the joke on it to Jared, and at first, Jared thought he was giving him another joke to read then when he saw it wasn't he just re-read it 😆 x

How does Jared think Sam’s character or storyline would have been changed, or been different, if the show had been on somewhere like HBO which doesn't have the regular standards and guidelines?

Jared replies that he has thought about this, he kind of really enjoys that there are guidelines because otherwise- and at this point Jensen quips you get The Boys.

Jared continues, the reason why he likes guidelines is because you have to be more creative within boundaries. It's how he parents these are the guidelines, these are the rules, this is the box you can’t leave, play within it as opposed to just do anything and everything. He says The Boys is amazing but The Boys wouldn’t work on the CW but that’s what it is and you know that’s what it is; he doesn’t know if when they come back he wants to say fuck, it’s going to be a discussion between him and Jensen, and them and whoever else but he doesn’t know there was something magical and universal, and he points out that there were a dozen or more kids running around the previous day at the con than if he and Jensen had been running around naked saying this or the other on the show, it might not translate and hopefully parents wouldn’t show that to their kids but he doesn’t know, he’s happy with the CW. And also because CW let them work through their growing pains they got 15yrs, he thinks anywhere else they would have been dead in the water.

Jensen says that he thinks it would be an elevated gore-like version of SPN. He doesn’t think necessarily more colorful language or more skin because he doesn’t think that would benefit the story necessarily but he thinks what they could and couldn’t show in regards to scare and blood is something they had to temper so he thinks they’d probably elevate that to an extent if they were on a network or a streamer that allowed it to happen where there aren’t standards and practices. But they pushed the envelope, the writers pushed the envelope like he remembers they couldn’t say prick but they could say dick so the writers wrote an entire season with a guy named Dick Roman just so they could hammer that home, and he thinks that was- like Jared said there were ways to try to push the envelope a bit within the parameters that they had to but as a show that was on a broadcast network they probably took a bit more of a risk and took some chances more so than most network shows. And that was exciting for them but he thinks even if there were no parameters, and they were able to do whatever they wanted to, he doesn’t think it’d be that much different because he doesn’t know if it would serve the story as well.

Jared then tries to make a puzzle metaphor saying if the puzzle has no rules is it really a puzzle. To quote Jensen what??? He tries to explain that if somebody gives you 1,000 pieces of a puzzle but anything can go anywhere who gives a shit. I feel like I understand what he's trying to say but it's so badly worded.

Then things take a turn to the strange because this fan is under the impression that Jensen at some point in a previous con said that Dean had a history of sex work as a child........what???? Jensen is baffled, the crowd is baffled, I am baffled.

Jared has to step in and say that he’s speaking for Jensen when he says he’s sure that if Jensen ever said anything like that it was in jest and not as actual backstory for the character.

Jensen then says "Yeah, no 'that's too bad we're a broadcast show I really think he would have done some teenage sex work' Yikes!"

For the sake of clarity, I will add the note that I suggest seeing the moment for yourself because I do fear Jensen's answer could be misinterpreted in the written form but to be clear his answer is that he did not say that and the idea is yikes.

The fan tries to continue and mentions something about Dean and drug use but Jared basically cuts her off by saying 'thank you for your question'. x

Awkward. Moving on.

How do they manage some self-care and love on their mental health?

Jared’s quick answer is he spends a lot of time continuing therapy and trying to better himself, that he had a pretty great session on Friday with his therapist which was great, and even attending cons for example the day prior before he went to the con he went for like a 2hr walk and listened to some music and that was a little piece of peace for him and kind of quiet the brain. For him unfortunately, right now he’s trying to perfect or get better at finding peace when he’s stationary but right now he finds peace when he’s in motion so walking, biking, swimming, whatever so he’s looking to find that inner peace when he’s not moving. He’s working on it though and he knows it can happen.

Jensen says just finding those moments, that for him he doesn’t necessarily have to carve out a specific thing, time, or activity in order to better himself like every morning he gets up and takes his dog for a walk before anybody wakes up at the house. 6am, he’s up and it’s largely before the sun comes up so he’s walking in the dark with the dog and he takes him down the street and he just kinda lets his brain do nothing, looks for the deer, looks for the birds, watches the sun slowly come up, and he doesn’t have to do that he can just wake up when everybody else does and let the dog out he knows how to come back but it’s just a little thing for him that he enjoys doing. And it’s those little things, outside playing with the kids then just standing on the back porch watching them run around and just appreciating those moments when they do arise it calms his brain. That’s what he does. x

What would they most like to be remembered for? Or in other words, if their eulogy could only be three sentences what would they be?

Jensen answers being a light. Jared jokes about being remembered for his big forehead to which Jensen replies, kinda cutely not gonna lie, by pointing to himself and saying "being a light" and then pointing to Jared and saying "being my bounce."

For those like me who don't know what a bounce is, Jared explains that it's a term used in filming when you don't want direct light on someone because it washes them out so you'll shoot direct light at something and bounce it unto the subject. Jensen quips that for 15yrs he never needed bounces cause he just worked opposite of Jared.

Serious answer, Jensen says if he could be remembered as somebody who brought positivity to the world in some way shape, or form and it maybe inspired one person to be a better person, he’d be happy. Jared says that he is and we all know that 🥹

Jared answers that he thinks there’s something really ironic about this situation and that they’re on stage because he realy believes they’re both introverts. Like Jensen's not going out red carpeting every day or asking about the new party he’s home with his family, and his dog, and himself and it's the same with him so trying to kind of dissect why they do what they do, he’d rather mean something to the fans and the people he interacts with than win an Oscar. He doesn’t know the three sentences but hopefully, he would rather have two or three people say he helped them than 30 million people buy a ticket to his concert or something and not really give a shit. Which is something he loves from his journey from Gilmore Girls to SPN to now Walker, and Jensen’s journey, is that they were never plastered on the billboards outside of Times Square or on every talk show so when someone came up they weren’t like 'hey you're that famous person on something can I take a picture?' instead they tell him about watching his shows with people they love and that’s much more meaningful to him than any award from somebody who has never met them.

What Jared says makes Jensen think of how he recently met Cary Elwes, and he shared with him that he had posted a video a few years back of him sitting on the couch with his daughter explaining the story of Princess Bride while they were watching it, and meeting him now he had to tell him how that was such a special memory for him, how he loves that movie, he thinks it’s amazing, his daughter still watches it to this day and he was sure Cary is sick of hearing this and that people tell him Princess Bride stories all the time but Cary was like no, no, no it is the gift that keeps on giving and that in fact on his tombstone it’ll probably read "mostly dead". And if you don't understand that reference go watch Princess Bride right now. Literally, stop reading this post, go watch it, then come back. And if you do understand the reference, go watch it anyway, it's a great movie. x

If they could make a bumper sticker with their parent’s catchphrase on it what would it be?

Jared’s gonna go with his dad cause he had four words that he basically said if you do this you’re gonna be alright: don’t speed, don’t tailgate. So bumper sticker: "Don’t speed, don’t tailgate. You should be okay."

Jensen says he doesn’t know if he has a catchphrase that he probably has more catchphrases than his dad he'd probably be "what are we doing?". Jared suggests "so get this". x

If they had to pick their funniest moment on set what would it be?

Jared says French Mistake is pretty great, that Jensen killed him during Yellow Fever. That he saw an interview with Christina Applegate talking about doing Anchor Man with Will Ferrel and she said that it sucks that the funniest stuff he did is not in the movie because she was laughing so it couldn't be used, and he feels that's a lot of the stuff that he did with Jensen he'd just be laughing.

Jensen says it’s funny in hindsight, and they were laughing at the time, but when Kim Manners pranked them when filming Bugs. Quick version of the story for those that may not know it is that when they were filming Bugs, the scene where the boys have to go down the manhole that was a set piece, there was nowhere to go at the bottom. So they do their take and are waiting to be told they can climb back up when the crew comes over with two 5-gallon buckets of ice water and dump it over them! Everybody on the crew was in on the prank and it was carefully planned out cause Jared was wearing a cast at the time so they made sure he had an appointment to get his cast replaced, and Jensen had gotten a new phone so they made sure it wasn't on him. x

J2 Gold Panel Nashcon '23

#j2 tinhat #non iwtv #mine

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smalls-words · 1 year

Text

Chapter Nine: You Ready to Go to Church?

Summary: Whilst working, Natasha makes a few discoveries about herself. 1 - she's lonely. 2 - people come from all walks of life.

Pairings: Devil!Natasha x Fem!Detective!Reader, Natasha x Wanda, Reader x Steve (exes, co-parents), Yelena x Natasha (sisters).

Warnings: Blood, guns, drugs, death, mourning, therapy. Please let me know if I've missed anything!

A/N: This episode was quite a trek to write but semi-important. I won't be writing every episode of Lucifer for this series but I do seriously recommend watching it.

Series Masterlist

*not my gif*

The partying devil lay flat on the therapist’s couch, explaining the events of last night in great sensual detail. A pizza delivery boy getting his first experience on the job in a lingerie party, the party itself having three Brittanys, or Brittanies if you wish, and drugs, sex and alcohol of course.

“But I didn’t join them. Three Brittanies in a jacuzzi, three! And I didn’t join them.” Natasha grumbled, dressed in one of her more flattering suits that had a black, lace-hemmed corset top beneath her suit jacket, the buttons undone and tempting the doctor on the other side of the coffee table.

“Why do you think you didn’t join them?” Kate asked, sitting up straight in her chair with a neat pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, her raven locks tied back in a bun.

“I don't know, Doctor. That's what I pay you to figure out, isn't it?” Natasha huffed, sitting up.

“Have you ever considered that all of this… excessive partying… may be your attempt to fill a void?” Kate offered. “‘Attempt’? I filled five voids last night.” The devil smirked, folding one knee over the other.

The doctor sighed. “That’s not what I mean.” When Natasha looked at her with a confused expression, Kate further explained. “A void in your emotional life. You sound… lonely, Natasha.”

The redhead almost cocked her head to the side like a confused puppy. “‘Lonely’? Have... have you been listening to a word I've said? I am never alone, I'm constantly surrounded by people, you know? I party whenever I desire, my bed is never cold.” She said with an exasperated sigh.

“Natasha, being alone and being lonely are two entirely different things.”

“Are they?”

“Of course. You may be surrounded by others, but… do you truly consider any of those people your friend? A peer you respect, someone you like to spend time with. Someone… with whom you share a meaningful connection.” Kate softened her voice, seeing how this was new territory for Natasha.

In classic devil nature, Natasha smirked. “Well, you and I connect quite well.”

Kate immediately shut it down. “I'm talking personally. …What about Wanda?”

Natasha’s smirk fell flat. “No. She and I are on the outs, I'm afraid. Long story filled with betrayal. You actually make a cameo in it.”

“How about Detective Valeria? Do you consider her your friend?” The doctor replied, staying calm despite the frustrated woman in front of her.

“Well, quite honestly, I... I'm not sure what we are.” She murmured.

Kate smiled gently. “Why don’t you try finding out?”

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After her therapy session, Natasha made her way back to Lux to enjoy a glass of her newest scotch ordered from Scotland, though it didn’t help that someone was already there. As she walked along the corridor, Wanda came running up the stairs in a strapless dress and thigh-high fishnet stockings. “Natasha? Listen, can we tal-?”

“I don't have time for traitors.” Natasha cut her off, her words almost a hiss.

“Look, I get that you don't want to talk to me. But someone else is here to see you for a favour.”

“Not in the mood, Wanda.”

“Trust me.You don't want to miss this one.”

When Natasha finally looked down at Wanda, there was a flash of demonic happiness in her eyes. Her irises glowed their swirling red, and she gently turned Natasha’s head by her chin to see a man waiting for her in the main club area.

“Be gone.” Natasha muttered to Wanda, a simple wave of her hand before Wanda made herself scarce.

Natasha slowly came down the stairs, tying up her hair whilst she buttoned up her suit jacket. If this was official business, she’d look official for it.

“You wanted to speak with me?” She declared herself known to the man.

As he stood, his bald head and dark skin tone reminded her of someone she knew by blood. He wore a suit, much like her own, though far more formal - and she didn’t wear a clerical collar either.

“Natasha Romanoff. I’m Father Frank Lawrence.” He introduced himself politely, a smooth slick to his baritone voice as he held out his hand to shake.

She didn’t shake it, instead chuckling. “A priest walks into a bar. I've heard this one before. Never seen it, though. At least, not here.”

She dawdled around to the other side of the bar, pouring herself some whiskey since the scotch had yet to be unpacked. “Padre, how did you of all people find me?”

“Don't let the collar fool you.” He gestured to it minutely. “I have friends from all walks of life. And some of these friends tell me you're the woman to see when you run out of options.”

“Ooh, what kind of nasty trouble have you gotten yourself into then? Pinched too much from the collection basket?” She teased.

“I'm here about a neighbourhood youth center.” Father Frank explained.

“Sounds dreadful.” Natasha grumbled, sipping the whiskey.

“It is... especially when you realise it's being used as a front for an illegal drug operation. The center's director, Lenny Arietta, is recruiting kids from my church to move his product.”

She tsked. “Ah, so this is about young boys, of course it is.”

“One in particular. A kid named Connor. He's had it rough. Lost both his parents at six. Bounced from home to home, some juvie. But deep down, a good kid.” He paused and pulled out his cell phone, a picture already loaded once unlocked.

The devil put down her whiskey and studied the image. A white young male, no more than 16 or 17. A blue beanie covered blonde hair, a grey shirt with a skull on it and blue collar hems, whilst he had a black zip-up hoodie with white drawstrings.

“So, diddling this one, are you?” She asked, handing the phone back.

He chuckled dryly, taking the phone back. “How about I not dignify that with an answer, and instead ask my favour?”

“Thank fuck, I was wondering when you'd get to it.” She grumbled, pouring another glass of whiskey.

“I want you to talk to Arietta before Connor gets involved.”

“And why not go to the police? Got something to hide, do you?”

“They were useless. Couldn't find anything on Arietta.”

Natasha felt a bit protective when he said that the police were useless. She knew that if you had been given this case, you would have tried your damned hardest to solve it. She just knew it.

“Why not ask your boss then, hey? The Almighty Himself.” She smirked, pointing at the ceiling but not looking at it.

“I already have.” He answered.

“Oh, no luck?”

“On the contrary - I believe he led me to you.”

She chuckled heartily. “Oh, I highly doubt that. So that's it, is it? Stop a drug ring to help some kid get out of trouble.”

Father Frank sat down as Natasha rounded the bar again, coming closer to him before she grinned lightly. “What's in it for you? What is it you really want? That dirty dark desire I can see you struggling to hold in.”

She watched with glee as her mojo worked on the priest, his eyes glazing over slightly. “What I really want… is to put my fist through Arietta's face.”

“Ha! And there it is. Wrath.” She grinned deviously, pleased with herself. “Ooh, not so high and mighty now, are you?”

“We all have demons inside.” He murmured, like he was shamefully admitting that fact.

She shrugged. “My demon tends the bar. So come on, what else are you hiding? Hypocrites like you always have something.”

“You don't know anything about me.”

“Oh, I know plenty. You and I are natural sworn enemies.”

He sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase - you gonna help me or not?”

“My answer to you, Father, is a big fat no. Handle it yourself.” She said, mocking his title before she walked off. “Wanda?! Are the Brittanies still here?!”

“No - but Valeria called.” Wanda echoed through the halls.

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“You're lucky I don't have any active cases, or else I'd send this to Narcotics.” You grumbled as you walked with Natasha up the ramp of the youth centre, dressed in your black jeans, jacket, a blue-black striped long sleeve with your badge and gun in its holster.

“Narcotics? No, no, no, no. I don't give a damn about the drug dealer. We're here to investigate the priest.” Natasha clarified.

“Priest? I thought we were here to talk to the youth director.” You raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her motive for this case.

“We are. To get dirt on the priest. He must be hiding something. And what better way to stick it to dear old Dad than prove that those who speak on His behalf aren't as virtuous as they pretend to be?” She grinned.

You sighed as you approached the youth director’s office. “You thought it'd be a good idea to rope me into your imaginary family feud? Great.”

“Look, am I mistaken or do you catch bad guys? Now, this priest is up to something. Something nefarious... I can feel it.” Natasha said, looking at the passing children with a slightly disgusted expression.

“Last I checked, your feelings don't count as probable cause.” You remarked, knocking on the double doors to the office.

“Well, isn't the fact that he came to me probable cause enough? Or I could just interrogate this youth director by myself.” Natasha shrugged, knocking the door before you could stop her.

“No, just let me do the talking. Mr. Arietta?” You called through the door, checking the handle to find it locked.

“Hmm. Well, if I were trapped in here with these vile children, I'd lock my door as well.” She smirked. You bent down and looked through the small glass gap of the door, scattered papers littering the floor as well as some knocked over science glassware. But just when you were about to pull away, you spotted a pair of legs lying face down on the floor.

“Back up.” You muttered to Natasha before you raised your foot and kicked in the door, the lock snapping on its way open.

“Well, Detective.” Natasha grinned before following you inside, momentarily staring at your legs and wondering about the strength they held.

“Look.” You said, alarmed at the sight of Arietta’s limp form on the ground.

You knelt down, stunned at the pool of blood by his head, and pressed two fingers to his carotid artery. “He's dead.” You uttered before pulling out your phone and calling it in.

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“M.E. puts the time of Arietta's death between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning.” You said to Natasha as she stood by you, crime techs working the scene methodically.

“Cause was multiple hits with a baseball bat. There are some abrasions on his face, so it looks like he struggled before he died. And I found this.”

“Ooh, what's that?” Natasha cooed like a pirate finding treasure, taking the small device but being careful to keep her fingers on the latex glove around it.

“It's a voice modulator. Hey, can you not do that?” You grumbled as she spoke into it.

“Detective, I am your father.” Her voice came out deeper and incredibly modulated, her chuckle afterwards making you shake your head.

“It's not a toy, Natasha. It could be evidence.”

“Well, I'm impressed. Looks like the priest handled it himself after all.”

“We don't know if the priest did this.”

“Well, maybe you don't.”

“Detective Valeria?” A crime tech called for you at the door just as you were about to get annoyed with Natasha.

You handed off the voice modulator to a crime tech and went to the door, a person waiting for you yet you didn’t wait for Natasha to follow.

“Hey, you're the head counsellor, right?” You said just as Natasha went under the tape.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Eric Doyle.” The man introduced himself, an overweight yet ‘gentle giant’ nature to his stature with a cropped haircut, a grey polo and jeans on whilst a clean watch was clasped on his wrist.

“Any idea who might've done this?” You asked him, folding your arms.

“No. I mean, everyone liked Lenny. He was a good boss.” He replied.

“So, he had no enemies whatsoever, no? Especially any who wear clerical collars?” Natasha snickered lightly at her obvious meaning.

Doyle’s face showed that he recognised the name. “So you know about the priest.”

“Oh, yes.” The devilish woman nodded, excited now that there was another lead in her favour.

“Yeah, that guy's always coming around here and getting into arguments with Lenny. But he's a priest, so… not much I can do about it.”

“Right. Mr. Doyle, where were you between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning?” You questioned, getting on with it.

“Uh... here. In counselling sessions with, uh, Nikki and Connor.”

“Connor? That's the altar boy from the priest's photo.” Natasha murmured.

Behind you, two officers were keeping away two teenagers. As you approached, you relinquished the officers and asked them for their names. Funnily enough, they were Nikki and Connor.

“So, is it, is it true Mr. Arietta's dead?” Connor asked slowly.

“Well, duh, dumbass.” Nikki scoffed, dressed in very emo-esque clothes, particularly the ‘SKATE OR DIE’ on her shirt next to a Dia de Los Muertos skull.

“It is. Yeah. Did you know him well?” You asked, trying to be gentle.

“A little, I guess. He- he- I mean, he ran the place.” Connor shrugged.

“Do you know if Mr. Arietta was involved in any drug activity?”

“Drugs?” Nikki laughed. “I mean, I wish he was. That would've made him more interesting.”

Natasha chuckled. “Okay. Enough about the dead guy. Tell me everything you know about Padre Pederast.” She pointed at Connor.

“Who?”

“Father Frank. Did you see him do this? Do you think he's capable?” She sighed, annoyed at his young teenage boy's mind for not catching up.

“Father Frank? Kill Mr. Arietta? No. No way.”

Nikki scoffed. “What do you mean "no way"? The guy's a creeper and totally obsessed with you.”

“He's just overprotective. Ever since my parents died, he feels like he's got to watch out for me or something. But he's a good guy. He's just a little... just a little annoying.” Connor shrugged.

“See? Annoying.” Natasha looked at you.

“Mm-hmm.” You lazily answered her. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Uh, he... Here this morning.” Connor stuttered.

“Yeah, preacher seemed pretty pissed.” Nikki added.

You sighed, thanking the two before you went with Natasha to the station to look up the preacher, using the devil to help ID him visually.

“That's him. Frank Lawrence. The most evil of people have the most normal names, I've experienced. Beware anyone named Keith.” Natasha warned you, to which you nodded sceptically.

“Well, his criminal record's pretty extensive. assault and battery, disorderly conduct, drug charges.”

“See? Not very priest-like.”

“But nothing in the past ten years.” You added, searching the screen to find a very important document. “Ah, a restraining order filed by Lenny Arietta last week.”

“Ah, well, it's funny how Padre Punchy failed to mention a restraining order.” Natasha snickered. “Please tell me now we have enough to bring this priest down.”

“We have enough to bring him in. You ready to go to church?” You grinned, grabbing your jacket.

“Bringing down a priest is the only reason I ever would.”

“In. Bring him in.”

Natasha rolled her eyes lightly. “Yes, bring him in so we can bring him down. You’re no fun sometimes.”

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In the underground police parking lot, Malcolm stood and waited impatiently for his visitor. “I know you're there. What, are you watching over me? Like my own guardian angel.”

From the shadows, Yelena appeared, expressionless, in a neat blue suit with a white corset top, along with a few simple-banded gold rings on her fingers.

“Yeah. Grumpy guardian angel.” Malcolm mumbled.

“Forgotten about our deal, Malcolm? Because I brought you back from the dead for a single purpose.” She said, her accent making the man uneasy.

“Yeah, about that, I've... been meaning to ask. Why me?”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Why you?”

“Yeah. I mean, uh, I must be something special for you to go to all that trouble.” He grinned.

She chuckled darkly. “Don't flatter yourself. You're simply… in a unique position to do what I need done.”

His ego deflated at her words. “'Cause I'm a cop.”

“That, yeah.” She nodded, circling him. “And because… I know you'll do anything to avoid going back to Hell.”

When she stopped behind him, he stiffened at her breath on his neck. “Now, stop bothering me with these questions and just finish the task I've given you.”

Malcolm stepped forward to get away from her, turning whilst chuckling sheepishly. “Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm already on it, all right? Everything's going according to plan.”

Yelena began to walk away before she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Don't keep me waiting. Patience…” She chuckled. “She is not one of my virtues.”

Malcolm sighed, closing his eyes. “I promise you, I... I got this.” He stuttered because when he opened his eyes…

Yelena was gone.

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“Miss Valeria, Miss Romanoff, surprised to see you again.”

“Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world.” Natasha grinned deviously at the priest.

“Father Frank, when was the last time you saw Lenny Arietta?” You asked him, ignoring Natasha’s jokes.

“This morning.”

“Despite the restraining order.”

“I answer to a higher authority.” He argued slightly.

“Not today you don't.” Natasha sang teasingly.

You gave her one glance and she rolled her eyes, putting her hands in her pockets as she let you question the priest. “What happened when you saw him?”

“We exchanged words. Things got a little heated.”

“What were you fighting about?”

“That altar boy of his, of course.” Natasha chuckled.

You ignored Natasha again. “Why were you fighting over Connor?”

“Because I'm worried that Arietta's gonna pull Connor into his drug ring.” He said, the words suspiciously identical to his last reasoning.

“So, what, you give him a right hook?” Natasha smirked, pointing at his bandaged hand.

Father Frank lowered his head. “Sadly, I did.”

“And then what?” You asked, folding your arms.

“And then I left.”

“Ooh, no, no, no, I think you skipped a part, didn't you?” Natasha chimed in. “You know, the part where you beat him to death with a baseball bat?”

“He's dead?” Father Frank asked, shocked. “Oh, Heavenly Father.” He murmured, painting the cross on his chest.

Natasha rolled her eyes (it seems she likes doing that). “Oh, come on. How gullible do you think we are?”

Father Frank shook his head. “I had troubles with the man, but he didn't deserve to die. And I certainly didn't kill him.”

You sighed, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Can you account for your whereabouts between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning?”

Father Frank thought for a moment. “Uh, I was here. Taking confessions. Mrs. Madison had a lot to say, took up the whole hour.”

Natasha sighed. “By chance, does Mrs. Madison have a limo driver?”

The priest looked at her, confused at how she knew that. “She does.”

“Damn. Just spoke to his alibi.” Natasha said to you.

“You- What?” You muttered.

“The MILF in confession.” She added, pointing to the confession box where a woman stepped out, fixing her ruffled hair and dress as well as her lipstick.

You sighed, poking your finger on the bridge of your nose three times in frustration. “Oh, great. Yeah, as much as I'm sure that followed protocol, I'm still gonna have to question her myself.”

You turned to the priest. “Father, I'm gonna need you to come into the station for a statement.”

After Father Frank collected his jacket and valuables, you and Natasha walked with him outside of the church to your cars. However, your head perked up at the sound of screeching tires, and you spotted a handgun being pointed out of a car window.

“Get down!” You called out, shoving Natasha and Father Frank to the ground before getting down yourself.

A full round unloaded from the gun, a stray bullet hitting the bus stop shelter glass before the driver took off. You jumped up, and though you tried, you could not get a full plate number off of the speeding car.

“And you wonder why I don't go to church.” Natasha sighed, readjusting her suit and corset top.

After three police vehicles turned up and cornered off the church main entrance as a crime scene, you went inside to talk to some people. You sent a crime tech to search the partial of the plate you had, along with the model of the car before finding Natasha by the pews.

“So I spoke to Father Frank's alibi. Checks out. He was in confession with Mrs. Madison from 11:00 to 12:00. He's not our guy.”

Natasha sighed. “Well, maybe she's lying. I mean, you know the sort of people that go to church. Sinners.” She tried to joke, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood.

“Lab results from the voice modulator came back empty. No prints, no DNA. Whoever did this is good.”

“What, so you think this shooting and the youth director's death are connected?”

“We know they have at least one thing in common.” You said calmly, walking up to Father Frank as he sat in the front pew.

“Father, you will be relieved to know that no one was injured.”

“Oh, thank God.” He sighed in relief.

Natasha grumbled. “Please don't.”

You looked sternly at the priest. “Now, Father… this wasn't a random attack. They were shooting at you. But you don't seem surprised. What aren't you telling us?”

He stood whilst pulling out his phone, holding it out and putting it on speaker. “Keep your nose out of our business or else.” A distorted voice came through before the voicemail ended.

“The voice modulator from Arietta's office. You should have gone to the police with this.” You scolded lightly.

“I assumed it was Arietta, and I'm not afraid of him. But if it's The Spider…” Father Frank trailed off.

“Spider?”

“I've heard whispers of another dealer trying to take over Arietta's business. People call him ‘The Spider.’ Scary, violent reputation.”

“Do you know who this Spider is?”

“I don't.”

You studied him for a moment. His eyes couldn’t meet yours and his shaking head showed fear. “You're holding something back, Father. I can tell.”

“I have a confession to make.” He hurried out.

“Finally!” Natasha cheered. “Well, the truth will set you free... isn't that what your beloved book says?”

“I lied when I said Connor was in danger of becoming involved. He already is. Dealing for Arietta.”

“What, that's it? Oh, please don't tell me that's what you've been holding back all this time.” The redhead looked disappointed.

“Wait. If Connor's already in deep, why go to all this trouble to protect him?” You asked.

“He's had it rough. Thinks he can only rely on himself. He's a good kid, Detective. There's still hope for him.”

You shook your head. “Father, you were today's target. We need to worry about your safety first. Do you have a place to stay? We can offer police protection.”

“I'm fine right here. This... is my sanctuary.” He sighed, sitting back down.

“Well, your sanctuary just got shot to high heaven, Padre.” Natasha chuckled. “But if you're looking to lay low, I believe I know just the place.”

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Natasha smirked at Father Frank as he sat in the same booth he met the devil in, strippers dancing in front of them dressed as nuns… initially. They had kept the veils and coifs on, but underneath was nothing but dark red lingerie as they danced to Do Ya Thang Girl by DJ Jubilee.

“Thought this might make you feel more at home, you know.” Natasha smirked at the priest as she sipped on her scotch.

“Sure you did.” Father Frank chuckled.

You walked past the strippers and into the booth, sliding in next to Natasha. “Hey.” You greeted her, to which she gave you a gentle smile.

“Malyshka.” She greeted you back.

“So, partial plates from the shooter's SUV came back with a couple matches. But this is interesting, one of them was recently reported stolen outside the youth center.”

“Oh, so you think someone inside's responsible.”

“I think it's too much of a coincidence not to be, but I ordered traffic cam footage, so hopefully it'll show us who was driving.”

“Hopefully.” Natasha grinned, her eyes falling onto the stripper in front of her.

Your eyes even had a little wander before returning to the task at hand. “Couldn't resist, huh?”

“Well, the man deserves some fun.” The devil grinned.

“Or you still want to prove he's a hypocrite.

“Well, what can I say? Temptation's in my nature.”

Natasha’s eyes fell onto yours and you held her gaze for a moment. In that moment, you felt safe, like being in this lustful partying bar was the safest place on Earth purely because Natasha was there.

“Hmm. And how's that working out for you?” You grinned, looking at Father Frank.

His head was nodding along to the music, his hand tapping on his thigh. Natasha seemed confused by his clear delight at the sensual song. “Padre, does this not bother you?”

“What can I say? I love this song.” Father Frank chuckled.

As the night dragged on, the three of you were having a wonderful time. You even had a drink with them, Natasha ‘accidentally’ making herself sit on your right whilst Father Frank was on your left, keeping you safe.

“You sure you're gonna be okay in here, Father?” You asked, the case coming to the forefront of your mind.

“This? Oh, absolutely. I grew up in places like this.” He excused.

“Oh, I find that hard to believe.” Natasha snickered, sipping on a new whiskey flavour.

He shook his head at her before his posture looked like he was starting a story. “No one's born a priest. Before the cloth, I was just Frank Lawrence, a touring musician.”

“Really? Let me guess... cowbell.” She replied.

“Close. Piano. Good old rock and roll. Opened for Dylan, Bowie, the Stones…”

“The Rolling Stones?”

“Yep. It was a crazy time, let me tell you.” Father Frank chuckled. “I was a lot like you, really.”

As Natasha finished her whiskey, she shook her head with a wry smile. “That's literally impossible.”

“Thought the fun would never stop.” He sighed, a sad expression filling his eyes. “Then, uh…”

“Father, you don't have to…” You murmured, putting a comforting hand on top of his injured hand’s wrist.

“No, no, no, no. Go on.” Natasha interjected.

The priest nodded, giving you a comforting smile. “Car accident. Ten years ago. I was travelling with Connor and his family. Uh, Connor's dad was a drummer, we used to play together. Another car swerved into our lane and, uh… Connor lost both his parents that night.”

Your expression fell into a remorseful one. You couldn’t imagine losing someone like that.

“My daughter was with us, too. She didn't make it, either.”

Let alone your child.

“Thought I'd seen some dark days. Nothing compared to losing my little girl. My heart just... cracked right open.”

His whole body went still. His eyes didn’t blink, his chest barely moved. The memories were as fresh as yesterday’s breakfast for him, even if they were a decade ago.

“That pain…” You muttered, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“Well, you must have been awfully angry at your beloved God.” Natasha said, a slight anger to her tone but not directed at Father Frank.

“I was so... untethered. Lost. Turning to Him is what saved me.” He replied, wearing a fake but gentle smile.

“So... hold on. God stole your spawn and then you decided to worship Him?”

“I can't really explain it, but somehow it made me feel that she was safe. That's when I discovered my faith. The church gave me purpose. It was there that I crossed paths with Connor again. Me, a parent without a child; him, a child without a parent.”

You smiled softly. “You connected with him.”

He nodded. “We might not always understand it, but God has a plan.”

Natasha sighed. “Yes. I know. But why does everybody always think it's a good plan?”

Suddenly, your phone began to ring and you cleared your throat from the emotion that Father Frank’s story had brought up. “Please excuse me, Father.”

He nodded, though you didn’t need his permission, and you left to take the phone call.

“So, can we just go back to this absurd notion that you and I are in any way similar?” Natasha asked.

“You're right. We're not.”

“Thank you!”

“I'm probably a much better piano player than you are.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow before she looked around the club. Her piano was in the centre of the floor but it was too packed and loud for the two. She turned to the human bartender and told him that she’d be upstairs if you needed her.

“Well come on then, Padre. Let’s test your silly theory.” She smirked, leading him up to the penthouse.

Of course, she let Father Frank play first, his fingers dancing over the keys with the practised grace of an experienced player; though, Knocking on Heaven’s Door wasn’t wonderful for her ears.

“D-Do you know anything that doesn't make me want to, you know, impale myself? Like, uh... Something more upbeat. Something a bit, um... I mean, like, uh…” She shrugged, sitting down on the top side of the piano seat.

Immediately, she grinned as a song came to mind, playing a wilder melody of Mess Around by Ray Charles.

“Oh. I think I know what you mean.” Father Frank matched her grin, beginning to play the bottom side of the song in a similar jive and rhythm.

“Something like that?”

“Yeah.” She smirked.

“Okay.”

As they played, Natasha was impressed. “Father has got soul.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet.”

“Oh? Would you like to take the top?”

“Why not? Excuse me.”

As they swiftly swapped places, with Father Frank playing a glissando up the keys whilst Natasha spun around him to sit on the bottom side, she laughed heartily.

Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she was having fun with this soulful priest.

It was then that you appeared in the elevator, though neither of them noticed. You were happily surprised by the sight before you, tapping your finger in your pocket to the rhythm as you came to lean on the bar beside the piano. After a few more seconds of playing, Natasha noticed you out of the corner of her eye and immediately stopped playing.

“Oh.” Father Frank chuckled, looking between the two of you.

“Hi.” Natasha said after clearing her throat, putting her stoic face back on.

“Hi.” You greeted softly, giving her a knowing warm smile as if to say ‘I caught you having fun with the priest, hypocrite’.

Natasha cleared the air with her shrug. “Yeah, well, I suppose that wasn't completely terrible.” She directed at Father Frank.

“Not completely.” He laughed, patting her shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Father Frank's story about The Spider checks out, and I got a lead so we should go.” You said, looking at Natasha.

She nodded and grabbed her jacket, patting Father Frank’s shoulder. “Well, you stay here. You need the practice.”

And the two of you left with the priest’s hearty laugh echoing in the penthouse.

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Upon exit of your car into a hidden skate park, you walked beside Natasha and mentally noted how she scanned the premises. “I talked to Narcotics and one of their CI's said The Spider's rumoured to hang out here.”

“Well, I don't know why you had to bring me along.” She said.

“What, are you anxious to get back to your new friend?” You teased.

She scoffed. “Please. The Devil friends with a priest? That's absurd.”

“It's absurdly adorable. You know, it's okay to admit you like the guy.”

“He's everything that I stand against, Detective.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we get along best with the people we're most different from.” You shrugged.

As you scanned the place, Natasha observed you. You looked tired, a bit frazzled even. when she saw a man looking at your ass, she took a step towards you, glaring at him with the fury of a thousand suns.

If only her eyes were glowing. That would shock him into being a decent member of society.

“Look.” You said, pulling her out of her glare to look through the crowd.

“Oh. Little Miss Sunshine from the youth center.” She chuckling.

“Yeah, Nikki.”

“What's that she's doing?”

You watched her hands move swiftly between people before sighing. “Drug deal. And a smooth one. Maybe she's The Spider.”

“Ooh, black widow, then. Lovely.” Natasha grinned, about to stride forward and confront her but you held her back.

“Wait. She's giving it to someone else.” You muttered, pulling her back.

You pressed up against her chest, trying to minimise your visibility from Nikki. Natasha looked down at you, perplexed, her cheeks a little red as she tried to keep it down.

“To Connor.” You realised, seeing the boy accept the money from Nikki.

Then his eyes fell on you. With fear or rage or something in his eyes, he pulled out a gun and shot into the ceiling, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

“Get down!” You yelled, pulling out your own.

Though the crowd was working against you as you tried to squeeze through a gap between the people rushing out of the fenced skate ramp and the fence itself. You raced through the back door where Nikki and Connor went through, but the alley was empty.

“Gone. Great.” You sighed, putting your gun back in your holster.

“Why was the black widow giving her cash to altar boy?” Natasha asked, checking the alleyway with her glowing eyes as you checked your ringing phone.

“You never want to carry dr*gs and money on you at the same time. Makes you a target.” You opened your phone. “Or because Connor's The Spider.”

Natasha stopped glowing her eyes, satisfied that nobody was nearby, and looked back at you.

“Traffic cam footage.” You showed her your phone, a clear photo of Connor in the driver’s seat with a gun in hand.

“Ah, from the church shooting. So the boy the priest was trying to protect is the one who tried to kill him? Well, isn't that an ironic kick in the cassock?”

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When you returned to Lux, Father Frank was evidently shocked at the news by the way his hands shook whilst he held your tablet in his hands. “This doesn't prove Connor's The Spider.” He said firmly, giving you back the tablet which had Connor’s photos on it.

“It's pretty damning, Father. And it's enough for the APB that just went out. Connor's been declared armed and dangerous.”

“Armed and dangerous? The boy needs to be helped, convinced to turn himself in.”

“Father, he shot at you. He fired into a room full of kids.”

“Yes, but he shot up, didn't he?”

You sighed, knowing he felt for this kid as if he was his son. “We'll do everything we can to bring him in peacefully. I promise you that.”

Father Frank sighed too. “If you'll excuse me, I... need some air.”

Natasha wandered over with three drinks of whiskey in her hands, offering to the priest but denied. She then turned to you, smiling gently. “Drink, malyshka?”

You shook your head. “I have some digging to do. Will you watch over him until I get back?”

“What?” She huffed. “You want me to babysit the priest?”

You smirked as you retreated into the elevator. “I babysit you all the time.”

Natasha mumbled grumpily to herself as she walked towards her balcony, standing right next to Father Frank as he held a cigarette in the other hand.

“Need a light?” She offered.

He chuckled dryly. “No, thanks. Quit years ago. Still enjoy the ritual, though. Always keep one on me.”

She nodded, putting her lighter back in her pocket. “Please tell me you didn't come out here to talk to Him.”

“God? Why not? This is as good a spot as any.”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “Right.” She did pause though, looking at him with curiosity. “Does He, uh... does He ever talk back?”

He was quiet before answering. “I don't need to hear Him to... hear Him. If you know what I mean.”

“Well, yes, He never talks to me, either. Listen, um…” She said to quickly change topics. “Sorry about the altar boy. Surely you know you're not to blame. I mean, some people are just... beyond saving.”

“That's where you're wrong. There's still hope for him.”

She sipped on her drink, giving him a doubtful expression. “He shot up your church, he's most likely running a drug ring behind your back, and, oh, yes, killed a man.”

“I don't believe that.” Father Frank countered.

“Look, what if it's true?”

“Then he needs me even more.”

She scoffed, looking at him like he was a freak. “How can you still have faith in this boy?”

“God has faith in him. In all of us. Even in our darkest moments.”

“Oh, you really believe that.”

“I do.” He answered back quickly. “Why don't you?”

Her face fell stoic once again. “Because He didn't have faith in me.”

“Hmm.I felt that way once, too. But now I know, deep in my heart, God has a plan for me.”

“Oh, His plan for me was quite clear.” She scoffed, glaring at the cloudy sky for a moment.

“How do you know it's finished?” The priest chuckled.

Natasha stood there in silence, pondering his words and views. In her head, it possibly made sense that the plan for her wasn’t over. But the hatred and betrayal in her heart threw that thought into the garbage disposal, hoping that it could be as easily forgotten as it was learned.

“Excuse me. One of my parishioners, uh, a lot of them are still upset about the shooting.” Father Frank held up his phone.

Yeah. Don’t… Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, leaning on the balcony as he entered the elevator to take the phone call.

Pressing the ground button with determination on his face.

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After finding out Father Frank was no longer in Natasha’s custody, you quickly drove to the club and found Natasha.

“Why would he do that? Why would he just run away?” You scoffed, collecting the devil to the bar.

“Wanda, the priest, have you seen him?” Natasha asked the demon at the bar doing stocktake.

“So you're talking to me now?” She said bitterly.

Natasha glanced at you before glaring her glowing eyes at Wanda. “Have you seen him?!”

Wanda relinquished and bowed her head slightly, just enough for Natasha to be pleased and stop glowing her eyes. “He was down here on his phone. Heard him talking to someone named Connor. He left to go meet him.”

“He left? Where to?” You asked, though Wanda ignored you.

“Maybe he's trying to convince Connor to turn himself in.” You said to Natasha.

“No. He's probably trying to hide the little miscreant. Put his faith in God, not the police.” She scoffed.

“Why do you care about a priest?” Wanda sneered.

“I don't.” Natasha bit back, tempted to glow her eyes again.

“Where would he hide him? Where would he hide Connor?” You muttered to yourself.

“Somewhere he considers safe, I assume.” The devil shrugged.

It clicked in your head. “Sanctuary.”

You stormed out to your car, thankful that the valet hadn’t moved it, and jumped into the driver’s seat. You kept your lights and sirens off, and drove quietly along the street to the church.

“Malysh.” Natasha said quietly, trying to steady your shaking hand by putting hers on top. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to get involved with a shooting again? Jimmy did a number on your shoulder.”

You looked over at her briefly before driving, though not moving her hand from yours. “I’ll be okay. I did some extra exercises at the department.”

“Okay.” She said, though still worried.

As you stepped out of the car, you stormed up the stairs and pulled Natasha in behind you. “Behind me, always. You are not getting shot on my watch.”

You leaned in by the window of the front entrance door, seeing Father Frank with his hands in the air, with Connor pointing a gun at him. You snuck in quietly through the door, crouching to the floor so that you were no higher than the pews.

“You don't want to do this. I know you. This isn't you.” Father Frank reasoned with Connor.

“Sorry, I don't have a choice, okay? I have to do this.”

“I get it. You don't think you can rely on anyone else to survive... but you're not alone. I'm here for you, whenever you need me, son.”

“I don't need you! Okay? I don't need anybody!” He said, with a strained tone to his voice.

“Go on, then, shoot the altar boy.” Natasha murmured in your ear. “In the leg or something, obviously.” She added after you shushed her.

“Just do it, Connor. Pull the damn trigger already.” A voice said before a familiar face came from the right side of the church.

“That's Eric Doyle. That's our Spider.” You realised.

“The counsellor.” Natasha muttered.

“You know, Nikki… I trust her. But you? I think you're too attached to this preacher. You're gonna have to show me that you're not.” Doyle spoke to Connor, like a devil on his shoulders.

“No shot from here.” You told Natasha, moving closer to the scene.

“I know you, Connor. That drive-by, you intentionally missed me, didn't you?” Father Frank asked calmly.

“Stop talking. Please.” Connor whimpered, his hand shaking around the gun.

Doyle sighed. “Make him stop talking. It's really easy.”

“You couldn't do it then, and you don't want to do it now. God's giving you a second chance right here.” The priest whispered, trying to coax the boy towards him.

“E-Enough with the sermon, preacher! Connor, just shoot this son-of-a-bitch already.” The Spider huffed.

“Just follow your heart, son. I have faith in you.”

You slowly crept behind the front pew, gun in hand and eyes lasered onto Connor’s gun.

With a few trembling breaths and shaky hands, Connor lowered it and faced Eric. “I can't do it, Doyle. I'm sorry.” He said, dropping the gun.

Doyle sighed. “I'm sorry, too, kid. I can't allow weakness, not when I've just taken control.”

As he pulled out a gun, Father Frank pulled Connor backwards and behind him, stepping in front.

“No!” He yelled as Doyle fired the gun.

Straight into his heart.

You shot Doyle in the stomach, rendering him useless as you kicked away his gun. He wouldn’t die, though he would hurt.

“Hands up. Get down on the ground.” You told Connor, trying to be firm but gentle as he did exactly as you asked.

“Father!” Natasha yelled, rushing to his side. “No, no, no, you idiot! The bloody hell were you thinking?!”

“This is Unit 831 at St. Morgan's Church. We need two ambos, code 4.” You called into your phone, putting the phone down but letting it continue.

“Don't go anywhere, you moron!” Natasha growled at Father Frank, his suit quickly becoming sticky with blood as she put pressure on the front and back of his chest.

“It's okay. I'm not afraid of dying.” Father Frank muttered, spitting out some blood.

“Well, you should be. It's really boring where you're headed.” She said, pulling off her jacket and pressing it against his chest.

“I hope so. I've had enough excitement for one life.” He chuckled.

“Stop talking like that. You've got more to do here. You've got more people to annoy.” She said, her voice becoming shaky.

“Pressure on the wound, Natasha.” You told her, keeping your gun facing Doyle.

“I am!” She growled. “Just come on, Frank, stay with me, stay with me.”

He groaned as she adjusted him in her grip, time ticking by as all they could do was wait for an ambulance. Natasha had no first aid experience, and you didn’t have any equipment necessary for such a wound.

“Oh, uh... at first… I didn't understand why God put you in my path. But then it hit me.” He chuckled, blood spilling onto the cuffs of Natasha’s long sleeve shirt.

“Maybe... He put me in yours.”

“I… highly doubt it. He gave up on me a long time ago.”

“You're wrong, Natasha. Remember… your father... ha-has- has a plan.”

“My father?” She asked, confused.

“Yeah.”

She realised what he meant. “You know?”

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped above the church as she looked at the blood spilling beneath Father Frank. Though when she went to speak to him again, his eyes were in the back of his head, lying limply.

“Frank? Frank!” She yelled, still keeping pressure on the wound.

Though it was futile.

“Frank.” She whispered, lying him down on the ground.

Tears pricked her eyes as she closed his, looking up at the ceiling briefly before her sadness became anger. Frank was a good man, a loving father figure to Connor, but someone preyed on him.

“Natasha…” You murmured, trying to get her attention.

She looked over her shoulder at Doyle, blood seeping into his shirt and zip-up hoodie. “Time to pull the legs off The Spider.” She seethed as she walked over, picked him up and held him two feet off the ground by her hand around his neck.

“Natasha, stop!” You yelled as Doyle choked.

“Why did you do this?”

“I don't know.”

“Why?”

“He was bringing too much heat!”

“Why?! WHY?!”

Doyle’s choking began to grow quiet, his hands weakly scratching at Natasha’s hand on his neck.

Natasha, stop. Father Frank wouldn't want this.” You said, your breath shaky as you saw the scorned woman.

“Stop.”

She yelled out in anguish and let Doyle drop to the floor, not caring for his safety as his legs crumpled beneath him and he gasped for air.

You quickly came to her, holstering your gun as ambulance and police arrived outside. “Natasha…”

Her whole body went still. Her eyes didn’t blink, and her chest barely moved.

You watched her retreat out of the church towards the crime techs, speaking her part of the scene before you did the same. After what seemed like half an hour, you watched Natasha leave the scene in her car, with one of her valets at the wheel.

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Resting at home with Steve on the couch beside you, you turned the TV off and sighed. Steve, I know I wanted to talk, but, um... my mind, it's just…”

“Somewhere else?” He murmured, looking at you with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

He sighed. “Yeah, mine, too.”

“Can we do this another time?” You asked, smiling softly.

“Yeah. No problem, Y/N.” He answered, gently kissing your forehead.

He agreed to stay at the house to watch Peggy whilst you drove to Lux. You had seen the emotion in Natasha’s face, how hard her heart had shattered when Frank died.

As you entered the club, you smiled at the security guards who knew you by memory now. You casually made your way to the elevator, dressed in your work clothes but jacket in hand. As it opened, you smiled gently as the keys to Knocking On Heaven’s Door played from the piano.

You watched her for a moment, listening to how she played. The liquor in her glass told you she’d been there either for a moment or for hours, since there was a bottle beside the glass.

You were tempted to hum along but instead put your jacket down and walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to get her attention.

She immediately stopped playing and looked at you - with every ounce of attention she had.

“Hi.” You said softly, your hair hanging down like a beautiful waterfall for the redhead to admire.

She didn’t know what to say for a little while, but when you sat beside her on the piano chair she spoke. “Bit late for a new case, isn't it?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “I'm not here for a case. I'm here for you.”

“Oh. Really?” She smirked, leaning slightly towards you as she tried to use her mojo.

“Yeah. Thought you could use a friend.” You murmured, gently brushing some hair out of her face with a focused expression before looking at her again.

She exhaled softly before clearing her throat. “Do you play?”

“Mm. No. No, I don't.” You replied with a light smirk.

“Come on, you must know something.” She insisted.

“No. Uh... All right, well... let me see. I had three years of lessons… and this is all I remember.” You said, beginning to play the melody to Heart and Soul.

Natasha laughed heartily. “Surely, you must be joking.”

You stopped, shaking your head at her with a cheeky grin before playing again. To Natasha, you had the funniest little expression of focus, your eyes carefully looking at the keys to remember.

“Alright, then.” She muttered, beginning to play the accompaniment to it.

Through the night, you sipped on her drink and she gladly refilled it when necessary. Fatigued and warm from both the alcohol and Natasha, she took you to her bed and let you rest in it for the night.

“Goodnight, malyshka.” She gently kissed your forehead, heading out to her balcony for a smoke.

She looked out onto the marvellous landscape of the city, lifting her lighter to the end of her cigarette but it would not light. In frustration, she threw the lighter off of the balcony, not caring who or what it hit when it landed.

She glared up at the sky. "You... you cruel, manipulative bastard! Was this all part of Your plan? It's all just a game to You, isn't it? Well, I know punishment, and he did not deserve this." She gestured to her sleeves and the bottom of her shirt, covered in blotches of Father Frank's blood.

"He followed Your stupid rules and it still wasn't fucking good enough! So what does it take to please You? Break Your rules and you fall! Follow them and you still lose?! Doesn't matter whether you're a sinner! Doesn't matter whether you're a saint! Nobody can win, so what's the point?!"

She leaned her elbows on the balcony railing, her head folding down into her chest. "What's the fucking point?"

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As midnight struck across town in a 24/7 diner, Malcolm sat with six plates of food around him and two empty milkshake glasses, another only half-full.

“Enjoying the life I gave you?” Yelena’s deep voice popped up from next to him, giving him a fright.

“Hey... did food taste this good before I died? ‘Cause I don't remember it being this friggin' delicious.” He chuckled, the angel beside him looking him straight in the eye.

“I don't care what you're doing with your new life, Malcolm... except for what I've asked of you. What's taking so long?” She questioned lightly, like she was his friend.

“Come on, come on, chill out, Yelenalady. Here, have some waffles.” He smirked, sliding over a plate of three waffles with strawberries and cream piled on top, though slightly melted.

After a flash of lightning outside, she was whispering right in his ear in a taunting voice. “Do you want to go back, Malcolm? Because I can make that happen.”

She watched the fear in his posture grow, his appetite slowing as he held a burger up to his mouth but didn’t bite it. “Yes… you're remembering it now, aren't you? I bet your 30 seconds in Hell felt like 30 years.”

Her voice became stern. “Imagine what eternity would feel like.”

“I'm sorry. Okay? Sorry. Look… I got it. An untraceable gun. It won't come back to me. I'm ready now.” He stammered out, showing a small pistol that had been removed from evidence, still in its bag.

“Good.” She smiled, patting his shoulder gently.

He cleared his throat. “So who do you want me to kill again?”

“Her name... is Natasha Romanoff.”

#smalls words #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasharomanoff angst #natasharomanoffxyn #natasharomanoff x reader #natasharomanoffimagine #natasharomanoff #devil of my word #domw au #devil!natasha romanoff #detective!reader

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mutsky · 2 months

Text

century of love ep 5&6

-oh now he realizes thats his lover he just had to ALMOST DIE FIRST

-uncle is working with yis sexy dad

-comically large gps letters on the box

-this is so soapy

-into the water

-theres no way the big bad dies half way through this must be the small bad

-what a caring husband didnt know grandpa had it in him

-feeding him? who is this guy?

-i love when the family just peeks from behind a pole or something

-this is NOT the san of the past 4 episodes

-whats with the slow walk in for the doctor

-ah yes him!

-the goddess is playing with my guy

-bc the goddess wanted YAOI

-ohhh in all his dreams huh

-the possessiveness is crazy

-hes looked like this for the past 100 years so

-chu we love you

-lets get chu a girlfriend

-get him again for me

-yeah but fortunately for you san we tend to like bad boys who are mean to us

-loving the arguments

-between chu and the goddess our yaoi plots will prosper AMEN

-poor lead in a 100 dollar designer tshirt

-the looks the doctor is giving san are perfect

-ohhh mr doctor

-thats a shitty piece of art

-the grumpy dinosaur reminding him of his husbandndkdmfdkfmgmf

-do we think chu thought in a million years shed be her great great great grandfathers fag hag going to spy on his husband with him?

-i love how theyre such bad spies theyre in the background of all the photos

-its upside down

-crying theyre all so goofy

-i just realized its a grumpy RAINBOW dinosaur

-since high school?

-nongchai?

-now you wanna be his husband yeah ok

-oh how the tables turn

-whos forcing who into marriage now

-the goddess is working overtime

-look at their little smiles awww

-thats the fakest looking moon ive ever seen

onwards and upwards lads

-mother and daughter bonding activity: fujoing lut

-come on product placement

-grumbling old man... yeah that's true

-ahh youre so cute

-two tickets to an amusement park

-does he know what that is?

-grandpa please! were trying to set you up

-amusement park date classic

-the dinosaur motif is killing me

-what kind of amusement park has perfume making stations

-ok grandpa i didn't know you had game

-two dates with two different men in one day... vee living up to the promiscuous bisexual stereotype

-how did he find him?

-awww poor vee

-well you see

-poor third in every life time he will lose vee

-imagine if hes not actually in there

-ahh hes not

-say it again PLEASEEEEE

-nooooo

-FUCK

-ok grandpa chic outfit

-here he comes with his fag hag great great granddaughter in tow

-i wish dinner and dancing was still a thing

-i wish there was live music in restaurants

-oh so he did hear it all

-that shitty marriage proposal came back to bite huh

-ok redemption

-why would you say that

-100 year old and 25 year old average gay relationship age gap

-scent kink? pitbabe the damage youve done

-very nothing sex scene tbh

-oh

-on the left ring finger too

-mom grandpa please

-to be fair these people know everything every wet dream

-fujoing out yas

-but first a message from our sponsor

-jdent is the gayest toothpaste of all time

-aww so cute and theyre all so happy for him

-oh honey its ok for him

-oh no what does grandma know

-to be fair this guys looked the same for 100 years and hasnt hidden it

-hes had the same haircut for 100 years too

-brooooo look at this fucking shirt and he didnt think he was gay

-the girl looks like grandma woah

-i love how everyone in this show is accepting this bullshit

-grandma and grandson have a crush on the same guy

-is this still the dream?

-she looks so creepy

-cant we have a little longer in the honeymoon damn

this SUCKS

cant have a single good day around here

#century of love #sanvee #daouoffroad

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mimilind · 9 months

Text

A Magical Classmate - Part 4

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2600

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

You wake up with the hangover of the century, and later get to see Drake's apartment. At the end of the semester the class wants to give him a present.

4. The Morning After

You woke up and wished you hadn’t. You must be dying. You were so sick… And why was it so bright?

You feebly tried to cover your eyes with the duvet.

“Here, drink this.” Drake poured liquid from a small bottle into a drinking glass and put it next to you. He was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, not even looking tired.

“What is it?” you mumbled, groaning weakly at the torment of speaking.

“Medicine.”

“Thanks.” You picked it up with trembling fingers and gulped it down. Too late you realized it tasted absolutely vile.

Drake’s lips twitched at your horrified look and he gave you another glass. “This is for the taste. Orange juice.”

You gratefully emptied the second glass as well.

To your surprise your head now felt perfectly clear and the pain had disappeared. “Wow!” You touched your forehead. “I feel good. What was that?”

“An American treatment," he said smoothly. “Very effective. Want breakfast?”

“Yes, please!” Your nausea was gone and you were hungry. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Of course.”

He turned his back when you put your jeans on, for which you were grateful. Your face heated as you thought of how unshyly you had undressed in front of him yesterday, but then you recalled how he had looked when he did the same and felt an excited twinge in the pit of your belly. His ripped body as he finally exposed his biceps and wide shoulders had been bewitching, and the snake tattoo he tried to hide was sexy. You would probably live on the memory of Drake in a sleeveless shirt for quite a while.

After freshening up, you returned to the kitchen where he had spread a classical English breakfast complete with toast, scrambled eggs and baked beans.

“I didn’t know if you wanted tea or coffee so I made both.”

You chose tea and put a small amount of beans and a large amount of eggs on your plate; the beans mostly to be polite. That wasn’t a common breakfast in Sweden.

The china looked expensive and very old, it was silver rimmed with a green leaf pattern, and you suspected the cutlery was real silver too.

An awkward silence fell as you began eating; Drake was probably equally embarrassed over getting so drunk, but at least he hadn’t vomited all over town like you did.

Instead of talking you focused on the food. It was very tasty, even the beans to your surprise. The scrambled eggs were divine and you had two more helpings. “You’re a great chef,” you complimented between mouthfuls.

Drake seemed amused but also pleased over your appetite.

When you munched on a piece of buttery bread you curiously looked around the kitchen. How did he make toast without a toaster? In fact, you saw no appliances at all, and though there was a stove it was so spotlessly clean it looked unused.

The eggs were served from an iron skillet, so perhaps he had fried the bread in that as well? He must have wiped the stove meticulously afterwards.

Now that you had eaten, the curiosity over Drake’s home grew. It was the most old-fashioned place you had seen outside a museum. No wonder he dressed so formally and used a real ink pen if this was how he lived.

You looked out through the large windows and managed to figure out where you were. At the other side of the road was the large Slottsskogen park, which meant this apartment must be near the botanical garden; an expensive area, known for housing many retired doctors and dentists.

You weren’t surprised Drake lived here. He had mentioned old blood yesterday, that he was from an old family. Almost royalty, he had said.

There were bookshelves lining the walls, full of tomes with leather backs in shades of brown and black. An actual concert piano stood in front of them.

”Do you play?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I prefer piano music to the noisy stuff they play at the pub.”

“Can I hear it?” You drew your fingertip along its shiny, black surface.

“Sure.” He sat on the leather stool and began a soft, beautiful piece you vaguely recognized. His long fingers danced over the keys, mesmerizing you. You would never tire of watching his hands.

“That was amazing,” you breathed when he had finished. “What was it?”

“Mozart. And thank you; I’ve practiced a lot. Not much else to do here.”

That was true. Looking around, there was nothing in the apartment to use for entertainment. No TV, no stereo, no computer, no games. There wasn’t even a phone. Just the old books and the piano, and in a corner a pile of dumbbells and gym weights that explained his great physical shape.

A door led into a separate room and you poked your head in. It had shelves with assorted glass bottles with labels written in Drake’s neat hand, and a table with two clean cauldrons and a rack of test tubes. The room looked straight out of a Frankenstein movie, but less cluttered and messy. “So, are you a mad scientist or something?” you joked.

He chuckled. “I like old things. Mouth-blown glass… the plates we used during breakfast. I browse antiques shops for things to add to my… eh, collection.” He picked up a small bottle with the label pepperup potion and swirled its contents.

“That’s where you get the books as well?”

“Mm-hm.” He set the bottle down.

It became quiet again in that same uncomfortable way as before.

When the silence grew too pressing you mumbled: “I guess I should get going then…” Even as you said it, you wished you had an excuse to stay longer, to keep him company – for now that you had seen his home you could also envision him in it, the way he must often be. Alone. Bored. Practicing a piano piece for the hundredth time, doing endless repetitions of weight lifting, memorizing a chemistry book just because.

“Okay. I’ll see you out.”

You nodded morosely.

To your delight he followed you part of the way. It was already noon, a chilly November day, but when walking next to him you didn’t feel the cold at all.

As you went, he asked about you; your family and background, where you went to school.

”Was your school in America?” you returned.

He hesitated before replying. ”No, Britain. I went to a boarding school from the age of eleven.”

“Eleven!” You gave him a sympathetic look. “That must have been lonely. Didn’t you miss your parents a lot?”

“I did.” A shadow passed over his features and he swiftly changed the topic. “What do you remember from yesterday? You were pretty wasted.”

“You were too,” you retorted, face growing hot. “And I wasn’t that drunk. I remember everything.” Except for the brief blackout at the bar which you certainly wouldn’t tell him about.

”Everything?” He sounded disappointed.

”Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone if you won’t. It’s our secret.”

“Hm.” He stopped walking. “I have to return now.”

”No worries.” You hid your disappointment under a forced smile. ”Well, bye then. Thanks for having me over and for the amazing breakfast… Oh, and not to forget the impressive musical performance!”

You gave him a hug – which was the usual way of saying goodbye in your group of friends – but to your surprise he kept holding you, prolonging the hug way beyond normal friendliness.

Thrilled and flustered at the same time, you leaned into him, feeling his strong arms around you. You pressed your face against his chest and let his pleasant perfume fill your nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low, sad voice.

“What for?”

“There is something I must do. And I don’t want to, but I have to… it’s about the things I said yesterday.” He released you, distractedly rubbing his arm. His expression was so reluctant and pained that you wanted to hug him again.

“Okay?”

“If there was a way for you to forget what I mentioned about royalty, and about that… tattoo you saw – then would you?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you said again. Why was he behaving so strangely? You didn’t know what to think.

“But if you could erase it from your memory, would you agree to do so for my sake?”

“Of course. If it means that much to you, why would I refuse?” You tried to smile. “Sadly I can’t, but trust me, I can keep a secret.”

He gently cupped your cheek. “Look at me.”

You nearly stopped breathing as you met his gaze, spellbound by his beautiful eyes. Clear and pale blue, matching the wintry sky.

Then they clouded over with regret, and he murmured a word in a foreign language.

“I have to return now,” he said.

You gave him a brief hug and he returned it.

When you released him, you noticed his expression had become deeply sad. It puzzled you. Was he regretting inviting you over? You hoped things wouldn’t get weird between you from now on.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

He looked away. “I’m fine. Take care.”

“You too.”

You watched him go with a strange feeling in your chest. Like there was something you had lost.

Drake didn’t show up at uni the next day, nor the day after that. You were not the only one who missed him; most in class relied on him to answer questions and help them during labs.

“Perhaps he’s sick,” said Catrine. “Too bad we don’t know where he lives, or we could go cheer him up.”

“I do. I’ve been there,” said you.

The others looked surprised.

Feeling a little smug, you explained that you had followed him home after the party. “It was somewhere near Slottsskogen I think, but I didn’t memorize the address.”

“Ahh, you drank that much, eh?” said Martin with a teasing grin.

That was too close to the truth for comfort. Thinking back, there were a few blanks in your memory both from the walk home and the morning after. “Did not! It was too dark to see when I got there.” And in the morning you had been preoccupied talking to Drake as he followed you out, but you didn’t add that.

“So, what happened?” Catrine moved closer, piercing you with her most quizzical gaze. “I need all the juicy details.”

“So do I.” Martin took the seat at your other side.

Both embarrassed and flattered, you described how nice his apartment had been, with the concert piano, his collection of old glassware and books, and the delicious breakfast he had served.

“Yeah, yeah, but what about the night?” Catrine’s eyes gleamed excitedly. “Did you sleep in his bed?”

“No!” You gave her a shove. “It wasn’t like that at all. I slept on a spare mattress and nothing happened. We’re just friends.” But even as you said it, you thought of how the two of you had danced long after the others left, and how he had seemed so pleased when you called him a nice guy. And you didn’t think you had imagined him checking you out.

You certainly had checked him out. With a flutter of excitement you saw in your mind’s eye how he had looked in the tank top. His fit body, muscular arms… you just wished you could recall what had happened next – whether he had taken off the tank top too, or slept in it – but you must have fallen asleep right after he undressed.

No, you weren’t just friends, at least not where you were concerned.

More days went by and Drake still didn’t return. By now, you were both worried and more than a little guilty. There had been something off about him when you parted – was it something you had said or done that scared him somehow?

But that made no sense. Drake didn’t seem like someone who became afraid easily.

Two weeks later he suddenly turned up again, entering the lecture hall with a rather sheepish expression.

The class greeted him eagerly, with many curious questions about where he had been.

“We thought you were ill,” said Catrine.

“I was, yeah,” he said without looking at her.

You had a strong feeling he made that up on the spot.

“You should have told us so we could bring candy and get-well cards,” she scolded him.

That made him smile and look more like himself. “You would do that?”

“Of course. That’s what friends do.”

His smile widened. “Then next time I will.”

During the day, you soon noticed something had changed in Drake’s behavior towards you. It was subtle, but you felt he kept his distance. Treating you kindly but not more.

Dismayed, you figured you knew why. He must have realized you liked him a little too much and decided to put you in the friend zone.

The next morning you got more bad news: you had failed one of the midterm exams. But in a way you were glad about that, for with the extra studying you wouldn’t have as much time to think bleak thoughts and pine over boys.

You spent the rest of the semester with your nose in the textbook. You told yourself you were over Drake, but it was hard not to throw long glances at him in class or think about him at night. Pondering endlessly over what you did wrong that time.

When there were only a few days left until the Christmas break, Catrine gathered the class at lunch when Drake had gone to his usual restaurant.

“I say, we ought to buy Drake a Christmas present. He’s been so nice and helpful to us all, and I’ve noticed he’s seemed a bit down and distant ever since he was sick. A gift would cheer him up.”

You were surprised; you had thought it was just you he kept away. Had he been like that to everyone? Then maybe his behavior wasn’t your fault at all… That made you feel a lot better.

The others agreed to the plan wholeheartedly. But what would you give him?

You thought about his lonely home that lacked entertainment, and got an idea. “He likes piano music but doesn’t have a CD-player. Maybe we could afford a small one if we all contribute?”

Your suggestion won, and the next day Catrine and you went downtown to buy it. Since you were a big class, the collected money was enough for a whole CD-box of classical music to go with the CD-player.

When it was time to deliver the present, Drake looked both surprised and pleased.

“For me?” He gingerly prodded the wrapping, pulling on a serpentine string and releasing it to bounce back. Then he looked down, coloring. “I didn’t know… I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” you exclaimed earnestly. “You’ve helped us so much. With labs, and saving us from robbery, and…” You didn’t add how he also helped you when you were too drunk to ride a bike.

Clearly a little emotional, he opened the gift. “I love it,” he stated, though you suspected he probably had no idea what a CD-player was or how to use it, the same way it had been with the appliances in chemistry labs.

You showed him how to turn it on and put in a CD.

When the music started, his eyes grew large. “Mozart! My favorite composer. Seriously, this is the best Christmas present I’ve ever got. Thanks a lot, mates!” He turned his gaze to you. “Someone must know me well.”

You knew he understood the gift had been chosen by you, and his warm expression made you fuzzy within.

For the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful there could be something between you after all.

A/N:

Thanks a lot for reading! If you like the fic, I thoroughly appreciate reblogs, likes and comments. xx

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #university setting #fanfiction #fluff #feel good #draco x you #draco malfoy is nice #muggle reader #tom felton #A Magical Classmate #Mimi Lind

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