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wheres-mylove · 10 months

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damsel in distress | sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

Summary: Sihtric arrives in Winchester for Aethelflaed’s wedding, and finds a princess for himself by the way - the bride’s younger sister with a feisty temper and an overpowering desire to break Aethelred's nose. But there’s a little more to the story than just that.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 2.9k

The young warrior stared at the ground, not daring to look his lord in the eye. He had warned him. Everyone had.

“She's gone?” Uhtred asked, trying out a sympathetic tone, realizing it was not the time to mock his friend's misplaced feelings.

“Yes, my lord,” Sihtric confirmed quietly. “The silver too, before you question me about it. Gone with her.”

“No woman, no silver,” Uhtred summarized and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so we're clear, I would have agreed to the marriage. Suffer if you're foolish. But not for too long. You need to find someone decent.”

“We would have named our first son Uhtred, lord,” he said, absentmindedly staring ahead.

“No, you would not,” the older warrior replied, visibly grimacing.

“It doesn't matter now,” Sihtric muttered, earning a comforting pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile from Uhtred.

“Find Finan, we'll meet in the main square.”

Sihtric Kjartansson walked gloomily ahead, pondering why he had such bad luck in life. He took out his anger on a few pebbles scattered on the dusty road. The gods were not too kind when it came to sending him a woman who...

“Sorry, sorry!” He heard a girl's voice behind him and several other irritated grunts or a hushed 'Watch out.' He turned his head slightly and it was a miracle he avoided colliding with a cloaked figure in a visible hurry.

“If you'll excuse me, lord,” the girl quickly spoke, not even bothering to give him a passing glance, squeezing past him and running into a narrow passage between a stable and a nearby dwelling.

Sihtric furrowed his brow and observed the stranger leaning against the wall, anxiously looking towards the main street. With her slightly tilted hood, he was certain she was a young woman, clearly running away from something or someone.

What was he if not a hero?

“My lady,” he began, but faltered at the sight of her angry gaze.

“Are you crazy? Go away,” she snapped, waving her hand at him dismissively. The hood fell back, revealing the girl's face in all its glory.

Sihtric didn't know what to do. The lady was beautiful. But also pissed off.

“God, you idiot,” the girl said with a heavy sigh. Then she grabbed his arm forcefully, pulling him into a dark alley with her and positioning him with his back to the street.

Sihtric still didn't quite understand what was happening. Being pushed around by a mad gorgeous woman was not part of his plans for today. He didn't have any plans at all since the last one ran off with the remnants of his wealth.

“If someone is hiding, they have a reason for it and don't want someone standing in front of them, announcing it to the world,” she scolded him like a disobedient child, and Sihtric felt himself blushing.

“Right. Makes sense. I apologize, my lady,” he stammered, not taking his eyes off her.

She was even more beautiful up close.

“Discreetly look behind you and see if a monk is coming this way,” she instructed him gravely, to which he gave her a half-surprised, half-amused look.

“A monk is leading the chase?”

“Yes, you see, I'm a witch, and I was about to be burned at the stake this afternoon.”

Sihtric chuckled softly, but he complied with her request. He thought the girl was joking, but indeed, a monk was heading their way. Slightly bewildered but definitely annoyed, he was looking around vigilantly.

“Are you really a witch?” Sihtric suddenly asked with a hint of uncertainty.

“I sacrifice boys like you,” she replied without a trace of a smile, but mischievous sparks danced in her eyes. He smirked. “But seriously, you might come in handy. The holy man won't sniff around here for long. Let’s make him look away.”

She threw her arms around his neck, and without hesitation, Sihtric placed his hands on her hips.

Only after a few heartbeats did the absurdity of the situation dawn on him. He stood very close in a dark alley with a girl whose name he didn't know, protecting her from the wrath of a monk.

“But honestly, what about your troubles?” he asked gently.

“Brother Ceolwulf sometimes gives me calligraphy lessons. My father says I scribble rather terribly. I ran away to avoid that pleasure. And apparently, Lord Aethelred is due to arrive soon,” she almost spat the name as if it left a foul taste. “Maybe I'll go see that prick. Quite a commotion over a simple farce.”

“You don't fancy lords from Mercia and royal weddings, my lady?”

The girl didn't answer; instead, she scrutinized Sihtric intently. He felt a wave of embarrassment under the piercing gaze of her sharp eyes.

“And what business does a Dane have here?” she asked after a while, smiling slightly at the sight of his blush. Brother Ceolwulf flashed behind Sihtric, so she tightened her grip and rested her head on his chest. The warrior held his breath. A stream of muffled words reached him. “No, no, you can talk; that rascal is just behind you. You could also use a bath, you know? Great, he went searching on the other side. You could also tell me your name, for the sake of appearances and decency.”

“I'm Sihtric, lady,” he said with a laugh, which (Y/N) not only heard but also felt. “Together with my lord Uhtred, we arrived…”

“Uhtred?” the girl interrupted, raising her head with surprise. “You serve Uhtred?”

“Do you know him?” Sihtric tilted his head, intrigued.

“Oh, I'm in trouble,” she said barely audible, more to herself than to him. “I have to go. I apologize for the assault.”

She took a few steps back before Sihtric panicked. He didn't know her name. He didn't know where to find her. And he definitely wanted to see her again.

“What's your name, lady?” he called after her, but she had already blended into the crowd heading to the main square. He wasn't sure if she had gone to greet Aethelred. Even if she had, he wouldn't find her in that mass.

Brother Ceolwulf came to the same conclusion. The reprimand for the princess of Wessex would have to wait.

The delicate fabric of her blue dress fluttered with each touch of the wind as she gracefully crossed the courtyard. They strolled towards the main hall.

“I only have two options: jump out the window or become a nun,” Princess (Y/N) announced in a calm manner.

“Only jump out the window, my dear,” Father Beocca specified. “Nuns would chase you with crosses and torches in their hands.”

(Y/N) looked at the priest. He had an amused expression. And a soft spot for the princess. According to Alfred's commands, he shouldn't tolerate certain behaviors and opinions. But how dull it would be if he asked her to stifle her carefreeness and restrain her sharp tongue.

“I was just praying a moment ago.”

“Yes, with the intention of our heavenly father making your sister run away from the altar.”

Aethelflaed didn't run away from the altar. She paid no mind to her sister's efforts, who, with sheer willpower, tried to steer her away from it. (Y/N) saw that the bride was enchanted by her groom, and she wanted nothing but all the happiness this world could fit for her. But something in the back of her mind warned her about Aethelred. An unbearable premonition. She blinked a few times, telling herself that she simply didn't consider any man worthy of her dearest sister's hand.

She scanned the gathered guests with her gaze. At the back of the hall, she spotted Uhtred. She nodded at him slightly. He raised an eyebrow with a smile. They had last seen each other when she was a little girl and kicked him in the leg. She wondered if he still limps.

And then she noticed Sihtric.

The warrior paled the moment he saw her standing side by side with the king.

His stranger. The king's daughter. The princess.

Only he could have such damn luck.

“It's her. The girl I told you about. It's her!” He nudged Finan's arm, to which the latter chuckled.

“Sure. Your whole story sounds shady already. Don't involve noble families in it.”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“I believe ya. Yesterday, for example, when little ol’ me was drinking beer with king Alfred…”

Sihtric sighed, but he didn't try to convince his friend anymore. He didn't register the entrance of the bride or a word spoken during the ceremony, and especially not Finan's mocking. His eyes were fixed on the princess in the blue gown. He held his breath when she finally looked at him. She smiled faintly but immediately averted her gaze, with a violent blush on her cheeks.

Sihtric Kjartansson felt his heart beat stronger.

Uhtred embraced the princess with laughter, still wondering how she had transformed so quickly from a snotty child into a breathtaking woman.

Sihtric paid special attention to that breathtaking part, as he was having trouble with that.

“The older you get, the uglier you become. Good to see you, Uhtred,” she greeted him politely. The man snorted and gestured towards his companions.

“Princess (Y/N), these are my friends…”

“Sihtric,” she greeted, bowing her head. He smiled widely, and Finan's jaw dropped, before he realized he should probably bow too. The idiot wasn't lying. Unbelievable.

“Do you know each other?” Uhtred furrowed his brow, looking at the young Dane, then at the princess. “Is there something I don't know?”

“Yes, we've been secret lovers for the past year,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Sihtric's face took on various shades of red, much to Finan's delight.

“You haven't changed at all,” Uhtred commented with a wave of his hand.

“I would be more at ease if this reception wasn't so dull,” she said, wistfully glancing at the cup in Uhtred's hand. “Is he watching?”

Uhtred glanced at the king and nodded. (Y/N) groaned.

“So, after Edward, it's your turn?” Uhtred inquired, earning himself a murderous glance from the princess.

“He'll probably be a twat or at least hundred years old,” she grumbled in disappointment. “Beocca presented me with a list of potential candidates. About each one, he says they are pious, as if I were looking for a personal priest and not a husband. Why can't he say that one of them is kind? Wise? Or handsome.”

She shifted her gaze to Sihtric and smiled mischieviously.

“We only hope to be invited to your wedding, Princess,” Finan laughed, observing his friend's bashful demeanor. "I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he'll be no older than ninety-nine.”

“That's kind of you. By the way, Sihtric, did you take that bath-”

“Princess!” Father Beocca called out as he passed by. “Maybe nunnery isn't the worst idea.”

Humorous remarks and a grin froze on her lips when (Y/N) looked into her sister's eyes. The food tray nearly slipped from her hands.

Aethelflaed didn't have to say anything. She didn't have to scream or complain about her misfortune. (Y/N) understood everything from that one look and felt the unpleasant sting of tears.

“I will kill him,” she declared forcefully, slamming the tray onto the wooden table with a loud bang. “I will kill that arse.”

“(Y/N), please...” Aethelflaed whispered. “It won't do any good. And I am capable of handling it myself.”

“You shouldn't even say that,” her sister protested, getting closer and gently placing her hands on Aethelflaed's cheeks. They were wet. “It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright.”

She planted a kiss on the top of her head and headed towards the door.

“Don't tell anyone, (Y/N). Especially not father,” she begged, getting up.

“I'll only speak to those who already know,” (Y/N) replied, barely containing her anger towards Aethelflaed's pathetic husband. “You're the Princess of Wessex, for God's sake. You're his woman, and he shouldn't treat you like this. He won't have a cock if he lays a hand on you again, trust me.”

“You'll get into trouble, (Y/N),” Aethelflaed warned, shaking her head nervously. “He can hurt you as well-”

The princess didn't listen, for she had already left the chamber. Blind rage consumed her, but so did a sadness so great that it was even more dangerous than her anger. She knew there was something wrong with him. She shouldn't have allowed this marriage to happen.

She should have protected her sister.

Aethelred appeared just in time. He strode down the corridor, his posture straight, absentmindedly trailing his hand along one of the tapestries.

“Lord Aethelred,” she snarled, making no effort to be polite. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

The man turned slowly, bestowing upon her the sweetest and most deceitful smile.

“Little princess.”

(Y/N) tried to calm herself, but she wasn't making much progress.

“Let's get to the point,” she hissed, finally getting Aethelred to reveal his true face from behind the mask he wore daily at the royal court. “I saw my sister and the state she's in. I will not tolerate such insolence or cruelty. Who do you think you are? Hurt her again and I...”

That pile of shit started laughing.

“Terrifying is the barking of an angry bitch.” He took a few lazy steps in her direction. “I almost pissed myself in fear.”

“And you should, because I promise that...”

Aethelred rushed forward, pressing her against the wall with a hand around her throat.

“Well, what? What will you do? Maybe you'll switch places with her to spice up this tedious life of mine a little bit."

Sihtric wandered through the palace, looking for lord Uhtred his excuse, but in reality he hoped for an encounter with the princess. They were about to head out from Winchester soon. Leaving without saying goodbye was not something he wanted.

He found them just in time as (Y/N) pushed Aethelred back with all her might and punched him in the face. They all heard the unmistakable crunching sound.

Lord of Mercia was trying to regain his balance, clinging to his bloody face in shock.

“You whore,” he snapped, but Sihtric was already nearby, placing his hand warningly on the axe.

“Hope I misheard something,” he said to Aethelred, voice dripping with venom, and then looked at the princess. “Are you alright?”

“She broke my nose, of course she’s fine,” the man snorted, trying to stop the flow of blood. “You will answer for it. Just wait. And your heathen friends won’t rush to your rescue, I assure you.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, holding on to the fist that struck Aethelred. She watched him leave with an absent look in her eyes, and then as if she finally registered Sihtric's presence.

If he had come a few moments earlier, he'd surely fling himself at that arsehole in her defense. But it turns out she was perfectly able to fight back. Sihtric felt a sudden surge of admiration and respect for the princess in a beautifully embroidered dress, who did not hesitate to throw a punch.

“Are you sure he didn’t do anything to you? Shall I go after him?” he asked, but instead of answering, (Y/N) slid slowly down the wall. Sihtric crouched beside her, worried as never before. He gently held the injured hand. He raised her bruised knuckles to his lips, but left only the ghost of touch on them. “Princess?”

“He hurt her,” (Y/N) sobbed helplessly. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but she had a feeling Sihtric would know how to keep a secret. “He hurt her and he will hurt her again, and there’s nothing I can do. He will hide behind his title, behind his lands, wealth and nobility. He was right. I can't do anything."

She was shaken by a wave of tears, and Sihtric instinctively embraced her with one arm and supported the back of her head with the other. She cried there on the cold floor, in the arms of a warrior who couldn't stand the sight.

He knew what was going on. And his heart ached at the thought.

“You were very brave,” he whispered, letting her lean on his chest. “Others would look away. You confronted him. You are a brave, brave girl.”

He kept saying it like a mantra, holding her in his arms until the crying subsided. He wiped the tears from her face with the thumb of his hand when she finally lifted her head.

“I won’t run away from that either,” she whispered in a faint voice. Sihtric raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture. “I can laugh about it and put it off, but I’m just a woman with a cursed title before my name. They'll hand me over to a man I won't choose. And he will have the right to violence as soon as we tie the knot.”

Sihtric shook his head. This fate wasn’t meant for her. There was strength and courage in this lady’s heart that demanded freedom. And demanded love, the wild and untamed kind.

“It can not be like that. I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t have much power in this matter, Sihtric. You don’t make the rules.”

“Let me decide for myself.”

He looked into the eyes of the princess and knew that the battle he would have to face was beyond his means. The only witnesses to this promise were the faces on the ancient tapestries. Men's faces behind unbreakable laws, traditions and customs.

But Sihtric Kjartansson was a warrior. And if there’s one thing that warriors can do, they can fight.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #sihtric fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x reader #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfiction #sihtric imagine

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

Note

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #mihawk x reader #smut

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bizaar · 9 months

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 14

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: fluff, allusions to sex/sexual content, swearing, slight angst (Edward J. Munson continues to be the most dramatic person on the planet) mentions of Barb's death/violence

a.n.: this was a much longer chapter that I had to split up for the sake of my sanity - taglist continues to be broken, sorry chat! if you would like to stay updated you should probably just follow me at this point because we're seriously almost done here

It takes you much longer to make it back to the trailer than it had to leave it behind, simply because Eddie can’t stop himself from pulling you close every couple of steps to kiss you again. Long, sloven presses of lips and swiping tongues begging for passage between your mouths. It’s all teeth and ragged breath and soft touches and the honest-to-God biblical revival of unchecked teenage hormones.

You have to get back, this he knows very well, but now that he’s got you back, he just can’t stop loving on you. Kissing you has always been too easy - as natural as breathing, and you’re such a receptive lover – always have been, from the very start.

And it’s not like you’re doing much to stop him, giggling and pushing against his chest without any real intention of separating yourself from him. Breathless insistences of “we really need to get back” that don’t mean anything at all when you’re fisting your hands in his jacket and pulling him right back to you for another round.

Not that Eddie’s complaining. He’s too busy fighting the overwhelming urge to bend you over right here in the underbrush.

The only thing really stopping him from popping the button of your jeans and wrestling you out of them is the nagging threat of his inner voice reminding him what a patently bad idea that is, because “that’s how you get killed in a horror movie”.

It’s the only reliable basis of logic anymore. As far as Eddie is concerned, over the course of a very short week, his life has inexplicably devolved into the plot of a bad horror movie, which, in this scenario, regrettably makes you the horny couple who gets slaughtered whilst bunnyfucking out in the woods.

As appealing as that sounds, he’s not about to let that happen.

Because you hate a cliche and you have to get back, for reasons that are extremely hard to rationalize when you’re pressed up against him and making all those pretty little sounds.

Eddie casually catches your southbound hands before they can find their way to his belt buckle and expertly replaces them on his shoulders, tut-tutting the way you whine out your displeasure with the move.

Bad girl, he thinks, Needy girl.

It’s the honeymoon phase and then some, a speedrun of that long expanse of ooey—gooey fairytale bliss that sees the both of you unable to keep your hands off of each other. Only this time around it’s not the halls and alcoves of Hawkins High witnessing your very public displays of affection, but the trees and the whirling cosmos and everything beyond that Carl Sagan ever promised – it’s super fucking romantic.

You spent the duration of the not-so-long walk back making your own, much more tangible promises.

“I love you,” You tell him for what must be the hundredth time, eager to make up for lost time.

“I know,” Eddie assures you, cradling your face and ducking down for the next in a long line of all the kisses he owes you for every time you say it. “But we gotta go.” he says against your lips, “Harrington’s gonna be pissed.”

You whine pathetically. It’s a muffled sound that Eddie feels more than he hears.

Normally that would have been enough to sway him considering you’re usually the one with the functioning brain, and he’s the raging pit of electric hormones,

Still, hearing you all needy like that tends to cause the rational part of Eddie’s brain to shut off. Many occasions of you pawing at him just like that have ended with a thick and wanton utterance of “aw hell” that sees Eddie throwing caution —and very often, your panties— to the wind.

But this is neither the time nor the place (though more the former than the latter, because it would not be the first time you’d gotten your rocks off out in the woods – horny teens don’t tend to make smart decisions about location when the mood strikes them that hard).

Still, one of you has got to retain some of your faculties, because you really do need to get back, despite the way his lizard brain doth protest.

Get back? Where? Harrington who? What’s he so goddamn pissed about and who even cares?

“More,” You plead, and you always get what you want with him.

“Okay,” Eddie says, lips clicking with a lewd, wet smack when he parts with you, “One more for the road.”

He didn’t need to even give you that kind of permission, because you’re already chasing him again the second he parts from you.

“Okay,” You hum, snaking your arms up around his neck and pressing yourself bodily against him, backing him into the tree he hadn’t realized was behind him until the bark is digging painfully into his spine.

He doesn’t care, not when you’re rubbing up against him like that.

You’re both so unbearably gross and horror movie logic be damned, Eddie just can’t help himself.

“Maybe just one more.” He hums, hand snaking unwisely up the back of your shirt to twist at the clasp of your bra.

“Okay,” You sigh into his mouth.

When you finally make it back to the park, stealing across the grounds hand in hand, all smiles and giggles and clothes pulled out of shape like kids stumbling home well past curfew, Steve is indeed raging.

He’s there to whip the door open and bathe you in the accusing orange glow of incandescent light that has you balking as you come clambering up the steps. His looming, perfectly coiffed figure is almost comedic, backlit in the doorway with his hands on his hips, literally tapping his foot, and he’s quick to lay into you like he thought he was your goddamn father or something – not Eddie’s father, of course, which would have been an arguably terrifying turn of events, and not even much like your father, who Eddie has still never met, and at this point is not entirely sure he ever will.

He’s not even sure your parents really know he exists outside of general rumor – they certainly don’t know what he does with their daughter out in the woods, considering they barely acknowledge the fact that you exist.

That’s fine by him, it just means he gets you all to himself.

Steve grabs you by the elbow and yanks you over the threshold and back into the warm, cozy embrace of home – what good is a house when you’re all the home Eddie needs – already halfway through a lecture about how you’ve been gone “way longer than ten minutes” and demanding to know “what the hell took you so goddamn long” because, in case you haven’t noticed, the fate of the world is oh so casually resting on your collective shoulders.

Not that any of that currently matters, Eddie isn’t listening. He’s completely blissed out, far too busy watching with wrapt attention as you pull your pretty pink, kiss-bitten lips in past your teeth in a miserable attempt at trying not to smile while Steve goes blue in the face.

It’s so unbearably You, though he thinks perhaps only as a result of him rubbing off on you in the worst way – or in the best way, who can say? – giggling in the middle of a dressing down, really playing into the hand you’ve been dealt.

Christ, you’re adorable … and you love him.

You love him you love him you love him – and he loves you, he should tell you - no, he needs to tell you…

It takes every bit of Eddie’s limited capacity for self-control not to seize you and drag you right back to him. He’s not finished loving on you just yet – he quietly hopes that there will never come a time when he’s ever finished.

He’s never been the type to give a second thought to laying a big sloppy kiss on you in front of whoever the fuck happens to be watching, but he knows how public displays of affection make you uncomfortable and he’s not so love-drunk that he can’t respect your boundaries.

He cannot, however, stop smiling. He knows he’s got to look a goddamn fool, grinning ear to ear like the fate of the world and all their lives don’t hang in the balance — his face is starting to hurt.

He hasn’t realized how he’s missed that until now, the cramping of his facial muscles against something he’s powerless to resist.

There’s an entire conversation going on in front of him without his knowledge – he couldn’t repeat a word anyone has said in the past five minutes if someone put a gun to his head, but he could talk endlessly about all the soft little noises you’d been making only a short while back.

He could go on about those for days, write tomes of essays and sonnets waxing poetic about them, but the loud shouting voice of Dustin returning to the room from whatever odd corner of the trailer he’d been hiding in cuts the lecture thankfully short.

“There you are!” He squawks, stomping out from the hall.

He’s standing there looking suddenly very small dressed in an overlarge grey sweatshirt and the deconstructed pieces of the Gilley suit someone had thought to grab from the War Zone. It is his carefully selected uniform for bat-tle, as he’d put it back in the field – you’d booed and hissed at the audacity of such a terrible pun, much to Henderson’s patent chagrin.

“Do you have any idea how long you two were gone? We were worried sick!” He squawks.

“Now, where have I heard that before?” You hum, casting a sly, sidelong glance in Eddie’s direction before squeezing past Dustin to disappear down the hall toward the bathroom so you can wash the woods off of you.

“You know your shirt’s on inside out,” Dustin calls moodily after you. “And backwards,”

You ignore him.

Eddie watches you go and gets a little lost in the familiar swaying of your gait. Suddenly he’s back at school, watching you skip away down the hall toward your next class, the tantalizing promise of later hanging in the air. You glance back at him and smile sweetly, and he’s instantly shot full of holes.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

“Eddie!” Dustin grouses, drawing him back to the close quarters and warm, incandescent glow of his living room — and he realizes, once again, he’s missed every word of the boy’s outraged spiel, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure am.” Eddie lies.

Dustin narrows his eyes.

“Then what did I just say?”

He shrugs and shoves past him as he spies the carefully folded pile of items from the jaunt to the army surplus store, though more specifically one decidedly metal bandolier sitting in a burnished brass pile on the dining table.

It sets Eddie’s magpie brain to fluttering and he’s reaching for it before he’s even realized he’s moved.

“No idea,” Eddie says good-naturedly, clapping a hand fondly down on the top of Dustin’s head as he passes him by.

He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, turning to follow as he saunters across the room.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dustin demands.

“Not a thing, Henderson,” He assures him, electing to snatch the belt up rather than confess the undying overwhelming vice of puppy love he’s gripped in.

He turns the thing over in his hands, eyeing it with great interest - it’s just about the coolest damn thing he’s ever seen.

"You sure about that?"

"Hundred percent," Eddie says, "Everything's just fine."

After that, it’s twenty-five minutes or so of finishing touches before Eddie slinks off to his bedroom.

Everyone has armed themselves in some kind of battle garb, armor picked up from the War Zone for the impending task, but nobody had thought to grab anything for you. It hadn’t even crossed their mind because back then you didn’t need any sort of protection, not while the most you’d been expected to do was stand watch in the living room for any curious onlookers come to peek in on the murder scene at the Munson residence.

Now, with such a daunting task ahead of you, Eddie knows you’re going to need all the help you can get. So he upends his dresser drawers, looking for something — anything that might put some kind of a barrier between you and the flurry of teeth and claws that await you.

Steve’s already returned the battle vest, decidedly worse for wear but not bad enough to be decommissioned, and Eddie fully intends to swathe you in it. It’s not much, but it’s better than the same torn jeans and old t-shirt you’ve been wearing for the last three days. It’s something, at least,

His room is dark compared to the rest of the trailer. It hadn’t seemed like a smart thing to go flipping on any more lights, on the off chance that someone noticed and decided to come snooping. He doesn’t mind much, considering his aversion to flipping on the overhead light in the first place – Eddie much prefers the ambiance of the table lamp, and he is well-practiced in navigating the dimly lit space

The front room is abuzz with noise and ambivalent movement. Voices filter in and out and saturate the room in the warm glow of company, the aural equivalent of the incandescent bulbs burning overhead.

It reminds Eddie of something he has only felt very few times in his life: what it feels like to belong, to be a part of something, even if that something is nothing more than camaraderie forged in the face of impending doom. Somehow he can’t find it in him to be worried about it, not while he’s among friends.

The mere thought of the word brings a bitter scoff rising up from the deepest part of his chest, and he has to work very hard to swallow it back down again.

It’s what gets him more than anything, more than the danger of the Upsidedown or the armed hicks crawling the streets, hungry for his blood – it’s that after everything he’s been through over the past few days, suddenly he’s back home and (relatively) safe, because of his friends.

Not Gareth or Jeff or Adam or even Wayne, but astoundingly thanks to Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, and Dustin (less baffling but still bizarre) —his strange collection of new friends, who put their lives and reputations on the line to find him and bring him back from the precipice, despite barely knowing him.

It’s more than a little jarring, and Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about it.

Whatever the feeling is, it’s largely a positive thing. He’s glad they’re all here – and it goes without saying that he’s glad you’re here.

He’d say it anyway.

He’s glad you’re here when you have every reason not to be, but you’d promised that you loved him even when you hated him, which actually might have hurt his feelings if he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to hear it.

Without you, he’s not sure he would have such a strange new group of friends rallying around him, embracing him.

And maybe that’s not a fair assumption. Maybe Dustin had more of a hand in facilitating his rescue than he’s accounting for— credit where credit is due and all that — but Eddie will be the first to admit that he’s totally and completely biased. You’re far and beyond his favorite person here, and he’s not shy about admitting that.

The thing he really hates to admit, however, is that he’s glad you’re coming with them to the other side – which seems stupid.

He was being smarter when he was angry that you were crazy enough to go volunteering yourself to play the bait, but hadn’t he spent the duration of the last jaunt to the Upsidedown bombarding you with psychic postcards? Wish you were here doesn’t even begin to cut it.

He almost forgets to care about how aggressively he’d rejected the idea of you putting your life on the line only a few hours ago because when it came down to it, that’s what it took to win back your love.

Not that he ever really lost it in the first place (and not that he actually knew that) but Boy Howdy hadn’t you done your utmost to tow that line and make him work for it?

If only Eddie had known it would be that easy – it wasn’t easy, it was the worst suffering he’s ever experienced – he wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep you from running headlong into peril.

More than that, if he had any idea of what the two of you were going to get up to on your walk back through the woods, he would have thrown you to the wolves and jumped right in after you.

Maybe not, but the sentiment feels dramatic and appropriate for the status quo as it currently stands.

Danger, it seems, has become his new middle name. Or maybe it’s yours, considering you’re the one who keeps getting him into these situations … except that’s only true because Eddie initially dragged you into all this, so maybe the name belongs to the both of you.

Maybe you married into the name and now you’re Mr. and Mrs. Danger.

It’s a stupid thought, and it makes him laugh.

Snickering to himself in the dark, Eddie upends the last of his drawers and makes a mental note to tell you that joke after all this — if either of you survives this, that is.

It’s a dismal thought that makes quick work of chasing away any sense of the levity he’d felt moments before.

Once he’s satisfied with the excavation of everything he owns, Eddie lays out a series of choices across the stark bed: the first-generation Hellfire shirt, the black one with the short sleeves and white collar, a grey Hawkin’s Phys. Ed shirt with “Munson” scrawled across the nameplate in obnoxiously large print (his old gym clothes), and a super faded Misfits tee he’s had for years and years.

None of them are particularly significant, only that they are some of the only clean articles of clothing he could find, and he wants you to have options.

He wouldn’t presume to make the decision for you, because somehow this feels important, as silly as that seems. You deserve to choose what kind of armor you’re going to wear to herald the doom they bring to Vecna.

Eddie finds you in the kitchen with Steve, running through a series of stretches, learning tips and tricks on how to breathe so as best to oxygenate your muscles, and having the very basics of general athleticism explained to you.

It’s a lifetime of athletics boiled down to a five-minute lecture – Eddie only catches the tail end of it, but it’s riveting stuff.

“The worst thing you can do when you’re running hard like that for distance is start to hyperventilate – you know, gasping for air,” Steve tells you, and Eddie half expects you to roll your eyes and make some snappy remark about being molly-coddled like that, but oddly enough all you do is nod.

For once, you’ve got nothing snide to say – remarkably, Steve has your undivided attention, and even he seems a little unsure of what to do with it as he continues.

“If you start in with that, you won’t be able to catch your breath and you’re gonna pass out.” He says matter-of-factly, “If you pass out, you’re dead, you got that? That’s worse than a worst-case scenario, that’s a game over.”

“Yikes,” Eddie can’t help himself from saying, summarily drawing your attention.

In the span of a microsecond, you go from serious as a heart attack and nodding like your life depends on it – which it very likely does – to dopey grinning, staring wistfully up at him with honest-to-god heart eyes.

Eddie wonders if you and Steve can hear his heart beating against his ribcage.

Just like that, the lesson is over, because now that Eddie is here, Steve is never going to get your attention back.

“Sorry to butt in,” He says tentatively, curling his hands around your shoulders, “D’you mind if I borrow Barry Allen here for a second?”

Steve levels him with a blank if not highly irritable look as the reference sails clear over his head.

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball. Has apparently never heard of The Flash.

You, thankfully, are not so hopelessly ignorant.

“Nerd.” You scoff, shoving Eddie playfully – then you notice the thousand-yard stare gracing Steve’s features, and you’re quick to explain, “Barry Allen is–”

“I don’t care.” He says – it doesn’t feel mean so much as deeply uninterested, “Just try to remember what I told you.”

“Sure. Don’t pass out.” You say with a lopsided shrug.

“Exactly. And no more sneaking off.” Eddie can’t help but get the sense that the second part is more for him than you, especially with the knowing look Steve gives him.

He just can’t help but tease him a little.

“No need,” Eddie says, curling his arms around you and jerking his head back down the hall. “Bedroom’s right back there, Big Boy — care to join us?”

“Oh, gross—”

“For the love of…”

Steve rolls his eyes and breathes the beginnings of a long-suffering sigh – Eddie is quick to let him off the hook.

“I’m kidding.” He assures the both of you.

You shove your way out of his arms and Steve shakes his head, in a clear attempt at trying to mask how visibly relieved he is to hear it.

“Yeah well, who can ever tell with you two,” he says, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder before turning his attention to all the other hundreds of little preparations that still need to be made.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You call indignantly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies, “Your shirt’s on backwards, by the way.”

After that, it takes no effort at all for Eddie to coax you down the hall. Back in the relative dark of his bedroom, you choose the Hawkins Phys. Ed shirt graffitied with his name, and he can’t help but puff up a little with the warm glow of satisfaction for the choice as he watches you shrug out of your clothes.

Out of one shirt and into another, both of them his – the forest green gym shorts are yours, though, and it’s only pure happenstance that they’d gone unnoticed when he packed you away last fall. Stuffed into the back of the drawer they remained, since who knows when – from one of the hundreds of times you’ve slept over, he’s sure.

It feels a little bit like fate, if he believed in such a thing. Like they’d sat waiting for you, knowing you’d need them here and now, the matching pair to Eddie’s old gym shirt.

Once the shorts are tied tight and the shirt is over your head, you pull it taught by the hem to regard the chicken scratch scrawling of Munson with what he hopes is satisfaction.

Good, he thinks. Let the name do some good for once, let it shield you from anything that means you harm. Everything means you harm down there, even the air you breathe, but he can’t think about that right now, lest he succumb to his wits and try once more in vain to talk you out of this.

At least this way he can wrap himself around you, make a shield of his things.

“How’s that feel?” Eddie asks tentatively, watching you turn to regard yourself in what bit of the mirror you can see around Sweetheart.

You level him with a dour look.

“Like gym class.” You answer, flapping your arms at your sides matter-of-factly, “Why do you still have these?”

Eddie shrugs, pushing up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the box spring with one leg tucked neatly beneath him.

“‘Cause I’m full of school spirit, remember?”

You roll your eyes.

“Right. How could I forget? You’ve got pep in your step.”

“Go Tigers.”

Eddie holds his battle vest dutifully in place so you can fit your arms through the holes, then pulls it snugly around you like a worn, patchy, denim hug – you’re swimming in it, and normally it would be incredibly endearing, but his heart is suddenly thumping solidly in his chest, and his insides are churning.

The fear is creeping in again.

“Anyway, have a little respect, will you?” he says, poking at the scrawling of his name across your belly. “This is lucky.”

Your brows marry over your eyes, and it’s almost enough to distract from the gnawing dread settling into his bones.

“How d’you figure?”

“Munsons are resilient.” He explains, “We’re hard to kill,”

Like some kind of unwanted household pest, skittering around Hawkins and coming back time and time again no matter what this town does to try and eradicate them.

Like cockroaches, he thinks miserably, but of course, he won’t tell you that.

“Good for you, I guess,” You say, “But not all of us have the good fortune of being a Munson.”

It’s ever so slightly shocking, hearing you say that. He’s never heard anyone refer to his family name as being one of good fortune, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with that endearment.

Nobody wants to be a Munson. He imagines the way his mother must have panicked when she came to realize the terrible mistake she’d made in hitching her wagon to his father, but by then it was too late because he’d already taken root in her – Eddie had always been the ball and chain that stopped his mother from escaping the name, what it did to her…

No, nobody wants to be a Munson… but maybe it doesn’t have to be like it’s always been.

Eddie tilts his head left to press his shoulder to his ear as he considers the notion – then raises his hand to make a slow, gentle chopping motion down against your shoulder – one, then the other – summarily knighting you.

“I dub thee: Honorary Munson.” He teases.

You bite your tongue against the giggling suddenly bubbling up inside you and roll your eyes.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” You say.

“Oh, so suddenly you’re the expert?”

“It’s just not very official, is all.”

He stares at you a moment, letting the words sink in and feeling his heart beat heavily against his ribcage.

Suddenly he can’t stop thinking about where you’d been this time last year, propped up against one another on the sofa in the next room.

Eddie had been sick as a dog that whole week, certain he was always just moments from death’s eternal embrace, and yet laying there with his head in your lap, watching some forgettable movie of the week, he was happy. Happier than he would have been stuffed into the van for sixteen hours, at least.

That’s all he ever wanted, a life of quiet intimacy, where everybody was content to mind their own damn business, leave you to your devices.

Let all his grand plans and schemes fall through, so long as it means he gets to spend the rest of his life doing nothing with you.

Filthy rich or dirt poor, he doesn’t care so long as it's with you.

That’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, and he’s been certain of that since way too early on in your relationship, and it was a problem.

You weren’t even friends yet the first time he lost himself in a flight of fancy over how the rest of your lives would play out – the milestones you’d hit together.

Eddie shrugs against the way his heart is in his throat as he makes quick work of removing the ring with the dark stone from his finger. He reaches for your hand and hopes you can’t see the way he’s trembling as he slides it easily back into place over your middle finger – it’s nothing really, you’d already asked him for that ring a year into your relationship and worn it proudly up until last summer.

All he’s doing is righting a wrong, putting something back where it belongs, but somehow, this time it feels more important than that. This time it feels like a promise.

“There,” He says gently, feeling unbearably vulnerable as he watches you closely for your reaction, “How’s that for official?”

You’re beaming as you bring your hand up to look at the ring, admiring the scuffed, dingy stone like it were some kind of glittering diamond he’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on rather than the forgotten heirloom he'd found stashed in a dusty corner of his grandmother’s house a hundred years ago.

“Cool.” You hum.

“So cool.”

He reaches up to pull the vest tighter around you again before he’s realized he’s even moved, and then suddenly Eddie’s got his arms around you, hugging you tight against his body — his natural state of being, it seems.

You respond in turn by burying your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against him as he presses his cheek to your temple.

For as long a moment as he dares, he just holds you like that while the fear creeps up again.

Don’t go don’t go please don’t go.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your response buzzes against his flesh and sends goosebumps crawling across his body.

“Always,”

Eddie’s hand comes down to trace the length of your arm, a gentle up and down, grazing the pads of his fingers along the soft and tender flesh he knows so well.

His insides go tight and squirmy, and he feels a potent cocktail of nerves and nostalgic shyness bleed into his bloodstream.

He never actually asked you out the first time around. You sort of just mutually fell into the routine of scrambling to spend every spare second you had with each other, until one day he looked up and your lives were woven together.

It feels stupid to suddenly be shy about it, but he can’t let you cross that gate without putting it out there, even if you say no, even if you laugh in his face.

Eddie clears his throat to try and steady his voice.

“When all this is over — if we make it out, I mean — can I take you to the movies or something?”

You don’t answer, not right away, but he feels you still against him in a way that makes his nerves scream. After an agonizing moment, your hands snake up to rest on his shoulders and you push against him, though not with enough force to dislodge you from Eddie’s grasp more than a few inches.

He grips you by your elbows and holds you there, reluctant to let you go until it is absolutely necessary as you lean back and stick him to the spot with a wry look — eyes narrowed, lips curled.

He knows you’re about to tease him, considering everything you’ve been through, but those nerves are quickly turning sour in his stomach and Eddie doesn’t think he can stand to hear you say something sarcastic right now, not when he’s teetering so close to the edge.

Why does it suddenly feel like if he lets you go he’ll lose you all over again? His eyes feel puffy with the notion, and you thankfully pick up on it, like you always do, reaching up to stroke the highest point of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

The scratchy fabric of your bandage tickles him and he swallows the ragged breath threatening to burst forth from his lungs.

Eddie clears his throat again to middling results before he continues.

“I bet that stupid Gremlins ripoff is still playing in the city…” He says thickly, then rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided shrug he hopes appears as casual as he means it to be, “I mean … unless you already saw it or whatever.”

“Critters.” You posit.

“Right.”

You shake your head.

“Haven’t seen it.”

“Right.” He says again, because it’s all he can do to stop himself from falling to his knees and begging you not to do this.

He’d do just about anything to make you stay here where it’s safe, even if that means marching himself into town and right into the hands of the Hawkins Police.

But that’s not gonna stop Vecna, and if they don’t stop him then there’s no point to any of this.

They need you there on the other side, and it's tearing him to little melancholy pieces.

Your lips quirk up into a wry if not entirely sympathetic smile.

“Are you asking me out, Munson?” You ask, gently teasing him in a dutiful attempt to try and leaven the mood.

Eddie forces out a thick, wet bark of laughter and tilts his head forward to rest against yours.

“Nah, no way. ‘Course not.” he sniffs, “What, d’you think I like you or something?”

You hum thoughtfully and twist your head to the side so that his forehead is pressed against your temple and take a long hard look at the ring sitting snugly on your middle finger. It’s the wrong one, but the intention is still there.

Same as before, same as he’d felt way too early on in your relationship, Eddie would marry you tomorrow if you’d have him – make a real Munson out of you and do it better than any of the previous generations before him ever managed to. Break the cycle and finally do things right.

Neither of you may be around to indulge in that whimsy tomorrow.

You wrinkle your nose.

“Yeah, you know, I kind of got that impression,”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eddie rasps, “And gross.”

“So gross.” You hum, pushing up on your toes to slant your lips against his.

It's only a chaste peck, made a little less so by a cheeky swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip – it’s all you have time for before there is a rapping of someone’s knuckles against the door frame, cutting the moment short.

You drop back down and spin around to face whoever it is come to intrude on your moment – only Nancy, thankfully, lingering in the doorway. You stand in front of Eddie with your back against him, like you mean to shield him from prying eyes until he can collect himself again.

If she notices the way he quickly brushes the wetness from his eyes, she doesn’t mention it, because Nancy Wheeler is nothing if not entirely classy.

“It’s time, you guys.” She says softly, and Eddie feels his guts seize in terror.

As if you anticipated the feeling, you reach back and squeeze his hand, nodding curtly.

“We’ll be right out,” you promise.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sliding through the gate is probably the worst thing you have ever experienced in your entire life, made all the worse by the way you’d had to ask Eddie for a boost because you’ve always been hopeless at the rope climb and you’re not about to start down the journey of self-improvement now.

“Cheerleader-style,” you’d explained, showing him what position to get into when he asked how best to do that.

He’d rolled his eyes and taken your foot in his hands.

“That’s not Cheerleader-style,” He snarked, which made Steve choke on a surprised bark of laughter.

And that’s how you knew the world was well and truly coming to an end. Because Eddie made a stupid sex joke and it was enough to make Steve Harrington laugh.

You’re so, incredibly fucked.

The reverse suction of gravity pulling you down through at the highest point of the gate and turning your world topsy turvy is the second worst thing you’ve ever experienced, and it sees you landing hard on your ass on the other side.

Your fall was mercifully broken by the bizarro version of Eddie’s mattress — somehow more disgusting than its real-world doppelgänger — which Steve had thankfully thought to pull out from the other room.

You’d only just managed to slide off of the thing before Eddie came crashing down after you, landing gracelessly on his back with a hard thump mere inches from where you’d been only moments before.

Everything moves much too quickly after that.

You follow A Team out into the murky underdark waiting just outside the tin door and have to plant roots in the ground to stop yourself from turning right back around and going for the safety of the gate.

Suddenly, faced with the dark and the debris and the perpetual bloody thunderstorm, sitting watch and babysitting the hole in the ceiling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. But it’s far too late to start thinking about changing your mind, especially when B Team comes shuffling down the front steps to see you off.

You distract yourself by playing Mother Hen, turning around to fuss needlessly over your boys.

Your boys, your precious boys…

You pull Dustin’s hood up and secure it in place with the headband he’d chosen to add to his armor, straighten the Gilley suit, and tweak his nose for good measure, garnering an indignant squawk from the boy before you move over to Eddie.

You’re less frantic with him, and you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the zipper of his army-grade vest tight up to the collar, the demon-faced logo of the Hellfire club winking out of existence as you do. You can’t help but smooth your hands across his chest, attempting in vain to press out the wrinkles there and banish your nerves alongside them.

It’s not enough, you think, this isn’t gonna stop anything from hurting him.

You have to heave a sharp, steadying breath to quell the sick feeling suddenly stirring in your stomach, and you tell yourself it’s better than nothing.

It’s certainly better than what you’ve got, which is to say nothing at all – at least he’s got layers to protect against scraping claws and gnashing teeth, he’s got a shield and one of those wicked-looking spears the Sinclairs had prepared back in the field while you’d wasted precious time goofing off.

You wish you had a suit of armor, but you’ve got to move faster than you ever have, you can’t afford to be weighed down by any more protective layers than a pair of cotton shorts, Eddie’s vest – you’re thankful to have it, it’s the next best thing to carrying him with you (along with the faintest tinge of Steve, regrettably) but somehow you know it’s not going to be enough if something down here decides to try and make a meal out of you.

You’re cold, at least you think you are, somehow simultaneously shivering under the heavy, dank chill of the Upsidedown and growing sticky with sweat in the cloying humidity.

This place is a fucking nightmare — this place is where Barb died.

Suddenly you can’t stop thinking about that night in ‘83, about the party she disappeared from. You don’t know much about it, only that it had been Tommy and Carol at Steve’s place — your old friends who had at the point only recently ejected you from their circle.

Barb was only there because they had a vacancy to fill in the form of Nancy, and she came along by default. Suddenly you can’t help but feel that if Eddie hadn’t waltzed in and turned your world upside down, you would have been at that party, and it probably would have been your face on all the missing person posters and milk cartons.

Barb would still be here, getting ready to take her SATs and live the rest of her life, and you would have been dragged screaming into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You’re thankfully rescued from the spiral of trying to determine how your karma tallies up against the guilt you feel over it and pulled from the mire of your thoughts by the sound of your name tumbling gently from Eddie’s lips.

When you glance up at him, he’s giving you a deeply concerned look, and you wonder how much of the journey through your thoughts had been reflected across your face.

You feel the corners of your mouth twitch in your best attempt at offering him a reassuring smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie says.

“No, yeah of course. It’s gonna be fine.” You mumble, painfully aware of how the tremble in your voice betrays that statement, so you try again, “It’s gonna be fun.”

It’s not even convincing enough to come across as sarcastic — you’re terrified.

Then, like he’s only just remembered something vitally important, Dustin perks up and begins patting himself down, frantically fumbling in his pockets as you watch without really seeing. He produces a clunky black Casio, the kind with a calculator built into the face, and immediately goes to work strapping it to your wrist.

“I already set it up to count you down.” He explains, “All you have to do is hit start and go, it’ll keep us in sync.”

You swallow hard as you stare at it — you remember the year he got the watch for his birthday, how excited he was about all its features.

You’d thought it was unbearably sweet that he was so thrilled about a cheap watch from Melvald’s General Store, but you desperately wish you were back there now, timing Dustin to see how fast he could run around the block (the answer was not very fast at all, and he’d been royally pissed when Mike beat his time by nearly half.)

He nudges you to bring your attention back again, this time he’s holding a walkie-talkie out to you.

You take it and sling it around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” You say again, somehow less convincing than before.

However, neither Eddie nor Dustin gets the opportunity to say otherwise because Steve is suddenly there, sending you leaping damn near out of your skin with the simple act of resting a tentative hand on your shoulder.

“You ready?” He asks.

No, you want to tell him, but your throat is closing up and you don’t think you could have squeaked out an answer even if you tried.

You swallow hard against the tightness there and nod.

“Okay,” He says solemnly, turning his attention to B Team - Team Distraction, “Keep your radios on – stay in contact, stick to the plan—”

“And don’t get killed.” Eddie pipes up, winking at you.

As you turn on your heel and trail after the others across the park, you curl your hands into fists and silently hope you can manage to do all of those things at once.

It takes every bit of willpower you possess not to turn around and look back – if you look back you’re going to lose what tiny bit of nerve you’d been able to muster – but you didn't look back the last time you’d walked away from Eddie, left him standing there at the foot of those stairs.

The radio crackles, at your hip, and through it comes Eddie’s voice, calling your name.

��–Copy.”

You snatch the walkie-talkie up so quickly that you nearly crack yourself in the mouth, twisting around and stumbling over your feet, almost crashing into Robin as you do.

“What’s up, Eds?” You answer.

You can barely see him out in the dark, but he’s still there, watching you go. You can’t make out his features, but somehow you know he’s grinning that stupid grin.

“You’re supposed to say over – over.” He teases, voice lilting in that same old sing-song tone.

You roll your eyes.

“What do you want, Eddie … over.”

“Just to tell you your butt looks great in those shorts –”

You’re instantly blushing as Robin makes a harsh sound of undainty laughter at your side.

“Eddie–!” you hiss.

“Over and out.”

It’s not a long walk to the Creel House, but it’s made that much shorter by the cloud of doom hanging over your head.

You’d always done your utmost to avoid the place, what with its reputation for being haunted. It’s eerie enough in the daytime, but here and now, with the darkness crushing in on all sides, you can’t help the chill that creeps down your spine.

When you were thirteen, you’d very nearly had a falling out with Carol Perkins, who was still your best friend at the time, over your refusal to enter the house on a dare.

With high school looming, she was at the start of a sudden and violent transition that would inevitably see her become the mean girl she is today. As such, she was subsequently worried that you were making her look bad in front of her cool new friends, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with you, but were still busy making up their minds about her.

She called you a pussy, and you happily accepted the title, staying safely outside of the house while the older girls all filed in to play with the Ouija board one of them had brought along.

Carol stayed with you, out of some lingering sense of misplaced loyalty, you imagine, and as a result lost some of the budding clout she so desperately craved from the others — from that day on to the eventual implosion of your so-called friendship three years later, she never let you forget it.

Knowing what you know now, pressed up against Nancy sitting crouched beneath the rotting jungle gym across the street, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that you’d always had enough foresight to stay out of the house – Vecna’s home.

Suddenly, you think you can see movement. Figures skulking around in the dark on the third floor, a ghoulish face peering out at you from the attic window.

You tell yourself the house is empty, that Vecna isn’t up there, despite how patently untrue you know that to be. Part of you wants to take some sort of comfort in knowing that you won’t have to enter the house, but all you feel is the violent buzzing of your anxiety.

You gasp out loud when the radio crackles, slapping your hands over your mouth and startling yourself as much as your companions.

“B Team to A Team, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice comes rasping over the static.

You watch as Steve brings the radio up to his mouth without ever taking his eyes off of the house, you wish you were half as calm as he looked.

“Copy.”

“We’re all set back here – go for Phase One?”

“Ready when you are.”

You feel yourself break into a cold sweat.

Phase one means you’re one deck. This is all happening very fast – too fast, if anyone were to ask you. Nobody is asking.

Then, in the distance you hear the first crunch of chords, a rippling echo of a sound that knocks you on your ass, right back to nights and weekends at the Hideout and half a hundred other dingy dives across Roane County.

Your breath catches in your throat.

If you close your eyes, you imagine you could picture yourself sitting parked behind a slapdash Corroded Coffin merch table set against a far wall, piled high with t-shirts, bumper stickers, and boxes upon boxes of cassettes.

In your mind’s eye, Eddie leans into the microphone and introduces the band to middling enthusiasm.

“This one goes out to all the ladies,” he says, like he always does before the first song because of how you’d once expressed vehement disdain for front men who would dare do something so cheesy.

Your nerves are a swarm of bees in your bloodstream as you suck in a breath through chattering teeth and the sound continues, three descending notes that bleed into a quick, hard riff that shoots adrenaline like lightning down to the tips of your fingers.

It only takes you half a moment to realize you know this song, and the buzzing of your adrenaline surges, thought differently than before – blinding terror has suddenly bled away to be replaced by the kind of heart pounding excitment that comes from standing in the crowd at a rock concert.

Oh my God, You think, He’s so fucking cool…

It breathes a spark of courage into you, and with a series of short, deep breaths, you fill your lungs and ready yourself to move. Without the necessary prompting you’d all agreed upon, you scramble out from beneath the jungle gym much to Steve’s hushed chagrin.

You curl your hands into trembling fists as you pad across the grass out into the street, stopping just short of the curb and turning your gaze up at the looming Victorian. In the intermittent flashes of crimson lightning, you can see the bats crawling across its visage, like thousands of teeming maggots, squirming in the belly of a roadkill carcass.

You suck in a breath and hold it, watching, waiting.

Eddie’s guitar has piqued their interest, just as you’d planned for, now you’ve got to make sure they follow through with that curiosity and clear a path for Nancy and the rest.

Phase one is in effect – time to go to work.

#eddie munson #cruel summer fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn eddie munson #joseph quinn fic

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tildeathiwillwrite · 17 days

Text

The Dangers of Jumping, Part 2

WoW Birthday Whump, Day 14: Chased

Whumpril Day 24 ("Brace yourself"), Day 25 (No time to rest)

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

The Legend of Orian Goldeneye Masterpost

part 1

TW: chased, unconsciousness, head injury, dizziness, swearing

Context: Killian's still unconscious, and now Jas is running for their lives from a very pissed-off plant.

-----

Of course the fucking trees were alive.

Alive and very, very angry.

At least, Jas assumed it was angry. It wouldn’t be chasing her if it was happy or sad or annoyed or—

Well, maybe if it was annoyed.

“I said I was sorry!” She yelled, running desperately for her life. Well, her and Killian’s lives. The fabergé egg of a human was still unconscious. “If I’d known you could feel pain,” she continued between gasps of air, “I wouldn’t have jumped on you!”

The pine tree’s furious stomping was her only response. Thank God it was slow. Even with Killian across her shoulders, she could stay ahead of it. But she couldn’t outrun it forever. And if more of them showed up….

Jas kept running, swerving around the regular, boring, immobile trees, trying to lose the angry one in the darkness. But the thing kept on her trail. Did it even have eyes? Ears? How did it know where she was? Vibrations in the ground, maybe?

Not much she could do if it was that. She just had to get to the light she’d seen from the cliff. Maybe whoever was there could—

Jas's foot struck an unseen root, and she pitched forward and landed heavily on the ground. She cursed as she scrambled forward, trying to regain her footing, but the root wrapped around her ankle and dragged her backward. Thinking quickly, Jas pushed Killian off her shoulders and let the root pull her, scrabbling through the bag for anything useful.

A knife to cut the root, a flamethrower to burn the forest down, something.

The pine tree lifted her off the ground, upside down, and glared at her with something that resembled a face carved into the bark. The base of its trunk had split, forming crude legs, and rough ‘arms’ had formed from a combination of trunk and branch. Jas held on tightly to the bag but gave up searching for a weapon.

“Look,” Jas said, getting dizzy from the blood rushing to her head, “I realize that I hurt you when I jumped from the cliff, and for that I’m sorry. But he—” she pointed back to Killian— “is injured, and will probably die if I don’t patch him up.”

The tree didn’t react. Maybe it really didn’t have ears. They stared at each other for a few seconds that stretched into minutes.

“So…” Jas began, “are you going to kill me, or—”

The tree let go of her without warning, sending her to the dirt. Pain exploded in Jas’s head as she slammed into the ground, the headache returning in full force. She watched in a daze as it turned and stomped away into the darkness; the only traces of its passage were the strangely shaped footprints left behind in the dirt. Despite its size, it had not broken a single tree branch.

Exhaling slowly, she picked herself up off the ground, slinging the bag back over her shoulder. Pain hammered in her skull, but she had to keep moving. Something might have scared it off, and what if—

“...Jas?”

She jumped and whirled around to find Killian carefully sitting up, hand clutching the side of his head. “Was that… a tree?”

Jas quickly glanced over her shoulder. “Uh… yep.”

“And it was walking….”

“...yep.”

“How…?”

Jas just shrugged. “Dunno. I kind of pissed it off after I jumped on it and broke some branches, but it didn’t seem interested in killing me, so….” She handed him his jacket. “There’s a camp not far from here, I think. I’m hoping we can find help and shelter there so I can patch you up.”

Killian blinked. “Jumped… on… it…?” He glanced down at the bruises on his arms and back at her before slipping on the jacket. “Patch me up? Jas….”

“It looks worse than it is,” Jas waved him off, grabbing his hand. “Brace yourself.” She yanked him to his feet.

Killian’s eyes glazed over, and the color flooded out of his face. He staggered, leaning heavily on Jas for support. “Oh… okay… I see that now….”

“Can you walk?”

He paused, thinking. “I think so….”

“Good. We don’t have time to rest here, we don’t know what else is hiding in these woods.” Or the tree might come back. Either way, Jas didn’t want to be here for any longer than necessary.

“Do you have the Pendant!”

Jas showed him the chain under her shirt. “It’s in better condition than both of us combined.”

Killian nodded and steeled himself. “Okay. Let’s go.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @whumpril @pigeonwhumps

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frostironfudge · 1 year

Text

Labyrinth - Bucky Barnes - Chapter II

Summary: labyrinth (noun), a complicated set of paths and passages, through which it is difficult to find your way. Bucky and You would do anything for Steve and Wanda, your respective best friends. In an attempt to avoid a tradition Steve and Wanda come up with a lie involving their best friends. A lie, that involves building a labyrinth. Bucky and You begin to build but will you two find your way out or be caught in it?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, (Modern AU)

Word Count: 8.3k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, mild violence (none towards reader), alpine is the freaking best.

Main Masterlist || AO3 || Fic Masterlist

The day is a mess, you don’t even want to know what will occur tonight. It seems as if everything was going wrong. Every part of your brain was screaming at you for being stupid at the silliest of things.

Batch of cookies? Burned despite the timer.

Updates to boss? Emailed but never attached the file.

Your outfit for tonight? Bleached by the damned dry cleaners.

You’re almost in tears, Wanda has been freaking out all day. Bucky has just texted that he would pick you up, reminding you of the six thirty timing. You push your feelings back down as Wanda’s picture flashes across the screen.

“Sharon is going to be there, which means she will try to grill you.” Wanda warns, you purse your lips.

“Also Brock might try to piss off Bucky so you need to keep him calm. Fuck, I hate this why can’t they just accept you both are a pair on face value?” She grumbles.

“I don’t know.” You answer, you really don’t know what to do or say, several things are looming over your head.

“I’m over here panicking, could you at least say something more than ‘I don’t know’?” Wanda groans.

You know she doesn’t mean it, she’s stressed. You’re sure Steve is too. The entire situation is not in anyone’s favour. You keep your cool.

“Great, now you’re quiet.” Wanda clicks her tongue. You sigh.

“I need you to calm me down? Okay?” She huffs irritated.

“Wan, I don’t know what I can say to make it better, alright? I know it's stressful and Bucky and I will try our best to convince them. It is stressful for us too. Neither of us have experience being engaged to draw from, I don’t know if he does? I don’t okay?” You try to quell her spiral.

“God I need wine.” She grumbles, “I’m sorry, I lashed out.”

“Understandable.” You shrug, you play around with the batter, pouring it into the moulds. Tapping and then placing them in the oven.

“Are you making anything for tonight?” Wanda questions you when you hear the sound of liquid sloshing, you’re sure it's wine.

“Oh, yeah, bringing in a cake or cupcakes.” You hum, setting the timer. Back up item is the cookies you have ready to go.

“Steve’s calling, it better not be your fiancé bailing, we still have to talk about the pictures.” She reminds you before ending the call.

You press your face into your palms. Taking breaths to calm down. Glancing at the time, it is still two hours till your first order is picked up. You set an alarm for an hour from now, and a timer for the oven goods.

Heading into bed, you pull the covers over your head, closing your eyes. Trying to calm yourself. Your mind brings forth the kiss with Bucky. You groan, pressing your face into the pillow.

This is not how calming down works. Your brain compensates with Alpine, you accept. Working through the overwhelming thoughts is easier when you can remind yourself of her gentle purring.

Then it reminds you of Bucky, and that one drop of water moving from his shoulder to his chest and then that chiselled abdomen, your thighs clench in remembrance and his scent and his lips so inviting–the timer rings. You groan, pushing off of the bed to get the cupcakes out of the oven.

The scent of honey fills the apartment.

You return to bed, pulling the pillow close. Today isn’t a good brain day you declare. Closing your eyes you count sheep.

The alarm pulls you out of the count somewhere between fifty or hundred and fifty, leaving the confines of bed yet again. You smile when you bring out your packaging, the logo makes your day brighter.

Setting the cake in the box you place it back in the fridge after piping the very last details and touches. You sigh with relief. Grabbing everything to begin cleaning up.

You gather yourself, looking at the metal mixing bowl staring at yourself.

“You can do this.” You tell yourself.

“It’s just faking being a fiancé.” You assure yourself, “You just have to get through tonight and you will,”

The buzzer resounds, cutting your pep talk short.

“Hi, who is it?” You question pressing the microphone button.

“Hey, It’s Dorothy Inez, I’m here to pick up the cake, I know I’m fifteen minutes early but please take your time.” The woman explains. You glance at the clock, it's twelve currently.

“Yes, I’ll be right down, It’s ready to go!” You assure, unfolding the tray and placing the packed cake on it followed by your phone.

You shut off the oven before leaving, rolling the tray down the hallways to the elevators. Dorothy is the sweetest person gushing over the cake and excited for her daughter’s birthday.

“Please tag the page on Instagram so I can share the pictures! And please write the review on google!” You request, grinning as she gets into her car with a beaming smile.

“I will!” You hear her voice muffled as she pulls out of the parking lot.

When you roll the tray back home you realise the one crucial thing you forgot. Your keys. Fuck. Your. Life.

Wanda is going to bury you alive. Then Bucky will absolutely chew you out in the eulogy he gives as your fiancé. Steve might cry, you hope he would at least.

You stare at the door, calling your landlord. It goes to voicemail.

You try the maintenance man. He’s out of the city returning late.

You look at the door again. Resting your forehead against it.

Bucky sighs getting out of bed, rubbing his face tiredly. The weekend allowed him to take a nap from his five a.m. schedule.

The bedside clock displayed ten a.m. he contemplates most of his day seemingly free — a grocery run, his workout taking Alpine to her vet for her check up and then preparing for the only acting role of his life. Y/N’s Fiancé.

The ring gleams as if on cue, he slips it on. Alpine scratches at the door wanting to explore the apartment. When Bucky opens the door she bolts to the guest room and under the bed.

“What is even under there, you’ve been going inside again and again,” he shakes his head, bending down and using the flash to see Alpine curled up on a clothing item that was not his own.

“Al?” He questions, she looks up at him and then closes her eyes getting comfortable on the clothing item. It has to be yours, he reaches out, it's sort of a knitted material, Alpine smacks his hand with her paw.

“What the—,” He shakes his head, “Alpine that isn’t yours.” he chastises, reaching for it again, she scratches his palm. Bucky hisses, retracting his hand.

“Alpine, that was bad. It hurt.”

She only gives him a defiant look. He moves away, checking the tiny cut.

“No treats for you today.” He declares, heading to his wardrobe changing into activewear, it would suffice for groceries and his workout.

Alpine’s food is measured out and the pet smart camera placed to keep an eye on her. He peeks once more under the bed, she’s fast asleep, tiny purrs audible. Bucky takes a picture, she hides her face behind her tail at the flash but continues sleeping.

He checks his phone while locking the door heading to the parking level.

Steve: Are you free to talk?

Bucky: Yeah, give me a second to get in the car. Is everything okay?

Steve: not exactly.

Bucky lets go of a long exhale. Settling in, using the hands free to call him.

“What other tradition do you have me to follow now?” Bucky deadpans without greeting.

“Hardy, har, har.” Steve rolls his eyes, “Does your fiancé enjoy your humour?”

“She’s always smiling. I don't need to make her laugh.” He taps the steering wheel rhythmically.

“She was not always smiling.” Steve sighs, “forget I said anything.”

“What do you mean?” His brows furrow, he’s always seen you lit up like fucking sunshine.

“Bucky, it’s not my place to say and is that concern I hear?” Steve teases, Bucky makes an irritated sound.

“What is the reason you wanted to speak?” Bucky diverts the topic, navigating through the roads towards his destination.

“Well, some more guests will be there.” Steve braces for Bucky’s reaction.

“If you say the words Brock Rumlow.” Bucky grits fingers tightening.

“Okay I won’t say those words, how about Rock Brumlow.” Steve tries saying jokingly.

“Steve. I hate that guy.” Bucky glares at Steve’s contact.

“Look I don't like him either but he’s family.” He defends.

“Is his wife going to accompany him?” Bucky would have to talk to you again, if those two were there then you both were to be put through the grinder.

“Yes…” Steve admits.

“Fucking hell.” Bucky pulls into the parking lot of the store.

“I tried throwing it off, offered box seats to Rumlow but nothing worked.”

“You realise how difficult things are for us already? Why can’t Wanda and you prevent things from getting out of hand?” He demands from his best friend.

Steve stays quiet.

“Have you both informed Y/N about this?” He gazes at the roof of the car. He knows you don’t prefer Sharon either.

“Wanda’s had a sort of hard day with her. I think Wan’s overwhelmed so she needs support. I'm going to check up on her. I just wanted to give you a head’s up.” Steve taps his fingers on the table, wondering if they were biting off more than they could chew.

“Alright, but I’m not responsible if he gets a broken nose by the end of the night.” He warns.

“Buck.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, tired of all of the nonsense occurring.

“I’m giving him the end of the night, Steve. If it was up to me the minute he opens his stupid mouth that spews shit he would get punched.” Bucky highlights.

“There will be no punching, my mother will be there, Wan’s mum is going to be there so are the fathers so please.”

“Fine. Go console the fiancé.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

They exchange goodbyes, Bucky opens up his grocery list grabbing a trolley.

Moving through the aisles grabbing his requirements.

Checking in upon Alpine she’s playing with the timed roller ball he got her to chase around. He’s glad he invested in the nanny cam for cats.

At the checkout counter his shoulder is tapped.

He turns, looking down at the brown haired woman.

“Yes?” Bucky questions, her skin tinges red, he raises a brow.

“Um, I know this is quite forward but I think you’re very attractive,” she begins, Bucky starts to move forward in the line, it was his turn.

“So I think, that and was hoping—,” her eyes zero in on his ring as he unloads his items onto the conveyor belt.

“Oh you’re— I’m so sorry.” She nervously groans.

Bucky shakes his head, “Don’t panic.”

“No I'm just, god, I feel so embarrassed.” She runs her fingers along her forehead, “God she’s so lucky.”

“Who?” Bucky keeps an expression of indifference not catching onto her words.

“Your wife.” She shrugs as if it’s obvious.

“I see.” He pushes his cart forward, the cashier scanning the items he loads it into the reusable bags he carries.

“What, no comment? No, oh I’m the lucky one?” The woman continues, “Is it a happy marriage? if not then I could make you happy…” she gives him a smirk.

The cashier pauses, looking between the two of them. Bucky taps his card to the machine. Then he gazes at the woman. She smiles, raising her hand to his bicep.

The cashier hands him the receipt slowly, to know his response. Bucky takes a step away from the woman.

“If it even was the unhappiest of marriages, I wouldn’t go out looking for happiness.” He says taking the receipt and pushing the trolley away from the counter.

“Asshole!” The woman calls out, he pays no mind.

Loading the groceries, heading home.

He texts you to remind you of the pick up time. He spies the box of cookies in the container. He wasn’t able to visit his mother so they still remained here, untouched.

Alpine brushes along his feet, meowing to be lifted up.

“Now, you’re trying to butter me up?” He coos, lifting her up. She gives him her best kitty eyes.

“Not getting treats still.” He warns, already reaching for the treat box.

Alpine looks smug.

“Fine, but next time I will withhold treats.” He warns as he feeds her the treat.

Alpine meows, she sounds sassy. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Alright Al, I’m heading to the gym, then we go out okay?” He tells her, bending down to be eye level. She boops his nose with her own and scurries off into the guest room. Bucky follows her, sure enough she’s curled up on your dress again.

He finishes his workout, returning to take a shower and lure Alpine into her harness, when they head for his car. Alpine looks up at him quizzically.

“Just driving around.” He explains, entering the car and clicking her lead onto the seatbelt. She stands on her hind paws looking out of the window when he begins to drive.

It’s all going well, Bucky knows the next turn and Alpine will run under the car seat. He takes the turn Alpine, meows loudly and rushes to hide.

“Alpine cmon, I’ll give you treats.” He bribes while parking.

“Al,” He reaches for her and she smacks his hand away again. Hissing.

“I know you hate this place,” Opening the glove box he retrieves the treat baggie.

Twirling it at the edge of the seat, the sound of the wrapping has Alpine bound up. Bucky catches her easily and the bag is left inside. Alpine turns her head away from him.

“I know, I know.” He shakes his head, she looks at everything but Bucky.

The receptionist greets them, then Dr. Sam Wilson comes out.

“How is my favourite cat?” He questions. Alpine glares at him.

“Takes after her father.” Sam chuckles, Bucky is unimpressed.

“She’s offended I lured her here.” He explains walking towards the examination room.

“Ah, well, we’ll fix that.” Sam grins at Alpine, she sniffs at his palm, shifting closer to Bucky.

“Alpine, c’mon I’ll get you those fish treats prescribed.” He chuckles.

“Absolutely not.” Bucky places her down on the table, undoing her harness.

Alpine stays still, sitting watching Sam as he gathers his tools.

Bucky’s phone rings, he ignores it, focusing on Alpine. Sam goes through the steps checking her and his assistant ticking things off, making notes.

Then it rings again, he closes his eyes annoyed.

Sam looks up at him, “Hey, answer it, she’s alright till now.”

Bucky meets Sam’s gaze and shakes his head, “No, it can wait.”

Sam goes through the remaining steps, Alpine protests lightly when he checks her paws nipping at his hand.

“Hey.” He chastises. She mewls trying to be cute.

“It's okay, I know this is annoying, almost done.” Sam coos, rubbing under her chin, she purrs.

“She’s doing good, her vaccines are next month. So bring her in then, the appointment will be scheduled for you.” Sam smiles and offers Alpine a treat, she happily consumes it. Bucky moves forward from his seat to tie the harness again.

“Oh congratulations man.” Sam beams.

“What?” Bucky looks at him once the buckle is latched.

“The ring…” The vet gestures.

“Oh um, thanks.” Bucky nods.

“Welcome.” Sam eyes him a little ways.

When they are back in the car and Bucky gives Alpine the original treats then he checks his phone. Two missed calls from you.

“What now?” He grumbles.

He calls back, it rings once and you pick up.

“Hey, um, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” Your voice is hesitant, Bucky resists rolling his eyes.

“You were, which is why I didn’t answer earlier.” He says, checking the mirrors.

“Okay, well since you’ve called back which indicates you have time, I am in a bit of a mess.” You wince when you hear him click his tongue.

“What kind of mess?” He questions, this better not be something stupid.

“Well, I had a delivery… rather pick up, I locked myself out… It is the weekend the landlord isn’t home and maintenance is going to be here at six thirty.” You explain.

“The maintenance will be there at the time we have to leave?” He repeats.

“Yes…”

“I could come at seven, you would get half an hour.” Bucky checks the time, it's three p.m.

You don’t answer for several seconds processing his words. You didn’t exactly ask for help.

“Are you still on the call?” He questions.

“Y-yeah, thanks for clearing that up.” You press your lips into a thin line.

“Alright then, seven p.m.” He repeats.

“Yeah. Thanks.” You cut the call.

Bucky looks over at Alpine as he shifts gears. She gazes up at him, then turns clambering over to the window to gaze outside.

You stare at the phone contemplating calling him again and asking for help. You sigh. Your stomach is growling. You wince. Resting your head against the door. It seemed as if none of your neighbours were home either. No one answered their door. No one is returning home, happening upon you, helping you.

Pushing yourself off of the ground, you could use digital payment apps at the grocery store and buy things it would help.

You contemplate calling Wanda or Steve. Your phone ison twenty percent, could suffice if you don’t scroll through social media.

Walking towards the elevator, your thumb hovering over the contact name, you press the call button. Her phone’s busy. You try Steve the same with him. Sucking it up you open the text thread typing out the message.

Y/N: Hey Wan, sorry to add on top of your difficult day, I locked myself out while giving my 12 o’clock delivery. In a way it's good I don’t have further deliveries to make. I’m headed to the grocery store getting hungry, maintenance will be here at six thirty, I’ve told Bucky he’ll be there at seven so we might get delayed. But the bad news is the muffins won't be done so you will have to settle for the cookies. I’ve got it covered so don’t panic.

You slip your phone back, the band-aid ripped off.

The doors open and you head to the store. Gathering snack items and two bottles of water. Standing in line you check your phone for a response and then you see it, you texted Bucky accidentally. Fuck.

Twenty minutes have gone by, you delete the message, not bothering to send a corrective message. Your turn is called to the counter and the cashier begins to scan the items.

“You take apple pay right?” You question the cashier, shaking his head, “The machines are not working so we’re doing swipe cards and cash only.”

“I don’t have my cards on me…” You look at him, he shrugs.

“Next!” He calls out.

Even the store five minutes down from it doesn’t have apple pay, you head back dejectedly to the apartment.

When the elevator opens to your floor Bucky stands near your door, raising his phone to his ear, your own rings in your pocket.

“James?” Your brows furrow.

“Where were you, I checked the grocery store?” He demands, eyes moving over your form.

“I tried going to another one but they didn’t take apple pay either.” You walk up to him, offering a smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything more on the call?” He questions.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You shrug, “You were busy anyways.”

Bucky scoffs, “Do you have that much pride that you can’t ask for help? Why didn’t you call Steve or Wanda earlier?”

“They are busy and have too much on their plates…” You reason, hand moving to your stomach.

“Here.” Bucky hands you a take out bag from McDonalds.

“It's nuggets and fries, and a milkshake.” he explains, you moan and the scent.

“Thank you.” You settle onto the floor taking the nuggets out.

Bucky looks down at you, “Just because someone has a lot on their plate does not mean you cannot still ask for help.”

Mid bite you look up at him.

“If they can’t help at least they could try to contact someone to help you.” He continues, watching you as you eat. There isn’t an expression on his face but his gaze is hard.

“Did you eat breakfast?” He questions.

“Yeah I did.” You answer, looking back down at your food.

He says nothing further and you eat the remaining food in silence.

When you’re done you place everything in the bag.

“Come on.” Bucky offers his left hand to you, “Let's go.”

“Go where?”

“To my car, I have a charger and water so you can charge your phone and sit in a comfortable seat.” He explains, you take his hand.

“Thank you.” You smile at him.

His hand does not leave yours till you reach his car. He opens your door for you, then sets up the charger for you.

“You didn’t have to come out but, thank you that you did.” You genuinely tell him, Bucky looks up from his phone at you.

“Alpine misses you.” He blurts, what the fuck, Bucky? He scolds himself.

“She does?” You question smiling at the thought of her, “I missed her too, was having such a difficult morning, thinking about her soothed me.” You admit.

“I think one of your dresses, the cream-ish one, was left behind. She's got it under the guest room bed. I don’t know if you will get it back, however.” He explains, you laugh.

“She’s a possessive lil fur ball.” You observe.

He nods, a few stands of his hair escaping the low set short ponytail, his hair was longer but not enough to be held into a hair-tie he had made. He tucks them back.

A moment of silence passes over the two of you, prompting you to look down at your phone.

“Did you hear about the guests joining us?”

“I did.”

“You know she’s only there to have us fumble.” You tell him.

“I believe you have a proposition to counteract that?” He raises a brow, you nod.

“Twenty questions. Basic stuff.”

“Alright.” He keeps his phone away. Facing you.

“Wait, who’s with Alpine if you’re here?”

“She can stay alone for periods of time, if I’m gone for longer my neighbours have two cats Alpine gets on well with.” He explains.

“Okay.”

“How many members are there in your family?” He notices your demeanour change, you look away from him.

“Parents, a brother and a sister. We aren’t on speaking terms.” You quietly add.

“Understandable.” He watches your gaze turn curious.

“Do you not want to know, why?” you watch his reaction, he shakes his head.

“It’s a personal thing, I’m not going to pry into it.” he shrugs. You look at him. He waits patiently for your next question.

“Who are you closest with in your family?” There is a warmth that pools in his blue eyes when you ask the question.

“My mother.” He answers, these don’t seem as though basic questions.

“When did you start baking?”

“During lockdown I started taking it seriously and practising techniques otherwise it was just a hobby.”

“When did you meet Alpine?”

“She was hiding under my car, apparently one of the neighbours had a pregnant cat and one of the kittens ran off, that kitten? Alpine. About three years ago.”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Yes. Dust. Are you?”

“Not really.” He ponders over it, “No, not allergic to anything.”

“Where did you go to college?”

“NYU. What about you?”

“Columbia and then Harvard.” He runs his palm over his stubble.

“Impressive.”

“What is your favourite colour?” He questions, he thinks you might prefer green or black.

“Oh um, I have three actually — red, black and purple.”

“I see.”

“What is your tattoo?” your gaze falls to his left arm.

“It's a sleeve, different elements— I have an aspect of Brooklyn, my mother’s favourite flower, lavenders drawn by my sister. I add to it every few years.the most recent were Alpine’s paw prints.” he shrugs.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“No, sometimes I think I should get one, but I don’t know what it would be.” You shrug, “Maybe over my collar bone or wrist? Something small to commemorate an important event or aspect.”

“It’s a good way to look at it. Meaningful.” he adds.

“Have you been in any long term relationships?” you think back to Shaina.

“I have before, they lasted a year each.” he shrugs.

“Okay.”

“Have you had long term relationships?” He questions giving you a once over.

“Um, two years ago I was in one that lasted three years.”

His brows furrow curiosity coats his tongue.

“He wanted to settle down, I agreed but things happened and he decided I wasn’t the one to settle down with apparently.” The humourless chuckle has Bucky gaze at you.

“What is the most reckless thing you have done?” you look up at him.

“Does skinny dipping in Colorado count? It was a hot tub but we skinny dipped then ran to our rooms.” He recalls the image of Steve running, the crinkles by Bucky’s eyes appearing slightly. You smile.

“What is one thing you want to do?” he questions.

“I want to be happy.” it slips out, “I want to be happily eating desserts around the world.” you correct yourself.

Bucky swallows, it's been about an hour.

“Dream vacation?” you question.

“I want to go to Sark, it’s an isle, apparently it’s a natural observatory for stars, zero light pollution.” he looks at you,

“Sark. I can’t believe another person knows about it.” You beam, “Although only bicycles and tractors are allowed, I think I want to change my previous answer to riding a bicycle like knowing how to ride without training wheels.”

Before Bucky can say anything your phone begins to ring. You grab it, answering, “Hey Mr. Stevens, oh you’re here okay, I’ll be up in a minute. Thank you.”

You look up to Bucky, “That was—,”

“I gathered, I’ll pick you up at seven still, should give you enough time for those cupcakes.” He places his hand on the gear stick, other on the steering. You reach for his hand hesitating but then give it a squeeze.

He glares at your hand, remembering what you’ve said before. This isn’t some chance for him to forgive you.

“Thank you, I appreciate what you did for me.” You smile at him, he stares at you.

“I didn’t do this for you, I did it for Steve and Wanda. If they have to suffer because of your irresponsible nature I am not going to let it happen.” He unlocks the doors.

You stare at him for a few moments, wordlessly you leave. Reminded of his cruel words from years prior. It was stupid to think he could be decent or civil.

You close the car door, not sparing a glance to him, he pulls out of the garage heading home.

At ten minutes to seven you’re ready, the box of cupcakes, your bag with your keys and phone and wallet are all on the counter waiting to be grabbed.

You give yourself a once over, it isn’t the original outfit but you think it's good, a navy off shoulder jumpsuit with full sleeves it brings out your figure without being inappropriate. It’s one of your ‘I feel fucking badass in this outfit’ outfit.

At the final touch up to your make-up your phone chimes.

Bucky: I’m in the parking lot.

Y/N: heading down.

You grab everything, giving a final check and making sure the oven is off. Locking up, you head downstairs. He’s on his phone again in the car, not acknowledging you. Opening the door you carefully manoeuvre to sit, placing the box in your lap and shutting the door.

“Hey.” You greet, he says nothing, pulling out of the lot.

Y/N: Hey, we’re on our way, hope it's going okay?

Wanda: yeah the two spawns on satan aren’t here yet.

You laugh.

Y/N: 😂😂 don’t worry the two angels of god are coming to protect you both.

Wanda: very funny, if y’all pull off this tonight I’m going to be in your debt for life.

Y/N: buy me a kitchen aid and call it even.

Wanda: i do have steve’s amex 👀

Y/N: lol two kitchen aids then.

Wanda: extortion

Y/N: I’ll tell James to turn the car around.

Wanda: I'll get you the rose gold one with the pasta attachment.

Y/N: we’re still Enroute.

Bucky focuses on the road, his conversation with Steve doing little to help.

“Let the grudge go, it was six years ago.” Steve groans.

“Let it go?” Bucky scoffs.

“Look I’m sure she didn’t mean it and if it bothers you why don’t you clear the air with her?” He offers.

“I don’t want to speak to her more than the bare minimum.” He sounds as though a broken record.

“What do you want me to say? You are our respective best friends. We'd love to not walk around eggshells. Have everyone hangout.” Steve sighs yet again.

“I apologise for all the fucking inconvenience.” Bucky cuts the call.

Bucky shifts the gear, the movement jerky because of his anger. You look at his hand then at his face. The red stoplight gleams off of his skin. He turns his gaze to you.

You look back down, tucking your phone away and begin to gaze outside. Your skin heats when you’re caught staring.

Bucky shifts his hand to the control centre, selecting the music to begin playing.

After Hours by The Weeknd plays picking up from his playlist, he gazes back at the road. Your eyes move to his hands as he shifts gears again, then he manoeuvres the steering wheel with just the lower edge of his palm. The ring gleams lazily due to the street lamps.

You swallow, he repeats the movement, making the turn smoothly then his fingers wrap around the wheel again. The veins of his hand are now prominent. You shift in your seat.

Mind bringing back the way he cupped your jaw, the way he held your skin, the warmth of his breath ghosting your cheek.

“Do you have a comment on my driving?” He gazes towards you.

“No,” Your voice comes out breathless, clearing your throat, “No, I don’t.” you attempt again, “I was, just, merely, observing.”

Bucky observes your shift in the seat. His gaze keeps shifting between you and the road. The traffic isn’t much, the road is almost clear surprisingly.

Bucky presses down on the accelerator, the car hums in content, you observe the speedometer gauge move higher.

He shifts through the lanes overtaking the other cars.

You smile, enjoying the way everything blurs. Heart racing as he keeps speeding, the numbers hit triple digits.

You laugh, Bucky finds surprise encompassing him.

“You aren’t scared?” He questions, the car slows in the slightest.

“No.” You look up at him, “I enjoy the whole speeding aspect of drives.”

You don’t catch his hum over the music, he lowers the volume as your destination nears, speed going back into the lawful limit.

“How do you want to enter?” You question, contemplating your own answer.

“I would suggest holding hands. It’s simple.” He says, “I’ll hold your box in my free hand.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to–,”

“I’m supposed to be doing these things for you being fake engaged and all.” He cuts you off, there are a few cars in the driveway. Bucky parks his Audi behind Steve’s BMW.

“Um, also what about PDA? Cheek kisses?” You undo your seatbelt.

“Do you mean actual cheek kisses or the one where we both go to kiss each others’ cheek?” He’s teasing you, your cheeks heat.

“We’ll see how it is inside and improvise.” You declare.

“Wait.” He opens his door, jogging out to your side, he opens your door, taking the box from you.

As you get out, tidying your outfit, grabbing your purse and closing the door he grasps your hand. His eyes move over you, lingering over your collar bones and then your hips. You take in his all black outfit, somehow it brings out his eyes even more.

Walking towards the door Wanda opens it before you can ring it, Bucky motions for you to step in first without letting go of your hand.

“The cupcakes are um,” You say as Steve appears, a look of relief on his features.

“Thanks, I'll take them off his hands.” Steve takes the box from Bucky.

“Thanks.” Bucky says, his freehand now in his pocket.

Bucky observes him quietly, you gaze between the two.

“Oh there they are! The happy couple! How come you didn’t tell anyone anything Y/N!” Sharon’s voice is sickly sweet and octaves high pitched.

You purse your lips then smile at her, your grip on Bucky’s hand tightening, “Hi Sharon, no we did tell close friends.”

That has her pause mid step, “Well Brock and I have been travelling you know how his work whisks me around the world.”

“Why don’t we let them step inside, Sharon?” Wanda gives a tightlipped smile.

“You can finish your unnecessary interrogation later.” Bucky adds, her eyes narrow.

You all make your way to the living room, the sets of parents grin up at the two of you and the mothers coo at your intertwined hands with Bucky.

“Oh sweetheart I’m so happy you found someone.” Wanda’s mother envelopes you into a hug. You smile, “I am too.”

Steve’s mother smiles brightly at Bucky, he dips his head.

“All this time both of you are hiding right under our noses.” She pinches his cheeks, Bucky says nothing, she envelopes him in a hug and your hands part momentarily.

“So tell us!” The gush after letting the two of you go, the dads just offer the two of you happy smiles. It was hard lying to them, but they knew the two of you very well. Trusting their children with you.

“What–,”

“Oh wait, I didn't get a hug.” Sharon pouts, moving to you enveloping you into a hug. Bucky rolls his eyes. You pat Sharon’s back, Brock enters the room as she pulls away then grabs your left hand.

As she pulls away, she grabs your left hand, “Oh.” She looks up at Bucky, disappointment lacing her single word.

“Oh Barnes is investment banking not working out for you?” Brock singers observing the ring, you pull your hand out of Sharon’s hold.

“We tend to look at the emotion rather than the size of the diamond to compensate for the lack of other things.” You smile sweetly, turning back to the moms.

“The hell did you–,”

“Why so defensive Brock?” Bucky raises an eyebrow, “Also Sharon, these are wedding bands,” He turns to the mothers as well, “Y/N and I decided to save up for the wedding and I didn’t want to roam without a ring, so I bought our bands for the engagement.” he wraps an arm around your waist. You smile, resting your head against his shoulder.

Wanda and Steve exchange a glance.

Sharon is pissed off and moves to the kitchen, Brock rushes behind her.

“Still upset you didn’t tell us.” Steve’s mother complains, “But it’s her so I’m going to let it slide. Oh Winnie must have been over the moon.”

Bucky’s grip on you tightens, “I, well, yes.”

Steve facepalms.

“Is Winnie not amazing?” She looks at you expectantly, you swallow the lump in your throat.

“She is, I’m thankful.” You smile hoping it quells her curiosity, you hadn’t considered this aspect.

“Mom, should I bring out the dips and chips? You worked so hard.” Wanda interrupts, looking at you and tilting her head.

“I’ll help.” you begin moving over.

“Now, now, you have to tell us the story,” Steve’s mother has you pause.

“Bucky, you want a drink?” Steve questions.

“Yeah.” He begins to move from you.

“You too young man.” Wanda’s mum stops him.

You both settle onto the opposite couch, Steve and Wanda rush to bring everything, their nervousness seeping into the air.

Sharon returns wine glass in hand and sits on Brock’s lap being overly affectionate.

“It’s not an inquisition.” Steve’s dad laughs while taking a sip of his beer.

“We know, just, we know we didn’t tell any of you either we didn’t want to take away from Steve and Wanda.” Bucky smoothens his palm over his thigh.

“For six months?” Sharon giggles as she returns.

“I will stab her.” You mumble.

“I’ll be your alibi.” Bucky whispers back prompting you to laugh. You hear Bucky huff but you’re pretty sure it would be a laugh.

Sharon’s eyes narrow at your whispering. Brock kisses her cheek,

“We’ll get em baby.” He whispers to her.

“Yes, why wait so long?” Wanda’s dad eyes the two of you.

“Well, you know how things with my parents are…” You shift, Bucky’s palm touches your knee.

“How are they so in sync?” Wanda murmurs to Steve.

“I don’t know, they look like an actual couple.” Steve murmurs to her, both take a sip of their drinks and try to mask their disbelief.

“He made her laugh.” Wanda pinches her fiancé’s arm, Steve hisses, “Okay not an alternative dimension or dream.” She declares.

“Ah, yes, I do, well, I’m sure if they knew Bucky they would love him.” Her dad smiles.

“They would.” You agree.

“You okay?” Bucky questions, you turn to look at him. You almost, almost forget he’s asking out of obligation. You nod.

“You?”

“I am.” He nods, you both look ahead to find everyone gazing adoringly your way.

Bucky looks up at Steve. He gives a discreet thumbs up.

“Well let’s all head for dinner.” Wanda’s mum stands, everyone follows her into the dining room. You move into the kitchen to help bring the dishes out. Wanda gives your hand a squeeze in reassurance.

Steve and Bucky move into the kitchen to help out as well as Wanda and you take out the dinner plates to set them.

You and Wanda carry out the casserole utensils, Bucky catches your gaze, you offer him a small smile. He nods at you.

Steve hands him the glasses to arrange on a tray to carry.

“I can’t believe she settled with you after her ex.” Brock chuckles making his way to the wine fridge. Bucky pays him no mind.

“What no response? You know then he was better, even had a ring ready with a bigger rock.” The man tries again to no avail.

Bucky arranges the glasses, physically trying to restrain himself from breaking the man’s nose, or something.

“Too bad she didn’t know how to keep his dick with only her–FUCK!”

Bucky has Brock pushed against the wall, one hand gripping his collar. The other pushed his face into the wall.

Steve tries to pry Bucky away to no avail.

“You both better not start something here.” Steve warns them.

Wanda peeks into the kitchen and motions for you to come over quickly. Sharon was watching while sipping on her drink.

“What is going on?” Wanda demands.

“Bastard can’t handle the truth about his fake ass fiancé.” Brock mutters, Bucky glares at him.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Rumlow.” He warns.

“Brock what the hell is this obsession with their engagement?” Steve demands.

You walk in, your eyes immediately find Bucky.

“James?” You call out, he looks back at you.

Brock uses this moment to land a punch on Bucky’s mouth, he hisses. Stumbling back the back of his hand on his lip. You move forward anticipating he would lash out.

As you grab the sleeve of his shirt Bucky tenses, “Y/N.” he says as a warning.

“Oh so you can keep a man in line?” Brock sniggers.

“Sharon ask your man to shut the fuck up.” You seethe, “I don’t care the fuck you think or want, you do fucking not insult my fiancé by talking about my ex or what you think went down.” You glare at Brock.

“I saw what went down and who he went down with, spoiler alert it ain't you sweet cheeks let me tell you keep this one inside you if you want to keep the ring on your finger otherwise you’re going to end up sad and alone again. Beck got rid of you. Fucking baking business, no wonder you had to go behind Barnes for finances. Tell me Barnes she jumped on your dick how many–,” Brock can’t complete the sentence because Bucky’s fist connects with his nose. There isn’t a crush but it does the damage.

Brock staggers back, then Bucky moves forward again, blocking the incoming hit from Brock, landing another punch to his cheekbone.

“Don’t you dare, speak about her again. If I catch you even fucking thinking about Y/N in anyway that is anything other than respectful, I will make sure your nose needs to meet the doctor you took Sharon to last year.”

Steve facepalms before pulling Bucky away. Wanda looks towards you. You’re staring at your hand that was grasping his shirt, now empty. His words rang in the air.

You remind yourself he’s playing a part.

“You asshole!” Sharon moves leading Brock out of the kitchen.

“I’m going to fucking get you for this Barnes.” He calls out.

You wordlessly move to the fridge with a glass and grab the napkin, the ice releases into the glass. You then hand the ice filled napkin to Bucky. He takes it, leaning against the kitchen counter watching you. Pressing it to his jaw.

“Go and handle things outside.” You tell Steve and Wanda, they scurry out.

Finding the first aid box from under the knife drawer you open it next to Bucky, removing the alcohol wipes and the cream.

When you face him, he moves the cloth away, you stand on your tiptoes to inspect it.

The bottom lip on the left side is busted at the corner, but not too deep. A bruise is forming over his jaw.

“Could you sit on the chair?” You request, he moves and settles, looking up at you now.

You gather the items, opening the alcohol wipe packet. Slowly placing it against his cut, Bucky doesn’t wince his eyes trained upon you.

You don’t meet his gaze focusing on the task.

“It doesn’t look too deep, no need for stitches.” You murmur, moving to grab the ointment.

You shift closer, standing between his parted legs.

Bucky finds warmth on his jaw when your fingers carefully prompt him to turn his head, they remain there as you coat a cotton swab to apply the ointment.

Your eyes finally lift to his when you’re done tending to the cut.

Bucky gazes into your eyes, unwavering, raw emotion and he finds anger in there too.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You tell him, he rolls his eyes, “He was insulting me to get a rise out of you.”

“I know what he was attempting. He deserved it.” Bucky grumbles.

Your thumb traces over the bruise carefully. Concern drips from your eyes.

The proximity gets too much for Bucky.

“You aren’t obligated to tend to my wounds, putting on a show.” He whispers.

“I wasn’t putting on a show—,” Your eyes lift back to azure, his palm wraps around your wrist.

“Don’t drag this more than required.” He pushes your hand away, the warmth now a searing burn on his jaw at the loss of your touch.

You bite the inside of your cheek gathering the trash and throwing it, placing the first aid box back into the drawer.

Steve’s dad comes into the kitchen, “We’ve asked Brock and Sharon to leave, Steve told us what he said, don’t believe a word he spoke kiddo.”

You say nothing while washing your hands.

Bucky watches as Mr. Roger’s gaze moves from you to him, “You did the right thing son, even if she told you to stop he deserved those punches.”

He nods, “Thank you for throwing him out, could have landed more.”

You turn, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter.

“Look, we don’t care if you didn’t tell us, we just want you both to be honest. Which we know you are, so come on out to dinner in five minutes.” His dad walks over to Bucky, patting his back.

He pauses to give you a smile, you return it then he moves out.

Bucky and you remain in the kitchen.

Wanda returns, “Thank you for what you did.”

He nods.

She moves over to you, “You okay? You know he’s bullshitting, right.”

“Brock wasn’t, Beck did cheat on me, it wasn’t just that one time.” You admit quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She grabs your shoulders.

“We were in a rough patch, too the first time and then things got better so…” You shrug, “Never came up.”

“Anyways lets head out to dinner okay?” You smile at her.

Bucky scoffs, “Unbelievable, fucking hell.” He says, while going to retrieve a beer, “Where is Steve?”

“Upstairs in his room.” She tells him then looks back at you, Bucky and you watch each other as he moves out of the kitchen.

“You want to tell me what is going on between the two of you?” Wanda questions. You sigh.

Then begin pouring out everything to her as she shuts the sliding door to the kitchen.

“You kissed her?!” Steve yells.

Bucky gives him an exasperated look, “Yell louder.”

“You kissed him?!” Wanda covers her mouth with her hand.

“Would you like a mega phone?” You ask, glaring at her.

“How was it? What did you feel?” Steve wonders, the fact the two of them couldn’t tolerate each other and yet kissed was baffling.

Bucky traces the neck of the beer bottle, he contemplates.

“Did you think of it beyond that night?” Wanda questions.

You fiddle with the straw of your drink.

“It doesn’t matter, the things said prior. Forgiveness does not come by easily.” Bucky looks up, Steve nods.

Both of them stand heading towards the dining room. Their brows furrow as the Wanda and you are still missing.

“Still inside.” Wanda’s mom tells them, “She seems shaken up. Take her out for some ice cream later, make it a double date.” She suggests.

“Sure, Ma.” Steve agrees, Bucky settles into his seat, opposite to your empty one. His gaze moves down to the ring.

Somehow it weighs heavy.

Dinner is a quiet affair after Wanda and you join the table. The parents mostly make conversation with the real couple.

You feel Bucky’s gaze on you several times, you make it a point not to meet his eyes. You catch yourself several times peeking up at him while he was in conversation with Steve.

The goodbyes are said as Wanda and Steve make their way out, under the pretence of a double date for ice cream but you all knew you were going in different directions.

“God, I’m tired.” Wanda groans, leaning against Steve’s car.

“I thought you didn’t believe in him?” He teases her.

“Very funny.” She narrows her eyes at him, lightly smacking his arm.

He laughs, pressing his lips to her temple.

You chuckle, watching them while walking towards Bucky’s car.

“Oh hey, Y/N, I’ll drop you home. Bucky is heading to his mother’s house.” Steve motions for you to go along with them.

You look at Bucky, he doesn’t meet your gaze getting into his car. Though his ears are trained on the conversation.

“Just a second.” You say moving to Bucky’s side, you tap on the glass he lowers it.

“What is it?” He seems irritated, the streetlamp illuminating his features.

“I just wanted to say, thank you, I know I reacted differently I didn’t expect that you’d do what you did and I—,”

“Are you done?” Bucky shifts the gear, cutting you off.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, he was being closed off again. You nod.

The glass moves upwards and you begin walking to Steve’s car.

Wanda gets inside when you do, Steve lingers to meet Bucky’s gaze through the windshield. He shakes his head in disapproval.

Bucky’s grip tightens on the wheel and his eyes narrow at his best friend. He navigates onto the lane, Steve follows behind before the move in separate directions.

Bucky sighs once the house is out of view, when he takes his next inhale the scent of the damn cupcakes and you still linger in his car.

The hands free system rings his brows furrowed watching his mother’s contact display across the screen.

“Hey Ma.” He greets,

“Don’t ‘hey ma’, me. Who in the world are you engaged to and why am I finding out from Steve’s mother? And not my own son?” She yells, Bucky closes his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ma it isn’t like that—,”

“So what, you're not engaged and the photo she sent me of the dinner with rings on your fingers is fake? You better get your ass and your fiancé home, tomorrow. She’s beautiful. Six months? Six months!” She cuts the call before he can protest and declines his remaining call attempts.

When he reaches home Bucky’s hands hover above your contact name.

“Fucking hell, why is this so hard.” He mutters, turning away to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. He then hears the distinct dialling tone of a video call.

Bucky turns around swiftly, Alpine paws at the screen watching herself, the call dialling you. He groans.

A.N: please let me know what you think! i am having so much fun writing this series! thank you for reading!!

tagging: @slutforsexyseabass @elle14-blog1 @sxnshinebxcky @sebsgirl71479 @pandaxnienke @stevesmewmew @tfandtws @povlvr @tanyaspartak @maggiejackson3 @brodymarx @stickyjudgeturtleghost (strikedthrough if unable to be tagged)

taglist open!!

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vincess-princess · 11 months

Text

as we were falling

formerly untitled

ch. 3

a/n: do you like the title? idk if this idea is going anywhere but i felt bad leaving it nameless

warnings: take a wild guess (violence, piss mention)

word count: 1777

“It’s full,” Tommy said, plopping down onto Nikki’s mattress. “Heaping, even.”

“Damn it.” Nikki squeezed his knees tighter, agony on his face. “When are they gonna empty it? I’m dying here, man.”

“They usually do it after breakfast.”

“Breakfast was hours ago. Any chance they’re gonna do it today?”

“Eh…”

“So no.”

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. One bucket for twenty captives definitely wasn’t enough, even when emptied regularly, and when it wasn’t… things got stinky. Nikki, still chained to the wall (Tommy couldn’t look at the red stripe of irritated skin underneath the ring of the handcuff without shuddering), couldn’t even make trips there, so the bucket instead made trips to him – with Tommy’s help.

Now, though, he couldn’t risk lifting it without splashing the contents all across the floor. The room already smelled worse than an underground bar toilet, and Tommy thought nothing could beat that. The first assumption his new life proved wrong, he thought grimly.

“We’re already drowning in shit, and now they decide to make it literal,” Nikki grumbled. “God, I’d love to splash it on their faces. Shower them in shit. Unite them with their kind, so to say.”

For a second Tommy indulged himself on imagining the guards’ faces if it happened. Or, rather, their shrieking and yelling – they couldn’t see their faces behind the helmets, after all. It was no great loss – helped somewhat, even. It made it easier to believe that those were some aliens, evil minions, androids, whatever – not real, regular people like them and Nikki for whom what they were doing was a job just as much as cleaning tables in a café was for Tommy. They did it for a living, probably had families they came home to. Did they ever tell them stories from work? “So this one captive today threw up on the boots of my buddy Jackson and we electrocuted her for fifteen seconds for that”?

“Hey?” he heard Nikki’s voice. Then he snapped his fingers in front of Tommy’s face. “Ground control to major Tom. Can you hear me?”

Tommy slapped his hand away. “Don’t interrupt me. I am speaking that into existence.”

Nikki huffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, master wizard. Of course, keep on weaving your spells. I’ll be here, peeing my pants quietly.”

“Well, what else can I do?” Tommy threw his hands up. “I’m already running back and forth with this bucket for Your Majesty to shit in three times a day. You could show a little gratitude.”

“I’m very grateful,” Nikki said seriously, but the force with which he pressed his hand to his chest gave out a taunt. “It doesn’t help my problem, though.”

“I’m not giving you my cup.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, but now that you mentioned it…” Nikki began eyeing Tommy’s cup hungrily. Tommy moved it farther back so that Nikki couldn’t reach it.

“You have no soul.” Nikki crossed his arms on his chest, but didn’t really pull off the offended face, only prompting Tommy to laugh. “You cruel, cruel bastard. What am I to do? Piss on the floor? Or hold it in and explode from too much pee?”

“You know,” Tommy looked at the floor with renewed interest, “it’s already dirty… wouldn’t hurt much.”

Nikki threw his head back and laughed. “We really getting desperate here, aren’t we? By the way,” he suddenly changed the topic, “when’s dinner?”

“Not sure,” Tommy said, confused. “It’s hard to track time here, you know. But… I’d say, in about half an hour.”

“Great. It won’t dry off by then.” Nikki said, whipped out his dick and peed right into the passage between the two rows of mattresses. “They always pass through here,” he grinned, shoved his dick back into his pants and returned to his place. Tommy and a dozen other captives watched the urine lazily flowing along the passage.

Tommy turned to Nikki and was met with a beaming smile.

“You really have no limits, man,” he said.

“The sky is the limit,” Nikki declared pompously. “And also it was the only place I could reach. But, as they say, two birds with one stone! They’ll have to walk along the passage, there’s not enough space between mattresses for the trolley. And my bladder isn’t tearing apart. I say, we’ve got a good deal.”

Thousands of objections began running through Tommy’s head until they became background noise. Yes, it will get their asses kicked, but it’s not like it hadn’t happened before. Besides, he wanted to hear the guards’ screams when they realized what they were walking on. Maybe it will get them to empty the bucket in time, too.

“Yeah,” Tommy grinned back. “Maybe it will teach them a lesson.”

Over the next half an hour three captives tried to demand they wipe the piss down, but to no avail. Nikki smiled at them with his brand smile – all sharp teeth and a crazy gleam in his eyes – and Tommy offered them to do it themselves if they disliked it so much, which none of them rushed to do. The urine persisted until the guards arrived with a trolley full of nutrient paste.

As expected, they didn’t look down. As expected, they heard the splash when it was already too late.

“Who the hell spilled water here?” one of the guards looked around the room. Everybody averted their gazes. “One of us could slip on that! If that happens again we’ll remove the washbowl and ration your water too!”

“Guys,” another said, “is it just me or does it smell like piss in here?”

Tommy and Nikki exchanged looks. It was increasingly hard not to laugh.

“Of course it does. The bucket’s heaping.” And they all laughed, the sound muffled by their helmets but nonetheless disgusting.

They began throwing packages with the paste at the captives, not really bothering to aim, but even when a package hit someone’s head, no one dared to say a word. Seeing people so beaten into humiliation and obedience was revolting, but also Tommy knew what they would get were they to act up, and he understood them. After all, when it’s a choice between dignity and survival, every normal person would choose the latter.

Nikki, by these standards, was straight-up bonkers, because he never once lowered his gaze even when black helmets turned right towards him. His sheer recklessness infected Tommy, because every time the piss splashed under the guards’ boots he couldn’t hold back a smile.

Eventually it attracted attention.

“What’s so funny, you pipsqueak?” One of the guards poked him in the shoulder with a bat.

“Nothing,” Tommy said quickly, staring at the guard’s wet boot traces on the floor.

“Bullshit!” The bat poked him harder. “You find something here funny? Tell us, we want to laugh too.”

Other guards began turning around and looking themselves over suspiciously. Tommy waited with bated breath for them to discover they were standing in piss.

“You see,” he began, “sometimes things are not what they seem. Not all that’s liquid is gold, but sometimes… it is.”

“What the hell does that mean? What liquid?” The guard looked down and Tommy could almost see his face falling. “Is this- is this-“

“That’s fucking piss! I said it smells like piss! I said it!” another one screamed, trying to wipe the soles of his boots on the floor. Tommy could only hope Nikki’s piss was acidic enough to leave those boots smelly for at least a little while after. “He peed in the fucking aisle!”

“You bastard!” the guard growled, grabbing Tommy by the scruff of his robe and single-handedly pulling him onto his feet. “You son of a bitch!” He pushed Tommy in the middle of the room towards the other guards. Tommy could bet their faces were creased with anger, and a chill went down his spine.

“Look at ‘im! He did it on purpose!” The one who smelled the piss jumped forward and raised the bat over his head. Then it collided with Tommy’s shoulder, and he almost dropped onto his knees, his vision for a second going white.

“Hey! Hey! He didn’t do it!” he heard from behind his back. Dammit, Nikki. “I did it! Leave him alone! I did it!”

The second blow never got there. All the guards turned towards Nikki.

“You?” one of them said.

“Me.” Nikki grinned back. “You should’ve sent someone to empty the bucket.”

Tommy watched the guards unchain him, but only to drag him to the middle of the room, push him onto his knees and zap him with two shockers at once, one in the chest and one in the hip. About twelve seconds into this Nikki must have blacked out, because he stopped screaming. The guards dragged him back to his mattress and dropped his lifeless body there, the knees of his robe soaked with urine.

“You knew he pissed there,” a guard said then to Tommy. “You knew and didn’t tell us.”

He got zapped too – later he figured out that he got an easier deal with just one shocker, though at the moment it was hard to tell with electricity seemingly disintegrating his body tissues. He was dropped on the floor right where he stood.

“You all knew,” he heard a guard say to the captives through ringing in his ears. “You all knew and said nothing, you spineless sacks of shit. You ain’t getting any dinner today. Give that back!”

It took Tommy some time to come around, and when he crawled back to his mattress, Nikki had only just awakened, his eyes still foggy and unfocused, a thread of saliva hanging from his half-open mouth.

“Man, you look like shit,” Tommy croaked.

Nikki only made an unintelligible groan in response, but Tommy knew he said something along the lines of “you ain’t no better”. Which, fair.

He laid down on his mattress, trying to combat the nausea that always came with electric shock. When one wanted to puke his guts out so badly, getting deprived of dinner didn’t seem half as bad. The captives probably didn’t agree, but none of them dared to express their discontent verbally – for now, at least.

Soon Nikki tried to raise his head and sit up. The guards forgot to chain him back, so he could finally use both his arms. Well, at least something good came out of this whole mess.

“Man,” he heard Nikki’s hoarse voice, “that was hella fun.”

And, despite his body hurting all over and his pants soaked in piss, Tommy could hardly disagree with him. At least now the guards knew they could get back at them – in their own way.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #motley crue fanfiction #tw: piss #piss features heavily in this chapter. its for plot purposes i swear #it basically goes like this:#nikki does some shit #tommy plays along #both get their asses beaten #and nevertheless have a good time #as we were falling #the title is eh. maybe ill change it if i come up with something better #but it will do for now

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wandering-words · 1 year

Note

For the prompt thingy you reblogged—BTS for chapter 8 of Crocodile and Parakeet, “Foils” :)

(I should note that I’ve never really watched a DVD commentary before but here’s what I was thinking when I wrote this :))

Overview:

When writing Trust Issues I was already exploring how Ava and Gregory were foils naturally. Then I saw people discussing the possibility of an Ava/Gregory/Janine throuple and while I respect people who believe in it, I genuinely don’t think it could ever work because Ava and Gregory would piss each other off so much. (And in my head they would tug of war over Janine.) Then I thought “what if they were married and fighting over the same girl?” Obviously that didn’t end up being how this fic played out but that was ultimately how this fic was born. They both, to me, just would take such different approaches to wooing Janine and I thought it would be an interesting way to explore how Ava and Gregory are foils. (I also think this helps Janine explore her sexuality a bit, something she didn’t really get to do with Tariq).

Passages:

Like many public school teachers, Janine was forced to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. She’d gotten the evening shift at one of the local Starbucks, and there was one woman who showed up every time she was on shift.

I follow a bunch of teachers on Instagram and Iove that they share their stories of being on the job and how their lives were/are affected by teaching. A lot of them talked about how, especially with a single income, that a lot of times they had to work a second or third job to make ends meet so I was like “well Janine has a nice ass apartment close ish to a city and a single income so it’d be more realistic if she worked a second job”. I also love the idea of a coffee shop au so I decided to make it a barista job. (I also figured that the shifts she could take on would align more relationally with her schedule, but I could be wrong on this because I’ve never worked at Starbucks.)

From taking her order, Janine learned that her name was Ava. She was tall and curvy, with long, dark hair and a signature smirk that caused Janine to flush every time it was directed at her. Ava always wore subtle gold jewelry and came in with new acrylics every week, so Janine assumed that the woman had money.

I wanted to incorporate subtle indicators of wealth because I feel like they’re not super emphasized on the show. (I feel like Ava is wealthier than she lets on, with her influencer incomes and her boyfriend being a famous basketball player, though that second factor isn’t applicable to this fic.) It also helps isolate her presence in the fic to Janine so that Janine senses that Ava has some other intentions other than buying a drink.

It always begged the question as to why Ava would come to Starbucks when she could clearly afford better coffee.

I included this line in particular because I know people who don’t love Starbucks coffee and I thought it be a funny line to include. Also Ava to me comes off as the kind of person who’d have the potential to be picky and randomly pretentious about coffee.

[…]

“I’m sorry,” Janine said as she pulled away, and Gregory’s face was back to its stoic blankness. “I like you, like a lot, just… not like that.” She looked down at her lap and fiddled with her fingers, worried that Gregory would insult her or feel as if he was led on. She wasn’t trying to lead him on, she honestly wasn’t, she just didn’t realize that she was only attracted to him platonically, not romantically.

“I didn’t try to lead you on,” Janine said, her voice growing softer with every word. She was also trying to hide her panic, which was growing with every second that Gregory remained silent. If there was anything Janine hated more than conflict, it was silence. She talked more when she anticipated an awkward silence, though it often served to just make things feel more awkward.

Gregory merely sighed, seeming to sense that Janine would say that.

“It’s okay.” He actually looked a little relieved. “I’m just glad you told me now.” Gregory still looked a bit defeated, which made Janine look down guiltily, but then Gregory was wrapping his arm around her again.

“Hey, Janine. It’s fine.”

Janine wanted to cry. He was so attentive, even when he knew he was being rejected, and Janine wished that she felt more attracted to him for his sake rather than feeling obligated to be attracted to him because he was attracted to her.

One of my trope pet peeves is when fic authors make possible love interests assholes for no reason. Like obviously sometimes it’s warranted (especially if they’re an asshole in canon) but otherwise to me it feels like a cop out. At the time I wrote this (and I still stand by this), I felt like Gregory would be disappointed that Janine didn’t like him back, but he would understand that she’s still trying to figure things out. She’d been with one man for 12 years, mainly her formative years where she would’ve otherwise explored aspects of herself like sexuality and crushes and dating and how to be single. And I felt like Janine would feel guilty because the whole thing, on the surface, appears like a set up. She asks him herself on a date, already a massive achievement for her, and then they make strides throughout the date just for Janine to realize in the moment that she doesn’t want him. Ultimately it was easier for me to write a Gregory rejection than an Ava one. I wanted to showcase that Gregory was mature and capable of growth, that he could be the best friend Janine needed without taking the rejection too personally (or, at least, not actively blame Janine for it).

#abbott elementary #janine teagues #ava coleman #avanine #ava x janine #gregory eddie #teddie #my fic #behind the scenes #asks #unusual fic asks #feel free to send one in!#prompts are below on my blog

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suguru-getos · 9 months

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To make anon feel better I once got a long nasty comment on a post I made because I said a certain pairing in jjk were my favorite best friend duo and they had a great brotherly bond.

I had to literally delete and remake my account. If you don’t piss off people like that at least once you aren’t really a jjk fan. It’s like a right of passage

LMFAOOOO IFKRR? I once blatantly said I don't like Toji and got 3-4 asks which basically called "me" a shitty person for it. Welcome to JJK fandom. Also, I'm so sorry that happened? That sounds fucking terrible I'd fight them for you lemme know ;)

#[en's nonnies]#jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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arcaneyouth · 10 months

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nostalgia culture (? dont have a better thing to call it) pisses me off so much. "omg you dont know what this thing is? i feel so old. you must be a baby" you're 25. im in my early 20s. sorry for not growing up with the same things as you?? how about instead of freaking out about the passage of time we just hold hands and talk about how neat it is we grew up with different things. someone not knowing a pop culture thing from your childhood does not really mean shit about time.

#also! i have a really fucked up sense of reality when it comes to time!#and every time someone says 'uhg im so old' i have to be very careful guiding my thoughts to make sure i dont get caught in #an unreality spiral.#but no one ever fucking listens to me about that lol #obviously theres not much i can do if they dont know but i try to tell people and they keep going !!!!#because their funny trinkets and mourning the lose of their childhood through me matters more than the fact that #im going to have a breakdown about it and forget what year it is and have to drag myself out of that #i hate nostalgia shut the fuck up about nostalgia youre literally alive eat a fucking fruit and calm down

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vanosslirious · 1 year

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BBS Dialogue Prompts #216

BBS IRL Names & Alias Prompts & Sentence Starters: [ 8 ]

NOGLA

I honestly think Delirious is right behind someone.

Delirious, that was the greatest move I've ever seen.

Don't give them the satisfaction, Delirious!

Please, don't use that Evan, please, Brian will get so fucking mad.

Give it back, Evan.

Yeah, Brian would love that.

I'm getting really fucked up, Mr. Gaming.

Brock, why did you bring us up here?

Evan, do you want to see the secret passage I made?

They're collaborating against us, Grizzy!

VANOSSGAMING

Wait, what the hell did you just do, Delirious?

Look at Delirious shoot!

I'm covering your back, Delirious!

That's what I wanted to show Moo.

Where's Delirious? Delirious? Delirious, are you here?

Delirious, did you get kidnapped in real life?

Delirious?

Delirious, what day is it?

Delirious, tell me your name.

Why are they attacking Brian?

SMII7Y

Let’s go find Eli.

You’re a piece of shit, Fl0m.

Oh, Tucker’s here.

Fl0m, I’m sorry, we’re dead.

Tucker fucking died.

I’m letting you in, Tucker, go to the front door.

...And I see John on fire.

Eli, have you been hit once, out of curiosity?

You're taking no damage, Eli, holy shit.

Well played, Byze, well played.

BLARG

Sorry, Puffer, I got distracted, SMii7y casted a wizard spell on a guy.

Puffer, you might want to watch out.

Wait, SMii7y, what are you doing with that?

I actually agree with SMii7y, let's kick this one guy.

We're at Soup's house.

SMii7y, I got a car!

Hey, SMii7y, can I ride on you?

Puffer, Puffer, this is a problem.

You did the right thing, SMii7y.

Grizzy, just be a little salmon, go in the water.

H2ODELIRIOUS

No, Rilla, five seconds.

No, you gave it to Rilla.

Vanoss thinks we're cute.

Come back here, Squirrel, come back here!

Oh, I see you, Squirrel.

There were three motherfucker's in there, what do you want me to do, Cartoonz.

Oh, you're gonna wiggle out, Squirrel.

What do I like, Squirrel?

Don't you run from me, Rilla!

Shut up, Cartoonz, I know you're here.

BIGPUFFER

Matt, you weren't supposed to turn around and run away!

Oh Grizzy, no.

Oh, there goes Matt.

Grizzy, what the fuck?

Grizzy, get out!

Matt, don't worry about, I'm handling the target.

Oh, Matt got it.

What are you doing, SMii7y, I see you.

Did Matt just jump off?

SMii7y, can you slow down for a bit?

KRYOZ

Eli, hurry up, go.

SMii7y, flip it.

Anthony, what's he got?

Eli, jump in, do it.

You lucked out this time, Eli.

Make it SMii7y again, because he just wasted three cards.

You know what, SMii7y, hop on in.

SMii7y, if only you can remember shit longer than—maybe if you can just remember shit, actually.

Fuck you, Eli.

Byze vs SMii7y.

CARTOONZ

Squirrel, you're starting to piss me off.

Delirious is back here in the Goddamn closet!

You good, Squirrel?

Did Delirious shank you in the back or something?

Goddamnit, Delirious.

Delirious, I'm gonna drive to your house and punch you in the fucking dick for that.

Smack the shit out of him, Rilla.

Rilla, did you shoot?

This is why I like Squirrel.

Shut up, Squirrel, shut up.

#banana bus squad #banana bus squad prompts #bbs #prompts #sentence starters #tw swearing #daithi de nogla #vanossgaming #smii7y #blarg #h2odelirious #bigpuffer #kryoz #cartoonz #bbs prompts #text #words #rpf #rpf prompts

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multifandomrandomgirl · 2 years

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An Unexpected Order PART 12 - Sirius Black!sister reader

Masterlist

"Should we go for a walk?" Sirius suggests, breaking the silence in the kitchen.

"You aren't allowed out, Sirius." Remus gently reminds him, and Sirius scoffs and changes into a dog. I roll my eyes at my older brother.

"And how exactly are we planning on disguising Regulus?" Remus further pushes Sirius, who wagged his tail to signal that he didn't know.

"Don't worry, I have it handled." Regulus grinned before closing his eyes and turning into a raven. He flew over and perched himself on my shoulder. I glanced at Remus and we both stood to go and fetch our shoes and cloaks so we could leave the house.

"You know, we should summon a lead for Sirius so he doesn't go wandering, I know what he's like." Remus joked as we laced up our boots. I smile.

"We should, you know, let me do it now." I pull my wand out and summon a collar and lead, where they came from is a mystery, I probably shouldn't have summoned them as they could have come from anywhere.

I managed to tackle Sirius down and attach them, with the help of Remus who had to hold down the scraggy dog. Remus took hold of the end of the lead and we left the house. I closed the door behind us and we made our way down the pavement.

We walked in silence for the first five minutes, neither Remus nor I knew what to say to each other. After a while I brought up school, knowing it could trigger a good few conversation topics.

"Have you got any stories from school that I've never heard?" I glance sideways at my boyfriend who had a tight grip on Sirius' lead still.

"One time when we were in our fifth year, James, Sirius and I decided it was a great idea to sneak into Hogsmeade at night. We found a passage that took us to the cellar for the Hogs Head, we then found our way into Honeydukes and we stole some chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, and sugar quills before we made our way back to the castle for the evening. James had an invisibility cloak which made our adventure slightly easier as we were less likely to get caught by someone." Remus laughs, I giggle and Sirius lets out an odd barking sound.

"You sneaky bastards." I shake my head.

"What about you? What stories have you got from school?" Remus turns to look at me, smiling.

"Sadly, none of my stories are quite as interesting as anything you or Sirius did in school. I was quite boring. I think the most interesting thing I ever did was using the ducklifors jinx on Barty Crouch Jr because he was bullying me for being a blood traitor and was calling me some nasty things so I jinxed him." I smile.

"That was you? You mean to tell me that you're the one that turned Barty Crouch Jr into a duck? After all this time, we've all spent years trying to figure out who did it. James thought it was some random Gryffindor in the year below us, but it was you?" Remus babbled at me, I grin and blush at his shock.

"Yep, it was me. He really pissed me off and the ducklifors jinx was the first one that came to my mind and so I used it on him. I did lose a few house points and get detention for it, but it was worth it. The entirety of his friend group was really shocked, he then avoided me for the rest of the year out of fear that I'd do it again." I grin.

"I can't believe that. I remember the news of it circulating around the students, but none of us ever caught a name. All we knew was from Dolohov screaming about a 'blood-traitor' having done it, so we had no idea as to who it may have been."

"Of course it was Dolohov." I scoff, that man pissed me off constantly, being engaged to him was the worst thing ever, those couple of years knowing that I'd soon marry him was agonizing, I hated him.

"Sorry, I forgot how much you hated that dick." Remus put a hand on my shoulder.

"Have I ever said anything about him?" I ask, Remus shakes his head.

"Well"

*Flashback*

"Y/N, get downstairs now, the family we're engaging you with is here. For Merlin's sake, flatten out your hair, and your dress looks a mess." Mother waved her wand at me, flattening out all the problems with my appearance.

I followed her downstairs to the drawing room, Regulus and our father were already inside with the family. My parents constantly kept reminding me about how lucky I was that someone was willing to marry me considering I'd not been sorted into Slytherin as everyone else had.

"Stand upright, you must carry yourself properly. Have all these years of being taught how to be a lady not influenced the way you present yourself?" Mum snapped, I stood up straighter and walked into the room.

Antonin Dolohov and his family turned to face me, I felt the blood drain from my face. Surely I can't be engaged to Dolohov? Dolohov was a nasty lad, always picking on younger kids in other houses or even the younger people in his friend group, I'd seen him pick on Regulus and Barty Crouch Jr a fair few times.

"Mr Dolohov is willing to take your hand in marriage, he and his family are aware of the fact that you're a house traitor and seem to be quite, how do we put it, empathetic with muggle and mudbloods."

"I'm willing to take you and help you adapt to being a pureblood wife. You will see why blood status is extremely important." Antonin takes a step towards me, I go to open my mouth but my mother shoots a glare at me, I have no place to speak as of current.

"Y/N is willing to accept your offer of marriage." My father grins at Antonin. I glance over at Regulus who briefly gives me a look of sympathy before returning to a stony glare.

I felt trapped, there was nothing I could do to get out of this engagement.

"You two shall marry the winter after you finish Hogwarts, I think the winter wedding would suit you both well." Mrs Dolohov glances between her son and I.

That evening, Antonin and I were sent to a little cottage near Dorset to "get to know each other better". "Imperio." Antonin smirked, I fell into a trance-like state. Hours and hours later, I came back to my senses, I remember absolutely nothing from the period of time that I was under the curse for. Although, there were more cuts along my arms so I assumed that Antonin had used some other curse on me while I was under the Imperius.

I woke up, Antonin smirked at me from his standing position above me.

"Welcome back."

"What have you done?" I screech, only to be met with the cruciatus curse being thrown at me, I let out a howl as the curse continues.

"Your parents were correct, you are weak. Weak and a traitor. You're useless."

*Flashback over*

Remus glanced at me, anger washed over his eyes, Sirius growled and Regulus let out a strangled squark.

"Y/N, I-I'm so sorry. I can't believe that they treated you like that. It's so disgustingly wrong, the curses, the forced marriage, the everything. I'm so sorry." Remus puts a hand on my shoulder.

I shrug. "It's part of the Black family experience. You follow the rules or you end up like Sirius and I."

We walk back home in complete silence. As soon as we had closed the front door, my brothers both transformed back and pulled me into a hug.

"Y/N, I shouldn't have left you here when I left, I'm so sorry." Sirius says.

"Someone had to stay, you know that." I whisper.

"I'm still sorry. Our family really suck. I can't believe they forced you into this, and Dolohov, Dolohov is just a disgusting piece of shit. If I ever get my hands on him, then that's that. He's a dead man." Sirius says angrly.

"I'm sorry that I didn't step up to protect you, I was there on the night of your engagement, I should have stood up and done something." Regulus whispers.

"They'd have tortured you." I whisper.

"And? I always ran, unlike you and Sirius. I was never brave enough to face the consequences of my actions, or face our parents. I should have intervened and helped you, you've always been there to protect me."

We stood in silence for what seemed like forever, all three men had their arms around me.

"I was wondering when you four would arrive home." A voice says from the doorway. "I hope you don't mind that I dropped in, your house elf let me in Miss Black."

"I need to teach Kreacher to not let that old crackpot in my house." I hiss under my breath, Regulus overhears and holds back a laugh.

Sirius, Remus, Regulus, and I all make our way into the dining room, following Dumbledore and sitting down. After a few moments of silence, I decided to break it, I wanted to know why the fuck Dumbledore thought it was a good idea to show up out of nowhere, especially as I'd made it extremely clear how I felt about him.

"So, Dumbledore, why are you here this time?" I raise an eyebrow, Sirius shoots me a glare and Remus grabs my hand under the table, giving it a squeeze as a sort of signal that he too wanted me to not open my mouth unless necessary, given the last time I dealt with the tosser.

"Firstly, I wish to express my distaste that you all went out for a walk, when Kreacher informed me I wasn't best pleased as Mr Black and Mr Black both know that they're not supposed to be outside, whether in animagus form or not. It's too dangerous and not worth the risk, especially as the more deranged, shall we say, members of your family are out searching for Mr Potter. I'm disappointed in all of you, Mr Lupin and Miss Black should have known better than to have agreed to take you both out." Dumbledore shakes his head disapprovingly at us all.

I went to say something in retaliation but Regulus beat me to it, apologising to Dumbledore and promising it won't happen again.

"Secondly, I think I may have a way of helping both Mr Blacks in relation to clearing names. I have connections within the Ministry and am planning on using such connections in order to clear your criminal record Sirius, and clear up your supposed death." He turns to Regulus.

"Dumbledore, forgive me for butting in, but surely, it shouldn't be safe to clear them yet? Considering there's a war looming and our family are out for all of us. Sirius is a big target due to his betrayal by having been sorted into Gryffindor as well as people being suspicious as there is n concrete evidence to prove that Sirius didn't betray the Potters even though we all know he didn't. Even Regulus wouldn't be safe, he pretend to die so he didn't have to work for You Know Who, he'd be seen as a traitor to the dark cause and become a big target. Hell, even I'm a big target because of my connection to the Blacks and I was disowned. I bet Dolohov would come for me if he saw me. I'm not willing for both of my brothers to be in any more danger than necessary. Sirius is known to the Death Eaters to be close to Harry, I wouldn't trust them to not do something to him in order to get to Harry. So, I'd rather you didn't clear the until after the war, Professor. I don't know what either of my brothers think, but it isn't safe."

I look at both of my brothers, in hope that one of them will back me up, I felt Remus squeeze my hand again and I turned to look at him, he smiled slightly then dropped my hand.

"I stand by Y/N on this, sorry Dumbledore. She is right, as much as I'd love my criminal record erased, it isn't safe. All three of us are extremely high on the to-kill list for many of the Death Eaters, I'd say, Dolohov, the Lestranges and the Malfoys would be very happy to get their hands on any of us and kill us. If Regulus and I get to walk free, anything could happen, but being confined here until we are needed is probably the safest option. I don't want to be used by the Death Eaters as a set piece in capturing Harry, it's not fair on anyone and Harry is exactly like James, if he finds out that I could be in danger, you know he'd come straight to try and help me, he wouldn't even think through a plan. He's too much like James." Sirius gives a sad smile.

"I'm going to have to agree with my siblings here, Dumbledore. It's not a good option as of current, it's not doable in the slightest. I thank you for the offer, but no."

"I understand your concerns, but this truly is a good option, it'd help me out significantly-" Dumbledore starts.

"Oh, so you're only doing this to make you look good? Like everything else that you do? Piss off Dumbledore or else I'll shove that fucking ego of yours up your arse." I stand up, knocking my chair back in anger, completely disgusted with the man.

"Miss Black-"

"No, I want you out of my house now, you're nothing but an interfering egotistical arsehole. I want you gone now." I snap, Remus carefully stands my chair back up and rises to stand behind me, his arms around my waist preventing me from moving towards Dumbledore.

"Albus, I think it may be best if you leave." Remus said quietly, his grip around my waist tightened.

Dumbledore bowed his head before exiting the room, the kitchen fell silent. The only noise that could be heard was Kreacher scurrying to let Dumbledore out of the house, and the door closing behind the old wizard.

No one said anything for ages, we all stood frozen. Sirius and Regulus were stood at one end of the kitchen with murderous looks on their faces and then Remus remained behind me, although his grip on me loosened ever so slightly.

"I can't believe the audacity that man has." I whisper loud enough for everyone else to make out. Regulus finally breaks his statue-like stance and walks around the table, gently taking me away from Remus. Regulus pulled me into a hug.

"Thank you, Y/N. I would never have stood up to Dumbledore like that-" Regulus starts.

"You would never stand up for yourself anyway, you never did. You always let yourself be pushed down and trodden on by your friends in school. Me or Y/N always stood up for you at home when we were younger. You're too much of a coward to ever stand up for yourself, Regulus." Sirius barked in annoyance.

"Sirius, please, not now." Remus sighs in frustration.

"You may have stood up for me, but you never stood up for yourself against Mum and Dad, you always let them hurt you. You only managed to confidently tell them no and leave because James Potter had all the confidence in the world in rescuing you, but even then, you left Y/N and I to the lions." Regulus rolled his eyes, moving back across the kitchen to our older brother.

"Y/N, why don't you go upstairs while I sort your brothers out? You've had enough stress for one day." Remus presses a kiss to the side of my mouth before crossing the room.

I flee quickly, hearing shouts of anger between my two brothers as I make my way up the stairs, no matter how far away I was, I could hear them clearly, every single word.

Eventually, the house fell silent, the only noise was the patter of feet coming up the stairs and making their way across the landing, stopping right outside of my door.

A timid knock sounded on my door followed by an "It's Remus.

I stood up and opened my door, throwing myself into the werewolf's arms straight away, he pulled me as close as he could to him, kissing the top of my head.

"I don't think they're going to murder each other now." He giggles slightly.

"Thank you, Remus. Honestly, they're a right handful sometimes. They were like this growing up, it got ridiculous sometimes. I'm sure you witnessed some of their arguments in school, they were notorious for hexing and jinxing each other." I look up and peck him on the lips.

"Ah yes, I remember the one time Regulus told Sirius to leave him and Crouch alone, Sirius retaliated by using the jelly-legs jinx on him." Remus smirked.

----

"Guys! Kreacher's made dinner!" Regulus called upstairs to us all. Remus and I made our way towards the staircase to be met with Sirius sliding down the bannister. I glance at my boyfriend, both of us seemed to look at each other in despair.

"I could have sworn that he's thirty-seven." I sigh, beginning to walk down the stairs.

"It's Sirius, Y/N. Have you forgotten that he never seems to mature?"

"Good point."

--------

"Guys! Guys!" Regulus ran into the room.

"Kreacher found a book on magical family trees. Um, I flipped through it and basically, Y/N and Sirius can't be restored onto it unless the person who disowned them forgives them, which id pretty impossible as Mum is dead."

"Fucksake." I roll my eyes, and Sirius snorts.

"Ah well, fuck them. We're still family regardless of what the fancy wallpaper says. Don't worry Y/N, you'll always be my sister, you're just that lucky,"

"You are so full of yourself Sirius."

"You would be too if you looked like me, shame I got all the good genes." Sirius flicked his hair to one side.

"Ever the arrogant drama queen Pads. But I reckon Y/N got the best genes out of everyone." Remus grins, pressing a kiss on the side of my face.

"Don't worry Regulus, you're the hottest Black." Regulus jokingly patted himself on the back.

"And you all say I'm the arrogant one."

"I fucking hate you two." I groan into Remus' shoulder in despair. Both of my brothers have always been extremely dramatic, and even at thirty-seven and thirty-five, they were both ridiculously overdramatic. Living with the both of them was always a struggle, especially when their dramaticness concerned their house differences. Now was no different, they were always trying to be more dramatic than the other, and everything has become a competition with them.

"Nope, you love us a lot. Obviously you love me more as I am the superior brother, but you love us really." Sirius slung his arm around my shoulders.

"Nope, she loves me the most. I am definitely the best brother, she could never love you more than me."

"Merlin, I'm glad I got estranged from this family, I technically don't have to acknowledge either of you as my brothers."

"Personally, I think all three of you are overdramatic and I hate all three of you." Remus speaks up.

"Mooooony, my love, my life, my ray of sunshine, my everything, my flame, my world, my toadstool. You could never hate me, you love my sexy ass too much." Sirius presses a kiss to Remus' cheek, Remus wipes it away with the edge of his cloak in mock disgust.

"He quite evidently thinks I'm sexier." Regulus throws himself onto the poor mans knee. Remus looked extremely flsutered and awkward at this point, I felt bad for him but it was so funny.

"I think he thinks I'm the sexiest and the best Black." I grab Remus' face and pull him into a kiss, he kisses me back, his hands going to either side of my cheeks.

"That I do Miss Black. That I do."

A/N: Hey! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! It's been a hectic summer as I got my A-level results and had to start preparing for University! I'm moving in next week and am so scared but excited.

Lola x

tag list: @venomsvl @alluminiyum @im-on-stand-bi

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